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About The Ismay (Ismay, Mont.) 1908-1910 | View This Issue
The Ismay (Ismay, Mont.), 20 May 1908, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053189/1908-05-20/ed-1/seq-7/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
. ... ......... '■ • ►'.& ~ ~ \ 4 1 D* I ^ J > I \ 0 » & £ « # i 9 » Q £ 0 ^ ^ 'When Mellie Got a Man By WILLIAM McLEOD RAINE Q »®m(<X(oaooo»oooooooooo©oo (Copyright.) ‘‘Why don’t you-all git a man, Mel lie?” Mrs. Chunn waited impatiently for an answer, her potato Inife poised IfF air. She was a sallow Uth of a wom an, dry and hard, with piercing little black eyes that bored like gimlets. Efficiency of management was the dominant note of the widow. She ruled like an autocrat, a kindly one if people submitted gracefully, but a firm one in any event. Three de ceased husbands had endured her sway not unhappily. Just now the gimlet eyes were turned on the slim, .fair girl who sat shelling peas on the porch steps at her feet. Mellie stirred uneasily, as under compulsion, but offered no an swer in words. From her childhood she had been much given to silence, an unconscious resign from the com monplace world of Cache Bayou that misunderstood her of necessity. Her stepmother repeated the ques tion with exactly the same inflection as before. ‘‘Don’t vo’, please,\ implored the girl, the color sweeping into her face Then, as if feeling the futility of pro test, she addcc|, “1 cay n’t maw. Yo’ know I ain’t tbat-a-way.” “I reckon yo’ kin if yo’ try You all air turned 19 now Do yo’ ’low nevah to marry? Trouble is, you-all air so meachin’ an’ touch-me-not. Hit don’t do to be dumb’s a wild hawg the whole enjurin’ time when men folks is ‘round. Yo‘ got to brisk up an’ be peart.” The widow's experience entitled her to speak with authority. “Gittin’ a man” had become almost a habit with her. It spoke volumes for her effi ciency that men naturally gravitated her way, despite her lack of feminine graces. The eyes of the slim, young thing looked wistfully across the slash to the bayou beyond. A poignant shame • flooded her, the sense of sacred things profaned. Oh, if only her mother had lived, the girl mother who had died at her birth.' Surely she would have understood! Or even the quiet slow-speeched father who had petted and “muched” her in secret Since his death, ten years before, shs- had been terribly alone. She had only Jed—Jed Wilson, her stepmother’s boy, the magnificent big brother of her youth, who could do everything well and yet condescended to like her and be her comrade. But Jed was in far away Texas somewhere and had been for four years. “So I jes’ natchelly makes up my mind to help yo’. I 'low to do by you- all like yo’ own maw would. Air yo’ near through with them peas 9 I want ’em done right spank at 12 Mose Hughey's a-comin’ to dinner.” Mellie turned a startled face on 'her stepmother. Her lips parted for speech, but the protest died unvoiced. What she had feared had come at last. A kind of terror surged through her. She was being prepared for the inev itable. If Mrs. Chunn had set her • iron will on her marrying Hughey .there would be no escape for her Yet she knew she would rather die. Hughey's narrow little shifting eyes gloated on the girl's dainty youth while he ate voraciously of the food before him. A wolf were as fit to be mated with a lamb as the long-jawed, yellow-toothed usurer's cunning with her fine maiden reserve. Even to Mellie’s stepmother his outstanding merit was the 40 acres of rich cotton land he owned. Mellie waited on him with a pad locked tongue. When he had gorged himself she slipped away and fled to the hickory lead at the edge of the bayou. What could she do? How could she escape the net which en meshed her? To whom could she turn for help? Her throat ached with the intensity of the passion of despair that swept her. Jed would have known what to do. Jed would have saved her. B u t . he was a thousand miles away on some unknown ranch. His mother’s dom ineering temper had driven him away from home in anger. They had heard of him just once in the four years. That ■ftas when the editor of th^ir country paper, stopping at Mrs. Chunn’s over nfght, had mentioned that her son was still one of the sub scribers to the Beebee Bee. Her boy was the one wealc spot in Mrs. Chunn’s inflexible armor of au tocracy. To have him home again she would willingly have made him an exception to her own rule, though she never admitted it even to herself. It was to Jed’s strength that the girl’s weakness went fluttering out 1n her hour of need. He would have un derstood, as nobody else could. The indolent, masterful force of him would have. won her battle for her. But without him— fear rose in her throat and choked her. 9 Texas was a big country and far away. The paper man from Beebee had said that But he had said, too, that he sent his paper to Jed. If so. he must know where he was living. In the midst of the desert of her despair ' there began to rise h tiny wellspring of hope. She would write to* Jed • As it' happened, Buck Drumley~wad going to Beebee next day. Buck.’rented on ^shares .the'west^bottom irom /Mrs. Chunn-and f o r k e d It. in p cotton. '■* No> ,turbed?the;blur'6f/his:-!vacahtTeatufeS,i'' tow-headed product of the bayous even if she could not upon his wisdom. Her letter to the ^editor -made verbal explanations unnecessary. . When Buck next went to town he carried with him a letter addressed to Jed Wilsotn, 99 Ranch, What Cheer, Tex. A copy of the Beebee Bee came back in his pocket. Mellie hid the paper hurriedly, and waited to look at it till she could get away to the shadows of the hickory lead at the edge of the bayou Among the advertisements she found what she was seeking A chance -copy of a N’ew York paper, flung irOm a train window by a traveling man, had given her a model for her first appearance in type \If this should meet the e>e of Jed he will know that the girl who hunt ed ’possums with him six 5 ears ago is in great need.” Hughey pushed his curious wooing persistently. Nearly every evening now he squirted tobacco juice from the porch and bragged of himself and his possessions at .Mel’.ie via Mrs Chunn. His greedy. cruel smile filled the girl with a sick fear Divining the* repulsion he inspired in her, he of fered no chance to give expression to it That the pressure of her cn.iron- ment would vvea’ out her w ll he ,.a , confident, .and he con’d affo d to vv.it till he wits sure before he punished her for her detestaticn of hi :t But he scored it up against he- none i!.. less. The time came when he and M s Chunn could discuss before her the details of his marriage to h r : wpn cut spoken pretest on her iait She sat in an unconsenting silence that l>e. | came passionate protest when she was alone with hei stepmother But she knew that she fluttered in vain and that every passing vveec brought her nearei the inevitable sac rifice If she could only die—but it takes more than a breaking heart to kill a healthy young woman’ \Mose ’lows he won’t be yere to night. He’s done gone to Beebee,\ Mis Chunn explained one evening. Mellie faintly sighed her relief Mri Chunn laid her string of pep pers on the table and began on another She was watching the glil without appearing to do so “Ain’t you ail keerin’ what fer he’s gone9’’ Her stepdaughter's hands fell into her lap. She looked up with a face out of which the color had been suddenly driven. \Yo’ gump, he's aimin' to git the li cense to-morrow.” Everything went black before Mel lie's eyes. She caught at the arms of the rocking chair and gripped them desperately Presentlv the blood beat back to her heart She hurried out Into the.quiet night She was stifling, oppressed by a deadly choking at her throat. She fled through the slashed field, as if driven by some impotent in stinct to attempt escape from the evil fate. Habit led her to the big tr°e in the hickory lead where she and Jed used to play. Her despair was long past tears. She could only lean her head against the bark and give herself to long, dry sobbing till her ‘‘He Won't Pester You Any More.” passion of self-pity had spent itself Not till the man was almost beside her did she hear the approaching foot steps, deadened by the soft carpet of mess. Wheeling, she stood poised for flight, an arrested picture of youth far gone in grief Then, “Jed!\ she cried, and he, “M el!” It was too good to be true. The girl’s voice quavered her doubt. “Is it really you, Jed?” ‘‘Hit shorely is, Mel. I seen yo’ ad vertisement three d&ys ago in an old paper. I be’n away off on the round up and jest got back. Co’se I burnt the wind back to help you-all out. I seen some one sllppin’ ’across the slash an’ I suspicioned it might be my little sis Mellie.” She began to sob. \Oh Jed, yo’ don’t know haow bad I be’n feelln’! Yo’ can’t think haow often , I be n wishin’ I was dead!” His indolent, good-looking face took on the dark expression she had seen only once or twice. *Tf anybody’s done you-all any meanness, sis— ” The blood surged into her cheeks. “Maw’s bound an’ ’termined that I’ll ma’ie Mose Hughey. He’s .gittin’ the license to-day.\ “Mose Hughey?” The loose, grace ful southern figure stiffened. “Maw must be crazy!” . \He's beln a-pesterin’ me Jer near’iy two months— an’ I hate him wuss than a rattlesnake,” she flamed. V‘He won.’t pester yo’ any more, sis,” sal’d Jed, grimly, and jaid a ca ressing'arm across !her shoulders. •> No Buggy for Him. 1 /Redd—D(»8^jroufdoctoradopt .mo'ds. •«na •,, ': i ^ , _ - .* Af (Copyright.) He fidgeted with his stick, >-and looked at his watch every few sec onds, and when the train was two minutes late he swore. He seized both her hands to help her out of the carriage, and his voice was a little un steady when he greeted her. She looked c alm and composed, except her eyes After all, a woman's words are She sighed. “You don’t like to mem tion her name. That's against you, Jeff.” \Minnie Wa’ring,” he said, with j jerk. , \Was she young 9 And pretty?” “Yes. She was an awfully good lit tle thing, Lucy I'm sorry—sorrier than I can say—about it. There was do'^frtation. only I could see she liked me a bit So 1 went away 1 should have been an infernal scoundrel if 1 hadn’t She was onh just beginning to like* me; and 1 —I found that I loved you best Don't ask any more questions, there's a good girl.\ fl won't ask nnv more questions,'' she promised, \if vou have told me all that matters 1 don't think you have, Jeff ’’ “I’ll tell vou.” he said, \because you are—vou You have been my 'pal' as nothing' . . __ ’ Fo vou have ccme back.\ she said, | well as m> sweetheart, and I want to keep you for both if l met the love liest woman in the world, and you had grown old and plain—you couldn't' — I should want vou If I fell in love a hundred times 1 should come back to yo$ , 111 tell .v 011 , Lucy, but it will hurt ” u'You have eased the hurt. You are Her eyes Shall I be \ ou prom- lightly. \it is a point in your favor.’’ She disengaged her hands, and he tork her arm Instead ' \re vou giad to see me9\ he asked She glanced up at him vv<re a trifle mi is! Very glad to see vou as glad when I hear vou 9 ised to tell me every thing\ He played with his watch guard. ’ Y» u 1 remised, too,' he reminded i or. She smiled at her slio. s \I have nothing to tell \ “You have9' he whispered \I want to hear that vou love me si ill Will vou tell me that presentl.v down by the river?\ very good, as a ’pal ' That is another pofeit in v our favor. ’ lit was one evening in the summer house — 1 was staying with her peo ple. It was jjist getting dusk, and we ha|l been talking sentiment, sentiment In the abstract, of course, but—my hatul touched hers accidentally, ll was an accident, 1 think At any rate, It wasn t deliberate. She drew her She took his arm from hers and breath sharply, and—fluttered It made “any slipped hers in his instead ’ I will tell you that,\ she said, “ time and anywhere’ \ \Then >011 will marry me now, asked, eagerly, \and come home with me9” • “I will answer,” she promised, “when you have told me. down by the river. Let us be sensible now ” He took a cab. so that they should not be sensible for too long, and drove light down to the very end of the str.eet, and farther, where you come to the little river and can choose be- me feel strange 1 was very near kissing hei, but I didn’t. She was a girl who mattered, and—there was he i y ou ” ‘'Yon didu t think of me. then. Jeff.\ “She was very young and innocent and good She was quiet all the even ing I walked up and down my bed room hall the night thinking about it I thought I was in love with her Don’t look like that, dear You know what you said. Lucy, when I was going avlay if ever you meet some one vcni like bettei don’t do me the wrong tween a shaky plank and a ford of un-! of being faithful, and don’t apologize certain stones He paid the driver a fare that made him smile excessively, and chose the stones because she would need his help. He put his arm round her waist and bent over her. “Haven’t you a wel come for me, Lucy,” he whispered, \after two years?\ She hesitated, met his eyes, and slowly lifted her face. He kissed her many times and she kissed him once — Blowly and gravely. \I did not mean to let vou,\ she protested, “till you had told me, only—\ \Only?” “I had to. Oh' Not till you have told me. There^hen. Now', you are to tell me all yfnir—affairs. It was a condition, you know, Jeff ” “Isn’t It enough that I have come back 9 If you love me—\ She gave a sudden little cry. ’ Oh' 1 do' I shall never alter. You are different, Jeff. You can’t help It. but you are How many have there been since you went away?\ \None.\ he asserted, slowly. He had the merit of lying indifferently. \You had better tell me now,” she declared \I should find out soonei or later \ \Of course,” he confessed, “I've ‘Haven’t You a Weicorrte Lucy?” 1'vyp got to be first or nothing 1 won't m|iry you till I'm sure that I am Hut 1 rove you. Jeff ' Then you kissed me of3 our own accord. You never kissed me like that before, Lucy. You aren't demonstrative, dear.\ {‘I feel things,” she said, gently. “Well. 1 thought of her, and 1 thought of you, and what you said. If I had loved her best 1 shouldn't have cohie back It was no use coming to you with less than all. You would hc.ve been sure to find out.” ‘Quite sure \ ‘•’I almost made up my mind that 1 did love her best. She was so fresh in my mind, you see; and she showed when she felt things I couldn’t forget how she looked in the summer house ■Bhe was a pretty girl, Lucy. But I felt awful w'hen I thought of hurting you, and I knew that I loved you, only I didn’t Beem to feel it so much just theni You were a long way off, and that makes a difference” \It 1 makes a difference,\ she agreed, \to y:ou \ “Suddenly I found myself thinking ’I wish I could ask old Lucy about it ’ That showed me how I felt to you— how i trusted you You’d be honest, If it meant your own life ” \I jhepe so I’m not sure of myself if it meant yours” I thought how I should always want! you, all my life, and how I should miss your letters every week, and |l thought that perhaps I only Fancied I loved her best because you were! so far away I tried to picture you yvalting, talking, helping people— ail the things that are most like you 1 couldn’t think of yvou in any man ner except when you kissed me 1 hat night!—and I told mvsclf that wasn’t you I wanted you dreadfully, Lucy, but 1 wanted her. too\ She sighed. \She must have been very nice.” \I walked about for hours trying u let my thoughts of yen settle It by a sort of tug-of-war between you Sin couldn’t pull you over, though she was so'near and you 60 far. I tried t' allow for that Then I had an Idea I’d go right away for a month; and 1 wouldn’t hear from her, and I wouldn’t have your letters forwarded—that was when11 told you I was traveling abroad —and I wouldn't take either of youi photographs, even I made up my mind-that when I came back to Lon, don I’d just wa'k up to my mantel piece) and look at them both; then 1 should know \I came back under three weeks reallyl I wanted your letters, though I wouldn’t own to myself It was that When I went up to the mantelshel! talked nonsense to women. A man has to. That’s what women and men are made for! You aren’t the sort of girl to bother about that. It doesn't matter.\ “How many have there been that have mattered?” she demanded. j “Only two.\ \One a year' That Is moderate for you” She flushed slightly \Well?\ He dug the ground with his stick “There was a woman oh the ship, go- | ^er portrait was nearest I thought ing home. A Mrs. Vane, a widow, i '1 was sweetest, prettiest face that She was an old hand at the game, and ; could be she Is sweet, and she It we both understood there was nothing j pretty, and is t£Ood. But I hardly in it. There wasn’t, Lucy, really.” glanced at her, really, for your photo “You met her afterward?” graph wasn t in its place. I nearly “No-o.\ She looked at him. “Well, broke the bell ringing to ask about it yes. I can tell lies to any of'them, but K had 0Dly been moved to the side- I can't to you, somehow. I’m an awful ! board. Lucy, 1 simply rushed at It, fool to own it, because it hurts you.\ 1 an(l kissed it and talked to it, and \A woman who loves you has to get made a fool of myself generally. Aft hurt, Jeff. You’re straight with me, flrward if I began to admire any other SHIELD BUDDING IS AN EASY OPERATION -t One W a y in W h ich F r u i t Trees A r e P r o p a g a t e d . !-■ ’•> ‘ ’ -•'&? The simplest form of budding is mown as shield budding This not >nly proves very successful, but ad- nits of being done most rapidly The iperation is very simple and readily earned A longitudinal cut is made n the stock 1'-a or two inches long, ollowed by a transverse cut either at he upper or lower end of the longi- tulinal one This makes a cut shaped •ike a T or an invcited T (Fig 2) gv-i-'-ji way, either right end up or the re- j verse. When the bud has been in- I sorted firmly, if a portion should pro- j jeet beyond the crosscut, it can be cut off and the bud fitted into place. I The bud may then be wrapped with | the waxed tape commonly used in bud- ! ding or grafting (Fig. 3). In a dry ; f f t , % T ‘ ip ‘ ' -.a climate or during a dry season waxed tape is better than twine or raffia for wrapping, as it prevents the bud from d ying out before it has time to t> ........ b ... b._ b .. b.. ____ ci a . . b . Hg. 1.— Shield Fig. 2 — Seed- bud cut out ling avocado preparato r y stock with to insertion. shield bud In- ja serted. Fig. 3 — Shield bud wrapped with waxed cloth. Fig. 4— Bud stick; a, a, etc..“live”buds in vari ous stages of develop ment; b, b, etc., blind buds which should not be used. The blade of the budding knife or the ivory end Is then inserted into tlu* longitudinal cut nnd the bark lifted so as to permitvthe bud to be slipped into place. A lmd on the bud stick (Fig 4) is then chosen Here care’ must be exercised not to get a blind\ bud (Fig. 4, b b)), bu( a live one (Fig 4, a a, and Fig. 1). In cutting a bud the knife should be forced deep enough into the bud stick to cut out a small portion of wood The bud is then Inserted in the most convenient \take ” The time required for a bud to ' take\ depends entirely upon the condition of the stock, if it Is growing vigorously, as is usually the case in a nursery. 12 to 20 days will be suffi cient After the twelfth day a few buds should be examined; if they show a plumpness indicating that they have increased in size, it proves that they have taken After a little prac tice. even the novice in the work will be able to judge whether the buds have taken or not. GOOD ROADS AND BAD ONES B y H o w a r d H . G r o s s , S p e c i a l Ajjrent, U . S . D e p a r t m e n t of A g r i c u l t u r e . anyhffw. That’s a point In your favojr.” He nodded. “I met her several times at peo ple’s, I met her twice by appoihtment. On my honor, I never compared her with you for a moment. 'She went away for a time, I wag to go''to see her, but I didn’t. That was the ehd 'of it. Forgive mei dear;” ' ' j *‘I forgive you lor her, Jeff. J’m'not ,sureithat,I shall forgive, you for »the .ojtfieX ohe.” • woman I always went and talked to fhe photograph about it. It always said the same thing; ‘Like her best ir you c&n.’ Well, I couldn’t. In fact, I couldn’t evenctry!” k Shejpress£cr.his arm suddenly. “Thht Is appoint in your favor,” she told him. Her eyes were moist and shining; he waB emboldened to take her in his arms. ^ “The., point in my favor,” he de clared; “Is,, that I love you. Are you. going'td give;.me, one little kiss?\- . “I^o!” ih% cried. “No l I am going a - i.r . . L w V n . „ ; ’ t ■ t ) \Yp often hear farmers say \\ hy for eight or nine months in the year we have* fine roads, good enough for anybody. Of course, there are a few days now and then after heavy rains when wheeling is heavy, hut the loads soon dry out and are good again “ In the above defense of earth' roads (and it is the strongest defense* possi ble) lies really the strongest reason for hard roads—roads that arc good 30 days in the month nnd 12 months in the year After heavy spring or summer rains, when for two or three days the land is too vet to weak Is just the time when the farmer or his wife would like to go to town to do the shopping, and the teams are nee essarily idle Had roads prevent the trip In the winter and spring for three or four months, the roads are usually bad, and often worse, and this is the only time of all the year when the farmer and his family are not busy, whpn they have plenty of time to run around, it is a season of recreation, or it ought to be Do bad roads add to the pleasure of this holiday season and make it one of enjoyment and im provement9 Far from it. Roads that ’ are nearly always good\ arp usually bad at the wrong time. Like the balky horse, they fail when * most needed. Less than 40 years ago the town ships of many of the middle western states voted bonds to help build the railroads. Is there any reason why the railroads should not now help the farmers improve the highways over which their freight must come to them? This is one of the features of the State Aid plan—the taxing of all who are benefited, instead of placing the entire burden upon the farmer’s shoulders HUMUS IN THE SOIL The statement is very frequently made that marsh soils must be fertile since they produce an abundant nat ural vegetation. This argument, how ever. is not conclusive It is very probable that the growth made each year is In a large part the result of the decomposition of the crop of the preceding year. When all these facts are Considered it seems very probable that tho chief action of vegetable matter with ref erence to fertility of the soil is in sup plying the crops with its content of the various elements. The black humus, which js a residual product formed under natural conditions where the soil Is not Tvell drained and is not -cultivated, 'has-in .itself’ very littie; if;,any. rdjrect actirin.\pf a chem- Innl M O f V r t .T 1 7 Vlull ' offonttt ' Uia ■aWIIWv f of the soil Indeed it seems quite pos sible that this ine*rt, waxy humus may he injurious, inasmuch as it forms a coating around soil grains and (hut prevents natural weathering by the action of soil water containing carbon dioxide and acids resulting from the decomposition of the fresh vegetable matter This natural weathering ol the* soil grains undoubtedly supplies a small amount of mineral matter in a form available to plants, and hence there is continual addition to the quantity of minerul elements in the vegetable matter under natural con- dli Ions Some soils such as those of oui western prairies, have a large amounl of organic matter which has not gone through the final stage's of decomposi tion This Is in a condlflon to under go further decay after being broker down and it, therefore supplies large amounts of available material essen tial to plant growth for a number ol years. Others having a relatively small amount of such material are fertile for a short time and become exhausted after a few years of cul tivation. In some cases the vegetable mattei either has too small a percentage of the mineral elements, especially phos phorus and potassium, or else Its de composition is too slow to set free a sufficient supply of these elements for plant growth. FEED FOR SEASON The experience of the past season should teach every feeder of farm animals to provide abundant feed. The high prices that have had to be paid for feed during ihe past fall and win ter have been the underlying cause that has resulted in the pushing into the market of so many half-finished animals of all kinds, to the utter de moralization of prices. We have had the spectacle of meat animals selling low at the same time that feed was selling high Had the farmers been provided with an abundance of feed we would not have seen the rush to market, as the meat animals would have been ft$ till such time as they could be disposed of. In the provid ing of an abundance of feed nothing will be found to be more serviceable than the silo, for all kinds of ani mals will qpt silage with a relish and thrive on it. One of the first things to be done this spring should be the setting aside of a large area of land for the growing of forage crops and even of root crops, to Increase the surplus of feed. jt| vl i s wj M i •I I m I] ' i l ■^1 II f^t *1 £i il ii ^.1 e| **i a J i •« I jH.I $1 •m l - < ■ 1 - j -i $ H $ i i H m M Prosperity In Dairying.— A mining country makes a few rich, and many <■ poor, a manufacturing country makes few rich and keeps many .poor,, but a • dairying country keeps many rich and 7 very few ‘poor. - J * '
