The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 10, No. 113, Ed. 1 Thursday, July 17, 1913 Page: 3 of 4
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HER COUSIN’S WILL
J
It Was the Means of Bringing
Together Two Ardent
Lovers.
BY M. DIBBELL.
“Broda Norton you are sixteen
tinds of a goose if you don’t try to
break that horrid will—any judge
would decide you had- all the right
there was to the money.”
“Consider me the whole sixteen
.kinds then; Cousin Olive had a per-
fect right to do as she chose with
iher own.”
j With wrathful sarcasm Alice Pack-
ard again broke forth. “Of course
your being for over five years at the
Tbeck and call of an utterly unreason-
able egotist is nothing—”
Broda stopped her. “Now Alice,
you know that Cousfn Olive had the
kindest of hearts and was very good
to me. I am sure I shall scon find
something to do, so don’t you worry
about me.” ~
“You need a good long rest first of
all; you are looking simply tired out.
I only wish I had a home of my 'own
to take you to—but what can a board-
ing school teacher do?”
“What a nice rhyme, and who is the
goose now? I never felt better, and
do not in the least need a vacation.”
But Alice insisted that a rest was
imperative, and when she departed it
was with the firm determination that
Broda should in some way obtain her
rights.
Broda at once started upstairs to
finish her packing, this being the day
on which she was to leave her
cousin’s. Promptly at five o’clock the
village hack arrived, her trunk was
hoisted to its place, and after receiv-
ing a tearful farewell from Matilda,
Cousin Olive’s housekeeper, Broda
wras driven to the widow Bruce’s cot-
tage where she had engaged a room.
Broda had many friends in Peter-
bury, and it was not long before an
elderly couple whose last single
daughter had just married and gone
to live in a distant part of the state,
engaged her to act as companion and
general “cheerer up of the lonesome
•two that were left.” It was thus
'Deacon Haverhill put it, when he
came to talk matters over.
The new home proved a very happy
one for Broda, the deacon and his
wife treating her as if she were in-
ideed a daughter of their own.
Meanwhile John Weston, Cousin
^Olive’s heir, had entered into the pos-
session of the estate. Broda first saw
him after the morning service as she
was coming down the aisle of the
church with the Haverhills. It was
the deacon who pointed him out, and
asked her opinion of him.
1 “Cousin Olive always had a weak-
ness for big men with dark eyes and
hair, and he evidently had all three of
those points in his favor,” was Bro-
da’s response.
The deacon added, “looks to me
like a good sensible fellow—I mean
to speak to him first chance I'get.”
This chance came sooner than he
expected, for on reaching the door
John Weston surprised them by ad-
dressing Broda.
“I beg your pardon for my abrupt-
ness, Miss Morton, but we must be
cousins in some degree, and I am go-
ing to ask if you will grant me an in-
terview to talk over an important
matter?”
Broda liked the dark eyes which
met her own so frankly, and answered
demurely: “You must ask Deacon
Haverhill, here, if I may ask you to
Haverhill House.”
The deacon laughed, and gave John
Weston a friendly handshake. “Miss
Broda knows that our house is al-
ways open to her friends.”
John thanked him and Tuesday aft-
ernoon was set for the interview.
John Weston was prompt to the
minute. He was no sooner seated
than he spoke to the point. "Cousin
Broda, your friend Miss Packard came
to me last week and told me of your
five years’ faithful devotion to
Cousin Olive. She said that she
hought it entirely unjust for you to
e left without reward of any sort
for such service. I quite agree with
her, and have tried to think out a way
that will make matters right. Cousin
Olive knew that I wras well provided
for and a partner in a growing busi-
ness, so I can’t understand why every-
thing was left to me. This is my
plan, that you take the house—which
Miss Packard says you care greatly
:or—and that we divide the cash and
securities. Unless you say yes I shall
feel like a thief and a robber.”
Broda gave a little gasp at this
generous offer. “Thank you a thou-
sand times, but I cannot accept.
Cousin Olive had a perfect right to
*o as she pleased with her own, and
she was always good and generous to
me—she never hinted at anything
more than I received.”
This was the first of many visits
which John Weston paid at the Haver-
hill homestead.
The business of which John had
spoken must have found that it could
exist without its junior partner, for he
remained the summer through in
Peterbury. But in September hie
presence was demanded by the firm,
and one vperfect morning John sur-
prised Broda as she was picking a
bunch of the deacon’s late roses. 1
“Duty calls, and I must go,” was his
greeting, and Broda was startled at
the shock his words gave her. “Ths
senior partner says I must come at
once, or he will do something desper-
ate. Before I go I have one other
solution to offer concerning the es-
tate. If you will not accept half,
won’t you take the whole and mysell
with it—Broda will you be my wife?’!
Broda hastily withdrew the hand
John had clasped, and cried indignant-
ly: “It is impossible, and I wonder
how you dare suggest such a thing.
Oh, how could you—I never want to
speak to you again.” To his con-
sternation she flung away her roses,
and bursting inj;o tears ran to thr
house.
“What a lovely mess I have mads
of everything!” groaned poor John.
“I had better get back to business-
love has no place in my life.”
Broda did not see John Weston
again for many months. He left
Peterbury the day after her rebuff,
to take up his work in a distant city.
Life even with the kindly Haver-
hills assumed a very dull tone, but
Broda tried her best to be a cheer-
ful companion for them and their af-
fection for her grew. The winter
dragged slowly and in early April
Broda received a call from Matilda
the housekeeper, John Weston having
retained her in that capacity.
“I shall be right glad to get the
thing off my mind,” she began with-
out preamble, “for it has been a
sort of nightmare to me the whole
year through. Just a few weeks be-
fore she died, Miss Morton handed
me this package.”
Broda went at once to her roonv
and with eager fingers broke the
seals of the packet, revealing a legal
looking document and an envelope
with her own name upon it in CHive
Norton’s handwriting. She drew out
the sheet of paper and read:
“My dear'Jittle Broda:
“I trust you are not harboring any
unkind thoughts against your cousin,
indeed I have had only your good at
heart. I knew of no better way to
bring John Weston to Peterbury than
by making him my heir. I am posi-
tive that if-he sees you he will love
you, and a better man than John it
would be hard to find. I hope that by
this time you have become all the
world to each other, and if so the al-
tering of my will can make no differ-
ence to either of you. At least I w7ant
you to spend the rest of jrnur life in
comfort, and to know that your lova
was the greatest blessing of my lone-
ly existence. Love from
“COUSIN OLIVE.”
When Broda could check the tears
she unfolded the legal document. It
proved to be a regularly drawn and
executed will, dated two months later
than the one now in effect, in which
Olive Norton left all of which she died
possessed—with the exception of a
few legacies—to her “beloved niece
Broda Norton.”
Deacon Haverhill wrote to John
Weston at once, informing him of this
change of his affairs; and John’s re-
ply was to appear in person to con-
gratulate Broda on her good fortune.
It was less than a week after the dis-
covery of the new will when with his
usual directness John, as soon as ha
entered the Haverhill home, address-
ed Broda.
“I am delighted that cousin Oliva
has shown she was true blue after
all. I shall always love you, Broda,
but I am not selfish enough to want
you to marry me unless you could
care for me.”
“I thought you were trying to da
what you believed was right, and I
couldn’t come to you that way—but 1
do love you, John,” said Broda.
(Copyright, 1913, by the McClure News*
paper Syndicate.)
Revenge of a Vegetarian.
A party of vegetarians paid a visit
to the country, and after a few hours’
ramble in the woods and fields pro-
posed to finish up their hitherto pleas-
ant outing by a picnic tea party.
After getting comfortably seated to
the spread on the grass they were
slightly disturbed.
A bull made his appearance in a
rather hasty manner, spreading con-
fusion among the party, each trying to
get over the stile first.
One old lady ran, panting, behind,
reaching the stile only just in time to
save herself by scrambling through ii
and falling in a heap on the other side.
On regraining her feet she turned to
the bull and breathlessly exclaimed:
“That’s your gratitude, is it? I
haven’t eaten a bit of beef for the last
two years; but I’ll make up for it now,
you ungrateful creature.”—Tit-Bits.
First Public School.
The first common schools estab-
lished by legislation in America were
in Massachusetts in 1645, but the first
town school was opened at Hartford
Conn., prior to 1642.
The Whole Village Knew They
Were in Love When They
Married.
By MAUDE J. PERKINS.
That Henry Walters and Grace
Brown were in love with each other
when they married there could be no
sort of doubt. The whole village of
Davisburg -would have sworn to it.
“Why, I saw ’em hold hands over
an hour, and they did not let go once
to scratch their noses, though I know
they itched,” said little Mrs. Watkins.
“And right with me looking on,”
added Mrs. Flint, “he told her that if
she caught the mumps and died he’d
commit suicide!”
No, there could be no question of
their loving, and it seemed a safe
thing to predict a happy future for
them. Henry was a carpenter, earn-
ing good wages, and though Grace
knew little about housework, she was
ambitious to learn.
What brought the clouds after a few
few months? Isn’t it odd that lovers
have no philosophy about them?
They do not look for any change as
time passes. There will be no cross
words or falling off in demonstrations
of affection. Behold them! Henry
smashes his thumb with the hammer
one day, and he goes home thinking
what a fool he was to hit his thumb
instead of the nail. He found his wife
in bed with a headache. She was
vexed about it. Why hadn’t the ail-
ment come to some one else! Why
wasn’t Henry at home to put a wet
cloth on her forehead and utter words
of sympathy?
“You are an awfully careless man,”
she said as he entered the houseJxold-
ing his bruised and bleeding thumb.
“If you hadn’t got your feet wet or
something you wouldn’t have a head-
ache,” was the reply.
These were the first cross words
and queerly enough each one was rath-
er glad of it. It was a change from
the honeysuckle program. Grace had
never thought that Henry could strike
his thumb with a hammer, and if any
one had told Henry that Grace would
ever have a headache, he would have
opened his eyes very wide. There was
a whole month in which he could do
no work. The wife whined over tne
loss of income just as she wanted it
for summer clothes, and even hinted
that her husband was content to loaf.
There had been nothing, however,
that a few kisses and kind words
could not have dispelled had the out-
siders kept outside, but they didn’t^
Their gossip and criticisms and ad-
vice kept the pot boiling until each
of the principals got the idea that he
was a martyr and the other was whol-
ly to blame.
Grace told the whole village that
Henry boxed her ears.
Henry told the whole village that
her cooking made him ill, and that
her temper had become so Satanic
that he was really afraid to sleep in
the house.
Grace wrarned the neighbors that if
(She was found chopped up with the
ax some morning to see that Henry
was promptly and properly hung as
high as Mr. Haman or Captain Kidd.
It was more exciting than a dog
fight for a time, and there was talk
that a boom in real estate would fol-
low. Then the affair began to weary
folks, and there was talk that the law
ought to be invoked. Such a dog-and-
cat couple ought to be made to get a
divorce. Such a bickering must lead
to murder after awhile. It was Dea-
con Frazer who suggested a remedy.
He was a good man, though the rem-
edy he brought forward was rather
heroic for a churchman. An anony-
mous letter was received by the quar-
reling couple. It was to the effect
that if they did not at cease cease
their bickering or apply for a divorce,
something very unpleasant would hap-
pen to them.
“You can see what you have done!”
said the husband after reading his
letter.
“And you can see what you have
done,” was retorted.
“Nothing can happen to me. Every-
body knows where the blame rests.”
“Surely they do, and you can’t find
a person who does not pity me. I tell
you, Henry Walters, you have reached
the limit, and that letter means tar
and feathers1 for you!”
“It means a ducking in the river
for you, and don’t you forget it!”
There was less quarreling for a
week, and then it broke out again.
Then came a second anonymous let-
ter.
“The committee of good order will
soon wait on you,” was the threat.
"This is the second and last warning.
It will come prepared to deal with
your conduct as it deserves!”
“Tar and feathers for you,,’ whis-
pered the wife.
“A ducking for you,” whispered the
husband.
“And don’t expect any sympathy
from me!”
“And you needn’t expect any sym-
pathy from me!”
As a matter of fact, neither was
alarmed, it was a village where law
and order reigned. The minister and
two or three others might cail in the
evening, and read husband- and--wife
a lecture on the sin of quarreling anil
endeavor to patch up a peace, but
there would be nothing beyond that.
“And their talk wil 1 do no good
with me,” said the husband.
“Nor with me either, unless you are
to be taken to an insane asylum,” an-
swered the wife.
An hour after midnight one night
nine men wrapped in sheets and hav-
ing pillow cases drawn over their
heads walked abroad in the village
streets.
One walked in advance, and the
others followed two by two.
The village slept and there was no
one to observe them, but they did not
speak to each other and they walked
softly. Moses Granger’s bulldog cpuld
lick anything on four legs in the coun-
try, and had geen known to tackfe a
thunderbolt. He was roaming around
when he caught sight of the ghosts,
and the way he ran home was a cau-
tion.
The nine paused in front of a cot-
tage. Its inmates were snoring in
peace.
The nine passed through the gate
and drew up in line before the door.
Then one of their number knocked
and fell back. After a minute a half-
dressed man opened the door to ask:
“Who are you, and what do you
want?”
“This is the committee of order. We
sent you two warnings and you did
not heed them.”
“What is it, Henry?” asked the wife
as she was aroused.
“They have come for us!”
“Is it tar and feathers for you and
a ducking for me?”
“It looks like it!”
“Come out and get your punish-
ment,” said a voice outside.
“Hen-Henry, I am sorry I have been
mean to you,” sobbed the wife.
“I have been the meanest of the
two,” was the reply.
“I wTas loving you all the time I was
quarreling with you.”
“Same here.”
“We will give you one minute more,”
came a throaty voice from outside.
“Oh, Henry, it will most kill me to
have ’em tar and feather you!”
moaned the wife.
“And think of their ducking you!”
“My darling.”
“My own!”
“Time’s up! Come to your doom,”
said the nine ghosts in chorus.
Henry seized a hard wood chair and
smashed it on the uncarpeted floor,
and handing one leg of it to his wife
he seized another and bounded out
cf the door. Crack! Smash! Crack!
The nine ghosts had not anticipated
nor prepared themselves for resist-
ance, and the attack came with great
suddenness. Three or four went down
like cowsheds in a cyclone, and the
others made their retreat in tremen-
dous haste. None escaped without at
least one good whack. The wife used
her chair leg with the vigor the hus-
band did his. It should also be said
that Moses Granger's bulldog, discov-
ering that he had men instead of
ghosts to deal with, pursued the flee-
ing legs and left his marks on three
of them. y
“What do you think!” shouted Mrs.
Hastings next morning as she burst
in upon her neighbor, Mrs. Drew.
“Somebody’s cow dead?”
“No, sir. The . Walters have made
up!”
“It can’t be!”
“But they have. I was in there ten
minutes ago, and she was sitting on
his knee, and they were so busy call-
ing each other darling and dear that
the ham for breakfast was all burn-
ing up, and the coffee pot was boiling
over.”
The statement not only turned out
to be true, but it was proven that it
was the last quarrel to be made up.
And yet the gossips were not happy.
They said:
“Isn’t it simply disgraceful the way
Henry Walters and his wife love each
other? Really, there ought to be
something done about it!”
(Copyright, 1913, by the McClure News-
paper Syndicate.)
Frog Skin to Heal Wound.
W. A. Speck, a farmer, living near
Ames, la., had a growth that extended
almost across his back a year ago, and
it was thought he had only a short
time to live. He is well today, but the
place where the growth was is cover-
ed with the greenish skin of frogs.
When the growth was removed in a
Des Moines hospital it left a large
wound. The amphibian epidermic
seems to be a success.
Drlven^to It.
“Wombat, I’d like to ask you a
question, if you won’t get offended.”
“Fire away.” “Why do you spend so
much of your time hanging around a
courtroom?” “It’s the only public
place where you can get away from
ragtime orchestras and cabaret fea-
tures.”
Striving to Oblige.
Angry Diner—Waiter, you are not
fit to serve a pig.
Waiter—I am doing my best, sir.—
I Judge.
■1111 ■niiBinn».n.«TriVtrM—a——^
RAISE GOOD POTATOES
Best Results Obtained by Plow-;
ing Deep in the Fall.
Not Advisable to Plant Seed More
Than Four Inches Deep in Rows
Three Feet Apart—Irrigation
Is Not Necessary.
If you are in a potato belt, you can
raise potatoes very easily without ir-
rigation, but if the soil is not right, it
is a very difficult matter to raise po-
tatoes either with or without irriga-
tion, says the Ranch and Range. Ex-
actly what constitutes a potato soil
no one knows; but we are finding out
several elements without which- we.
cannot raise them, the chief of these
being potash and lime.
Altitude seems to make little dif-}
ference to potatoes; they grow equally
well on the top of a mountain or down}
at sea level, provided the season is!
long enough.
There are certain rays of the suni
which are injurious to potato foliage,
and also to bean foliage, and in dry,,
clear years, they produce a blight, or)
so injure the stems and leaves that
the bacilli find a lodgment and cause
what we term blight. This disease is?
not noticed much in the cloudy at-
mosphere of the east, but is commoni
in the west on account of the alti-
tude and thin atmosphere. For thissf
reason a cool north exposure is the
best for potatoes and the less Wind
the better. The best potatoes are-ob-f
tained by plowing deep in the fall and.
then by working land over again in
the spring before planting.
Ij is impossible to give the best
dates of planting, because certain va-;
rieties do better in certain localities,)
and each variety “has its own time for{
planting.
In Nebraska, Kansas and Dakota the!
Rural New Yorker is thought highly
of. The early Rose, and the early Ohio
we find almost everywhere; in New
Mexico the Peachblow, and in some
parts of Colorado the early six weeks
are recommended. Although pota-
toes need deep plowing, it is not ad-
visable to plant them more than four
inches deep. The rows can be three
feet apart and the hills in the row
not less than two feet. If the field is
harrowed as soon as the sprouts ap-
pear and even should they be covered,
it will do more good tban harm, then
when the sprouts come through again
they can be harrowed some more; aft-
er this they should be cultivated every
time a crust forms, and finally hilled
up with a disk cultivator about a
week after they commence to bloom,
some say a little later, some a little
earlier; but it seems to depend some-
what on the habit of the potato in
question, the idea being to hill them
up when the tuber is starting to make
a quick growth. In dry years the
vines should be thinned by hand dowAj
to one sprout to the hill, thus we ob-|
tain, maybe less potatoes, but of a!
more marketable size.
Good sized potatoes should he cutf
for seed. One good eye to each hill}
is sufficient.
Ten or 12-inch fall plowing will'
yield sometimes 200 bushels to the!
acre. 1
The highest we can expect from six'
to seven inch work is about 100 bush-
els, but in dry years the shallow plow-'
ing will give next to nothing, whiles
the deep plowing will do nearly asl
•well as ever.
Location of Garden.
If possible, the garden should bei
close to or part of a cultivated field,(
and so laid out that it can be culti-
vated -by horse-power. It is prefer-'
able to run the rows the long way}
of the garden, and to so plan it that}
vegetables of similar growth shall be*
together; for it is easier to cultivate
if the rows are the same distance)
apaft. Room for turning must be left;
at the end of the rows. The peren-
nials ,sueh as asparagus, rhubarb and
the fruits should be placed on one side
so as not to interfere with cultiva-
tion.
Horticultural Profits.
While the general average of hor-
ticultural crops is $64.00 per acre:
there are individual growers realize,
from $300 to $500 per acre. The same'
is true of general farm crops. There
are farmers who exceed the average}
yields four to ten times. These indi-
vidual results show the possibility
in agriculture and horticulture; theyt
give us a vision of what can be done'
and will be done when the science ofj
-agriculture is applied as it should and1
must be. ^
Digestible Constituents.
To obtain the digestibility of the va*j
rious constituents of a feeding stuff,}
the general method is to supply an}
animal with weighed quantities of}
food and composition of which has.
been ascertained by chemical analy-
sis. By weighing and analyzing the*
excrements the unabsorbed consti-
tuents are determined.
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Vernor, J. E. The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 10, No. 113, Ed. 1 Thursday, July 17, 1913, newspaper, July 17, 1913; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth897551/m1/3/: accessed July 6, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Lampasas Public Library.