Training A Husband

So you want ter know how I come ter hev Caleb, when I knew jist heow he used Nancy, bis fust wite. Wal, 111 teil ye all about it. You know Dan'l left me pretty poorly ofE. I hed two little children, an' #hat ter dew I didn't know. The mortgage was ter run eout in about a year an' a half arter he died. I'd sent the children down to brother John's ter go ter school. Brother John wanted me to give them ter him, and lie'd do well, an' I was meditating on it, orful loth to dew it. But what else could 1 dew with them, when the old farm was took away f rom me? One day, wheu the time was near eout, I was a hoein' the beans side of the fence jinin' Caleb's cornfleld. Itell yer Hannah, I never feit bluer in all my bom days. l'd allers lived an' worked on a farm, an' couldn't do no other kind o' work; so what was to become of me I didn't know. Purty good hoein' for a green hand,' sez somebody over the fence. 'Tes,' sez I, Tve done enough of it sence I was left alone. 'Practico makes perfect,' we used ter write in our copybook when we were children,' an' I couldn't help heaving a sigh. Wall Emmeline,' sez he, 'you'n I seem to be in the same fix. You need a man ter do yer hoeing an' sicb, an' i need a woman to see ter my house, an' if you'r agreed, we'U hitch horses an' work in doubie harneas. J can't flnd ao hired help that'll do as Nancy did.' (Thinks 1 ter myself, and you'll never find another wife 'twill, either). 'So what dy'e say, Emmeline ?' P'r'aps I didn't think o' nothing í'er the nex few minutes. It all flashed over me in a secont, what an unfeelin' man he'd allers ben. Poor Nancy had terdew all the housework, an' a good deal 't b'longed ter him ter dew, an' he was stingier than an oíd miser, tew. [ knew he was a smart mau ter work, was f orehanded and was able ter live in good deal better shape than he did, an' you know, Hannah, that poor Dan'el was jest the oppersite. He was a norful clever man, was Dan'el, but kind o' shiftless an' easy, an' it allers worrited me so much tew hev things goin' so slack. Sc-z I ter myself, a body can't hev everything; ther's allers some eouts, an' a poor nian's better'n none. 8o I speaks right up, an' I sez: flSaleb, we've been nabors íor meny a year. I know your failln's, an' s'pose you know mine, an' so, ef yon say so, all right, p'r'aps we both might do wuss.' Wal, ter make a long story short, we agreed ter hev the business dun right off. Caleb said thet it wasstylish to go on a weddin' tower now-a-days, and as he wanted ter go deown to Bangor ter see about selling bis wool, an' as Sarah Jane Curtís, (who used ter work for him) lived about half way, an' we could stop there both ways, and not cost ua, anything, he thought we'd better go. (His niece, Rebecca Gilman, yer know, lives there, and we could make her a vlsit at the same time.) Brotber John lives there, tew, you know, an' I'd made up my mind that I'd jest bring home the child'en. An' so I did; but Caleb he was orful sot agin it, but sez 'of course they can come and make a viait;' an' I let him think so, 'cause I wasn't quite ready to have words with him, yet. "We stayea about a week, an' got home along in the arternoon all right. I Tlier nex' mornin' I woke up purtv ly, an I sez to myseit: 'Courage, Jt,minerline, uow or never.' 1 kep' still, f ei Caleb was still a-snorin', but biine-by he f etchet on'arthly snort that wake't himself up, an' w'en he see 'at it was gettin' daylight, he nudged me and sez he: 'Wake up. Emmerlüie. Emmerline, it's broad daylight; come, come, git up, we shan't hev auy breakfastter-day.' I was orful hard ter wake, but after a while 1 managed tew, an' while i was a rubbin' my eyes, I sez. 'Got a good hot fire, ain't ye, Caleb ?' 'Fire!' said he; 'Nb, I never build any flres. Nancy alers built the fires.' 'Did she ?' sez I, as cool as a cueumber. 'So did Dan'el.' I turned over and went to sleep agin - or, at least, he thought I did. Wall, he wiggled, and turned, and twisted, an' he didn't move ter get up ter about an hour, an when the sun rose and shone ínter the bedroom winder, he got up aud built the fire. There vvasn't no kindlin's, nor a stick o' wood, an' he had to squirmish round lively and get some in. Arter the fire got tew crackling in good shape, I got up. i didn't hurry none, let ine teil you. I was 'most dead lying abed so long, but sez I to myself, "EL I make the fires now, I'll prob'ly hev to dew it in cold weather, and I won't dew it for any man.' .He was pretty sullen all day, but I didn't take no notice of him, an' he got over it. The next day he was ter begin hayin', an' hed six men ter help him. I had ter do all the work, an' take care of the milk an' churnin' an' it wasn't no fooi of a job. Come time ter get dinner, an' there wftsn't a sliver o' wood cut. I sent Johnnie (he was then about seven years old,) out in ther field ter teil Caleb I wanted him. He carne in looking savage enough, and wanted to know what it was I wanted. Sez I - 'I want some wood ter burn.' 'Wall,' sez be, 'there's a whole woodpile out there. Help yerself.' 'An' not a stick split,' sez I. 'You will hev ter git a bigger stove to burn that.' 'Wal, it ain't such a hard job ter split it.' sez he 'Nancy used tew, ofen, when I was bizzy.' 'Did shei" sez I. 'So did Dan'el.' He got the wood, an' said, as he was going out, that he didn't want ter be called in out o' the mowing field again, unless 'twas for victvials. 'All right,' sez I. The nex' day 'twas the same thing; not a stick split. Thinks I, -Old fellow, you ain't got no Nancy here. 111 larn ye a little somethin' that p'r'aps yer don't know.' So when it was dinner time I blows the horn, an' in comes all seven ef the men an' sets down ter the table. Sich streaked lookin' faces as they hed as they viewed the grub. There was the biscuits just dough, the pertaters, an' meat, an; vegetables, an everythiDg was washed clean and put on raw. Not a thing was cooked. Caleb looked blacker'n a thundercloud. 'What does this mean ?' sez he. 'It means what it means,' sez I. 'You said yest'day that you didn't want ter be called in from the mowin' field again unless it was for victuals, an' here they are.' 'Nice shape, tew,' sez he. 'Wal, I ean't cook 'thout wood,' sez T, dry like. With that, all seven of 'em started for the wood, an' they never left that wood pile till it was ready for the stove. I never was bothered for wood again. A few weeks after, I wanted some money purty bad. I wanted ter send Johnnie and Xellie back ter school, an' I was bound that they should have some clothes fit to wear. I asked Caleb a number of times to let me hev some, but he made all kinds of excuses. I didn't teil Mm what I wanted of it, mind ye. So one day along comes a peddler that bought butter'n eggs. 1 had considerable on han' that Caleb was intending to carry into the city when he had time. So I sold every pound of butter an' every egg I had in the house. I got nigh on to twenty-flve dollars for 'em. "When Caleb come home I told him 1 had sold the butter'n eggs. 'Heow much dld ye git?' sez he. I told him. 'Where's the money?' sez he. 'I've got it,' sez I. 'Wal.'sez he, Nancy allers give me all the money that she took for her butter and eggs.' 'Did she P' sez I. 'And so did Dan'el.' He got tired of holding Nancy up afore my eyes, for I would offset her with Dan'el every time. He found that I was powerf ui sot in my way, an' he thought he might as well let me hev my own way, an' so he hez. 1 don't mean to be ugly, but I won't be trod on by nobody, When he wouldn't let me hev what money I wanted, I'd sell something every time. I sold two tons of hay one time, when I knew that he only hed enough to winter his critters. So, on the whole, he found out that ', wasn't afraid of him, and he behaved quite decent. I told him, not long ago that he was growin' clever. 'Clever!' sez he. Td ruther you cali me a dog-goned fule, than clever.' But I notice he has improved, an' I lay it ter bis