John never finished his breakfast; he saddled the old white mare.
She seemed to know there was trouble, and galloped as free and fair
And even a gait as she ever struck when she was a five-year-old:
The knowingest beast we ever had, and worth her weight in gold.
He turned in the saddle and called to me--I watched him from
the door--
"I shan't be home to dinner," says he, "but I'll be back by four.
I'd fasten the doors if I was you, and keep at home to-day;"
And a little chill came over me as I watched him ride away.
I went in and washed the dishes--I was sort of scary too.
We had 'ranged to go away that day. I hadn't much to do,
Though I always had some sewing work, and I got it and sat down;
But the old clock tick-tacked loud at me, and I put away the gown.
I thought the story over: how Anderson had been
A clever, steady fellow, so far's they knew, till then.
Some said his wife had tried him, but he got to drinking hard,
Till last he struck her with an axe and killed her in the yard.
The only thing I heard he said was, he was most to blame;
But he fought the men that took him like a tiger. 'Twas a shame
He'd got away; he ought to swing: a man that killed his wife
And broke her skull in with an axe--he ought to lose his life!
Our house stood in a lonesome place, the woods were all around,
But I could see for quite a ways across the open ground;
I couldn't help, for the life o' me, a-looking now and then
All along the edge o' the growth, and listening for the men.
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