She was Thirty, and
looked Sixty. Her Complexion was like Parchment and her Voice had been
worn to a Cackle. She was losing her Teeth, too, but Henry could not
afford to pay Dentist Bills because he needed all his Money to buy more
Poland Chinas and build other Cribs. If she wanted a Summer Kitchen or a
new Wringer or a Sewing Machine, or Anything Else that would lighten her
Labors, Henry would Moan and Grumble and say she was trying to land him
in the Poorhouse.
They had a dandy big Barn, painted Red With White Trimmings, and a
Patent Fork to lift the Hay into the Mow, and the Family lived in a Pine
Box that had not been Painted in Years and had Dog-Fennel all around the
Front of it.
The Wife of the Respected Farmer was the only Work Animal around the
Place that was not kept Fat and Sleek. But, of course, Henry did not
count on Selling her. Henry often would fix up his Blooded Stock for the
County Fair and tie Blue Ribbons on the Percherons and Herefords, but it
was never noticed that he tied any Blue Ribbons on the Wife.
And yet Henry was a Man to be Proud of.
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