" It was well written, carefully
spelled, and enclosed in a square white envelope.
Sir [it ran stiffly]: I shall be obliged if you do not chop any
more wood for me. Hereafter I shall use the oil stove. HULDAH PENDLETON
GREGG.
Cyrus choked, and peered at the name with suddenly blurred eyes: the
"Huldah Pendleton" was fiercely black and distinct; the "Gregg" was so
faint it could scarcely be discerned.
"Why, it's 'most like a d'vorce!" he shivered.
If it had not been so pitiful, it would have been ludicrous--what
followed. Day after day, in one corner of the kitchen, an old man boiled
his potatoes and fried his unappetizing eggs over a dusty, unblacked
stove; in the other corner an old woman baked and brewed over a shining
idol of brass and black enamel--and always the baking and brewing
carried to the nostrils of the hungry man across the room the aroma of
some dainty that was a particular favorite of his own.
The man whistled, and the woman hummed--at times; but they did not talk,
except when some neighbor came in; and then they both talked very loud
and very fast--to the neighbor. On this one point were Cyrus Gregg and
his wife Huldah agreed; under no circumstances whatever must any
gossiping outsider know.
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