University of Virginia Library

MR. COBLEIGH LOOKS AFTER THE BREAD.

MRS. COBLElGH had to run over to a neighbor's see about pickling some green tomatoes. She had a loaf of bread in the oven; and she told Cobleigh to take care of it. Mr. Cobleigh was home with a boil on his knee. She said, "It won't be any trouble to you. In about fifteen minutes, it will be done at this end; and then you turn it around so that the other can bake. I'll be back in time to take it out."

Then she threw a shawl over her head, and started. About five minutes after she was gone, one of the neighbors came in to show Mr. Cobleigh

a double-barrelled gun which he had just bought. After Mr. Cobleigh had carefully examined it, and held it up, and aimed at imaginary game with it, he was forcibly reminded of a gun which his father owned when Cobleigh was a boy, and when the family were living in Sandersville. There were a number of astonishing incidents connected with this remarkable fowling-piece, which Cobleigh proceeded to relate in a vivid and captivating manner. Suddenly the neighbor snuffed up his nose, and hastily observed,—

"I say, what's the matter here? Any thing afire?"

Cobleigh glanced at the stove, and then at the clock, while his face became pallid.

"By Jove!" he ejaculated, "my wife told me to look at that bread in fifteen minutes; and she's been gone over a half-hour. That's what's burning." And Cobleigh, with an expression of genuine distress, essayed to rise; but the neighbor promptly came to his relief.

"Let me tend to it; you can't get around easily," he said.

He opened the oven-door, and a puff of smoke came out.

"It's a goner, I'm afraid," he said, dropping on his knees.

It appeared to be so. Two-thirds of the loaf was as black as the ace of spades; and there were

little flakes of live coal scattered over its surface. With that impulsive, trusting nature peculiar to a man, the sympathetic neighbor thrust his hand into the oven, and laid hold of that blazing, baking tin without the faintest hesitation. Then he drew out his hand, with the awfullest howl ever heard on that street, and—

Poor Mr. Cobleigh! In his anxiety for the bread, and sympathy for his wife, he had approached to the rear of his friend, and was looking over his shoulder at the ruin, when the astonished arm was swung back; and the owner thereof instantly lost sight of his own misery in the terrific yell which ascended just behind him. The arm struck an obstacle; and the unfortunate Mr. Cobleigh rolled over on the floor, screaming with all his might,—

"You've busted it! O heavens! you've busted it!"

It was an anguish no mortal words could allay. The neighbor saw this at a glance: so he picked up his gun, and silently scudded home. A moment later, Mrs. Cobleigh came in; and the instant she opened the door, Mr. Cobleigh ceased his moans, scrambled to his feet, and stalked majestically to their bedroom, where he locked the door, and put the bureau against it. Three minutes later, Mrs. Cobleigh knocked at the door for admittance; but of course it was not opened.

Then she put her mouth to the keyhole, and shouted.—

"I wouldn't make a fool of myself, if I was you, John Cobleigh. It is a great pity I can't be gone out of this house A SINGLE MINUTE, but that the whole place has got to be turned upside down, and things go to ruin."

She actually said that.

THE quilting-season is upon us. The frames are up stairs in the garret, with the nails conspicuously standing out in them. The man of the house brings them down. It takes about an hour to bring down a set of quilting-frames in a proper manner. In the first place, they have to be got out from under five barrels, two trunks, and an assortment of boxes; and it's wonderful the quality of tenacity one nail possesses when it gets caught under some object you cannot see. The frames catch against the chimney, or entangle with the rafters; while there is never any unity between them in descending a narrow stairway. No one really knows how a man gets down stairs with a set of quilting-frames; but anybody not irredeemably deaf knows that it is being done, if on the same street with the performance. Then the frame is bolstered up on chairs in the best room, and the long arms stick out, and catch the unwary husband in his clothes, and, in turn, are dropped to the floor just as the weary wife is about to take a

stitch; and the remarks she makes as the quilt suddenly collapses are calculated to instantaneously transform his scalp into a parade-ground. Four pounds of cotton-batting are required on this occasion: three and a half pounds go into the quilt, and the other half-pound he carries around with him on his clothes.

THE dining-room stove is not up yet, of course. It is a little too early, and the cleaning is not yet done: besides, the heat from the kitchen-fire is a great help, as you will perceive while turning up the sleeves to your overcoat, so as not to get them in the breakfast coffee.