THE MISSION OF A NIGHT.
AN exceedingly fine and stealthy rain stole upon Danbury late last night.
It came so quietly, and froze so thoroughly, that not a soul knew of its
presence on the walk and stoop. There was nothing to indicate its being there
until it was stepped upon; and all Danbury came out doors as innocent and
as unsuspecting as a babe in a spittoon. The general tableau was a back-stoop,
with a hired girl frantically endeavoring to separate herself and a pail
of slops, and to strike the ground on her feet; while at the front-door a
sweet voice murmured "Good-by, dearest; come home early;" and a deep bass
voice in response, "Yes, my precious, I'll—Whoop! Great heav—!
Ouch!" At nine A.M., there wasn't a rheumatic person in town who knew
where his liniment was.
