She was as plucky and clever and spirited as she was handsome,
and she made a brave fight of it with Foxy; long enough to bring
a daughter into the world, to name her Waitstill, and start her a
little way on her life journey,--then she, too, gave up the
struggle and died. Typhoid fever it was, combined with complete
loss of illusions, and a kind of despairing rage at having made
so complete a failure of her existence.

The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually busy, offered a man a
good young heifer if he would jog about the country a little and
pick him up a housekeeper; a likely woman who would, if she
proved energetic, economical, and amiable, be eventually raised
to the proud position of his wife. If she was young, healthy,
smart, tidy, capable, and a good manager, able to milk the cows,
harness the horse, and make good butter, he would give a dollar
and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may
seem, she said "yes" when the Deacon (whose ardor was kindled at
having paid three months' wages) proposed a speedy marriage. The
two boys by this time had reached the age of discretion, and one
of them evinced the fact by promptly running away to parts
unknown, never to be heard from afterwards; while the other, a
reckless and unhappy lad, was drowned while running on the logs
in the river. Old Foxy showed little outward sign of his loss,
though he had brought the boys into the world solely with the
view of having one of them work on the farm and the other in the
store.

His third wife, the one originally secured for a housekeeper,
bore him a girl, very much to his disgust, a girl named Patience,
and great was Waitstill's delight at this addition to the dull