Discord reigned among them. Hannah was a wreck of her former self. She
had strung up her patience to its utmost tension, and would often bear
the scorn and abuse of her husband in sorrowful silence.
But this state of things passed away, and when her children shared
in her sufferings, the bitter waters were stirred in their deep
fountains, and she became a worn woman, with a hasty spirit. The
biting retort was now often upon her lips, and she became in a true
sense of the word, what might well be called a scold.
One gloomy fall day, when the sighing winds shook the mellow apples
from the trees in the large thrifty orchard, that stood before the
house, casting so deep a shade that the rays of the sun could scarcely
penetrate it, and the old house looked blacker for the rain that had
fallen upon it, Mr. Benson was seized for debt, and, conveyed to jail.
During his absence Mrs. Benson purchased some apples of the man that
then owned the orchard, and dried them, hoping to obtain some
needful clothing for herself and children. She cleaned her ceiling,
whitewashed the plastering, and made everything about the house look
as comfortable as possible, and enjoyed the privilege, at least, of
doing as she pleased, without being found fault with, which was to her
a great luxury, as her expressed wishes were generally vetoed at once.
She was a true mother, and strove to bring her children up in the
paths of truth and honesty.
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