He Fell In Love With His Wife, Edward Payson Roe [children's books read aloud .TXT] 📗

and discontent come into her eyes in place of gratitude?

“Well, well!” he concluded, “this marrying is a risky experiment at best, but

Tom Watterly’s talk and her manner seemed to shut me up to it. I was made to

feel that I couldn’t go on in any other way; and I haven’t done anything

underhanded or wrong, as I see, for the chance of going on. If I hadn’t

become such a heathen I should say there was a Providence in it, but I don’t

know what to think about such things any more. Time’ll show, and the prospect

is better than it has been yet. She’ll never be sorry if she carries out the

agreement made today, if kindness and good will can repay her.”

 

Thus it may be seen that, although two life currents had become parallel, they

were still very distinct.

 

By the time Holcroft approached the lane leading to his dwelling, Alida was

growing very weary, and felt that her endurance had almost reached its limit.

Her face was so white in the moonlight that he asked solicitously, “You can

stand it a little longer, can’t you?”

 

“I’ll try. I’m very sorry I’m not stronger.”

 

“Don’t you worry about that! You won’t know yourself in a week. Here we are

at the lane and there’s the house yonder. A moment or two more and you’ll be

by the fire.”

 

A loud barking startled old Jonathan Johnson out of his doze, and he hastened

to replenish the fire and to call off his rather savage dog. He was a little

surprised to see Holcroft drive toward the kitchen door with a woman by his

side. “He’s tried his luck with another of them town gals,” he muttered, “but,

Jerusalem! She won’t stay a week, an’ my old woman’ll have the washin’ an’

mendin’ all the same.”

 

He could scarcely believe his ears and eyes when he heard the farmer say,

“Alida, you must let me lift you out,” and then saw the “town gal” set gently

on the ground, her hand placed on Holcroft’s arm as she was supported slowly

and carefully to the rocking chair beside the fire. “Jonathan,” was the quiet

announcement, “this is Mrs. Holcroft, my wife.”

 

“Jeru—beg a pardon. Wasn’t ‘spectin; jis’ sich a turn o’ things. Respects,

missus! Sorry to see yer enj’yin’ poor health.”

 

“Yes, Jonathan, Mrs. Holcroft has been sick, but she’s much better and will

soon be well. She’s very tired now from the long drive, but quiet life and

country air will soon make her strong. I’ll just step out and care for the

horses, Alida, and soon be back again. You come and help me, Jonathan, and

keep your dog off, too.”

 

The old man complied with rather poor grace for he would have preferred to

interview the bride, at whom he was staring with all his weak, watery eyes.

Holcroft understood his neighbor’s peculiarities too well to subject his wife

to this ordeal, and was bent on dispatching Jonathan homeward as soon as

possible.

 

“I say, Jim,” said the old guardsman, who felt that he was speaking to the boy

he had known for thirty odd years, “where on airth did you pick up sich a

sickly lookin’ critter?”

 

“I didn’t pick her up,” replied the farmer laughingly. “I married her fair and

square just as you did your wife a hundred years ago, more or less. Haven’t I

as good a right to get married as you had?”

 

“Oh, I aint a-disputin’ yer right, but it seems so kind o’ suddint that it’s

taken what little breath I’ve left.”

 

“How do you know it’s sudden? Did you go around telling everyone how you were

getting on when you were a-courting?”

 

“Well, I swan! Yer got me. ‘Taint so long ago that I disremember we did it

on the sly.”

 

“Well, now, Uncle Jonathan, you’ve got nothing to say against me for I didn’t

marry on the sly, although I’ve gone on the principle that my business wasn’t

everybody’s business. When I saw your wife about my washing and mending I

didn’t know I was going to be lucky so soon. You know you can’t marry a woman

in this country till she’s willing. But tell your wife she shan’t lose

anything, and the next time I go to town I’ll leave that settin’ of eggs she

wanted. Now, Jonathan, honor bright, do you feel able to walk home if I give

you fifty cents extra?”

 

“Why, sartinly! S’pose I’d take yer away on sich a ‘casion? My wife wouldn’t

let me in if she knowed it.”

 

“Well, you and your wife are good neighbors, and that’s more’n I can say for

most people in these parts. Here’s the money. Mrs. Holcroft isn’t strong or

well enough to talk any tonight. You got yourself a good supper, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, yes! Helped myself bount’fully. Good night, and good luck ter yer. I

can’t help thinkin’ it was kind o’ suddint though, and then she’s sich a

sickly lookin’ critter. Hope yer haven’t been taken in, but then, as you say,

the marryin’ business, like other kinds o’ business, is a man’s own business.”

 

“I hope everyone will take your sensible view, Uncle Jonathan. Good night.”

 

Chapter XXI. At Home

 

Alida was not so cold, weary, and almost faint but that she looked around the

old kitchen with the strongest interest. This interest was as unlike Mrs.

Mumpson’s curiosity as she was unlike the widow. It is true the thought of

self was prominent, yet hers were not selfish thoughts. There are some

blessed natures in the world that in doing the best for themselves do the best

that is possible for others.

 

The genial warmth of the fire was grateful to her chilled and enfeebled frame;

the homely kitchen, with its dresser of china ware, its tin closet and pantry,

the doors of which old Jonathan had left open, manlike, after helping himself

“bount’fully,” all suggested more comfort to this pallid bride, sitting there

alone, than wealth of ornament in elegant apartments has brought to many

others. She saw her chief domain, not in its coarse and common aspect, but as

her vantage ground, from which she could minister to the comforts of the one

who had rescued her. Few brides would care to enter the kitchen first, but

she was pleased; she who had scarcely hoped to smile again looked smilingly

around on the quaint, homelike room.

 

“And this is to be my home!” she murmured. “How strange, unexpected, yet

natural it all is! Just what he led me to expect. The little lonely

farmhouse, where I can be safe from staring eyes and unwounded by cruel

questionings. Yet that old man had a dozen questions on his tongue. I

believe HE took him away to save my feelings. It’s strange that so plain and

simple a man in most respects can be so considerate. Oh, pray God that all

goes on as it promises! I couldn’t have dreamt it this morning, but I have an

odd, homelike feeling already. Well, since I AM at home I may as well take

off my hat and cloak.”

 

And she did so. Holcroft entered and said heartily, “That’s right, Alida!

You are here to stay, you know. You mustn’t think it amiss that I left you a

few moments alone for I had to get that talkative old man off home. He’s

getting a little childish and would fire questions at you point-blank.”

 

“But shouldn’t you have taken him home in the wagon? I don’t mind being

alone.”

 

“Oh, no! He’s spry enough to walk twice the distance and often does. It’s

light as day outside, and I made it right with him. You can leave your things

upstairs in your room, and I’ll carry up your bundles also if you are rested

enough for the journey.”

 

“Oh, yes!” she replied, “I’m feeling better already.”

 

He led the way to the apartment that Mrs. Mumpson had occupied and said

regretfully, “I’m sorry the room looks so bare and comfortless, but that will

all be mended in time. When you come down, we’ll have some coffee and

supper.”

 

She soon reappeared in the kitchen, and he continued, “Now I’ll show you that

I’m not such a very helpless sort of man, after all; so if you’re sick you

needn’t worry. I’m going to get you a good cup of coffee and broil you a

piece of steak.”

 

“Oh! Please let me—” she began.

 

“No, can’t allow you to do anything tonight but sit in that chair. You

promised to mind, you know,” and he smiled so genially that she smiled back at

him although tears came into her eyes.

 

“I can’t realize it all,” she said in a low voice. “To think how this day

began and how it is ending!”

 

“It’s ending in a poor man’s kitchen, Alida. It was rather rough to bring you

in here first, but the parlor is cold and comfortless.

 

“I would rather be brought here. It seems to me that it must be a light and

cheerful room.”

 

“Yes, the sun shines in these east windows, and there’s another window facing

the south, so it’s light all day long.”

 

She watched him curiously and with not a little self-reproach as he deftly

prepared supper. “It’s too bad for me to sit idle while you do such things,

yet you do everything so well that I fear I shall seem awkward. Still, I

think I do at least know how to cook a little.”

 

“If you knew what I’ve had to put up with for a year or more, you wouldn’t

worry about satisfying me in this respect. Except when old Mrs. Wiggins was

here, I had few decent meals that I didn’t get myself,” and then, to cheer her

up, he laughingly told her of Mrs. Mumpson’s essay at making coffee. He had a

certain dry humor, and his unwonted effort at mimicry was so droll in itself

that Alida was startled to hear her own voice in laughter, and she looked

almost frightened, so deeply had she been impressed that it would never be

possible or even right for her to laugh again.

 

The farmer was secretly much pleased at his success. If she would laugh, be

cheerful and not brood, he felt sure she would get well and be more contented.

The desperate view she had taken of her misfortunes troubled him, and he had

thought it possible that she might sink into despondency and something like

invalidism; but that involuntary bubble of laughter reassured him. “Quiet,

wholesome, cheerful life will restore her to health,” he thought, as he put

his favorite beverage and the sputtering steak on the table. “Now,” he said,

placing a chair at the table, “you can pour me a cup of coffee.”

 

“I’m glad I can do something,” she answered, “for I can’t get over the

strangeness of being so waited on. Indeed, everything that was unexpected or

undreamt of has happened,” and there was just the faintest bit of color on her

cheeks as she sat down opposite him.

 

Few men are insensible to simple, natural, womanly grace, and poor Holcroft,

who so long had been compelled to see at his table “perfect terrors,” as he

called them, was agreeably impressed by the contrast she made with the Mumpson

and Malony species. Alida unconsciously had a subtle charm of carriage and

action, learned in her long past and happy girlhood when all her associations

were good and refined. Still, in its truest explanation, this grace is native

and not acquired; it is a personal trait. Incapable of nice analysis or fine

definitions,