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

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“Yes, it will do me good to go out, and I may find some wild flowers.”

 

“I guess you can, a million or two.”

 

By the time he was through at the barn she was ready and they started up the

lane, now green with late April grass and enlivened with dandelions in which

bumblebees were wallowing. The sun had dried the moisture sufficiently for

them to pass on dry-shod, but everything had the fresh, vernal aspect that

follows a warm rain. Spring had advanced with a great bound since the day

before. The glazed and glutinous cherry buds had expanded with aromatic odors

and the white of the blossoms was beginning to show.

 

“By tomorrow,” said Holcroft, “the trees will look as if covered with snow.

Let me help you,” and he put his hand under her arm, supporting and aiding her

steps up the steep places.

 

Her lips were parted, the pleased look was in her eyes as they rested on trees

and shrubs which lined the half ruinous stone walls on either side.

“Everything seems so alive and glad this afternoon,” she remarked.

 

“Yes,” replied the matter-of-fact farmer. “A rain such as we had this morning

is like turning the water on a big mill-wheel. It starts all the machinery

right up. Now the sun’s out, and that’s the greatest motor power of all. Sun

and moisture make the farm go.”

 

“Mustn’t the ground be enriched, too?”

 

“Yes, yes indeed; I suppose that’s where we all fail. But it’s no easy matter

to keep a farm in good heart. That’s another reason why I’m so glad I won’t

have to sell my stock. A farm run without stock is sure to grow poor, and if

the farm grows poor, the owner does as a matter of course. But what put

enriching the ground into your head? Do you know anything about farming?”

 

“No, but I want to learn. When I was a girl, father had a garden. He used to

take papers about it, and I often read them aloud to him evenings. Now I

remember there used to be much in them about enriching the ground. Do you

take any such paper?”

 

“No, I haven’t much faith in book-farming.”

 

“I don’t know,” she ventured. “Seems to me you might get some good ideas out

of papers, and your experience would teach you whether they were useful ideas

or not. If you’ll take one, I’ll read it to you.”

 

“I will, then, for the pleasure of hearing you read, if nothing else. That’s

something I hadn’t bargained for,” he added, laughing.

 

She answered in the same spirit by saying, “I’ll throw that in and not call it

square yet.”

 

“I think I’ve got the best of you,” he chuckled; “and you know nothing makes a

Yankee farmer happier than to get the best of a bargain.”

 

“I hope you’ll continue to think so. Can I sit down a few moments?”

 

“Why, certainly! How forgetful I am! Your talk is too interesting for me to

think of anything else,” and he placed her on a flat rock by the side of the

lane while he leaned against the wall.

 

Bees and other insects were humming around them; a butterfly fluttered over

the fence and alighted on a dandelion almost at her feet; meadow larks were

whistling their limpid notes in the adjoining fields, while from the trees

about the house beneath them came the songs of many birds, blending with the

babble of the brook which ran not far away.

 

“Oh, how beautiful, how strangely beautiful it all is!”

 

“Yes, when you come to think of it, it is real pretty,” he replied. “It’s a

pity we get so used to such things that we don’t notice ‘em much. I should

feel miserable enough, though, if I couldn’t live in just such a place. I

shouldn’t wonder if I was a good deal like that robin yonder. I like to be

free and enjoy the spring weather, but I suppose neither he nor I think or

know how fine it all is.”

 

“Well, both you and the robin seem a part of it,” she said, laughing.

 

“Oh, no, no!” he replied with a guffaw which sent the robin off in alarm. “I

aint beautiful and never was.”

 

She joined his laugh, but said with a positive little nod, “I’m right, though.

The robin isn’t a pretty bird, yet everybody likes him.”

 

“Except in cherry time. Then he has an appetite equal to mine. But everybody

don’t like me. In fact, I think I’m generally disliked in this town.”

 

“If you went among them more they wouldn’t dislike you.”

 

“I don’t want to go among them.”

 

“They know it, and that’s the reason they dislike you.”

 

“Would you like to go out to tea-drinkings, and all that?”

 

“No, indeed; and I don’t suppose I’d be received,” she added sadly.

 

“So much the worse for them, then, blast ‘em!” said Holcroft wrathfully.

 

“Oh no! I don’t feel that way and you shouldn’t. When they can, people ought

to be sociable and kind.”

 

“Of course I’d do any of my neighbors, except Lemuel Weeks, a good turn if it

came in my way, but the less I have to do with them the better I’m satisfied.”

 

“I’m rested enough to go on now,” said Alida quietly.

 

They were not long in reaching the edge of the woodland, from which there was

an extended prospect. For some little time they looked at the wide landscape

in silence. Alida gave to it only partial attention for her mind was very

busy with thoughts suggested by her husband’s alienation from his neighbors.

It would make it easier for her, but the troubled query would arise, “Is it

right or best for him? His marrying me will separate him still more.”

 

Holcroft’s face grew sad rather than troubled as he looked at the old meeting

house and not at the landscape. He was sitting near the spot where he spent

that long forenoon a few Sundays before, and the train of thought came back

again. In his deep abstraction, he almost forgot the woman near him in

memories of the past.

 

His old love and lost faith were inseparable from that little white spire in

the distance.

 

Alida stole a glance at him and thought, “He’s thinking of her,” and she

quietly strolled away to look for wild flowers.

 

“Yes,” muttered Holcroft, at last. “I hope Bessie knows. She’d be the first

one to say it was right and best for me, and she’d be glad to know that in

securing my own home and comfort I had given a home to the homeless and

sorrowful—a quiet, good woman, who worships God as she did.”

 

He rose and joined his wife, who held toward him a handful of trailing

arbutus, rue anemones, bloodroot, and dicentras. “I didn’t know they were so

pretty before,” he said with a smile.

 

His smile reassured her for it seemed kinder than any she had yet received,

and his tone was very gentle. “His dead wife will never be my enemy,” she

murmured. “He has made it right with her in his own thoughts.”

 

Chapter XXIV. Given Her Own Way

 

On Monday the absorbing work of the farm was renewed, and every day brought to

Holcroft long and exhausting hours of labor. While he was often taciturn, he

evidently progressed in cheerfulness and hope. Alida confirmed his good

impressions. His meals were prompt and inviting; the house was taking on an

aspect of neatness and order long absent, and his wardrobe was put in as good

condition as its rather meager character permitted. He had positively refused

to permit his wife to do any washing and ironing. “We will see about it next

fall,” he said. “If then you are perfectly well and strong, perhaps, but not

in the warm weather now coming on.” Then he added, with a little nod, “I’m

finding out how valuable you are, and I’d rather save you than the small sum I

have to pay old Mrs. Johnson.”

 

In this and in other ways he showed kindly consideration, but his mind

continually reverted to his work and outdoor plans with the preoccupation of

one who finds that he can again give his thoughts to something from which they

had been most reluctantly withdrawn. Thus Alida was left alone most of the

time. When the dusk of evening came he was too tired to say much, and he

retired early that he might be fresh for work again when the sun appeared.

She had no regrets, for although she kept busy she was resting and her wounds

were healing through the long, quiet days.

 

It was the essential calm after the storm. Caring for the dairy and working

the butter into firm, sweet, tempting yellow rolls were the only tasks that

troubled her a little, but Holcroft assured her that she was learning these

important duties faster than he had expected her to. She had several hours a

day in which to ply her needle, and thus was soon enabled to replenish her

scanty wardrobe.

 

One morning at breakfast she appeared in another gown, and although its

material was calico, she had the appearance to Holcroft of being unusually

well dressed. He looked pleased, but made no comment. When the cherry

blossoms were fully out, an old cracked flower vase—the only one in the

house—was filled with them, and they were placed in the center of the dinner

table. He looked at them and her, then smilingly remarked, “I shouldn’t

wonder if you enjoyed those cherry blows more than anything else we have for

dinner.”

 

“I want something else, though. My appetite almost frightens me.”

 

“That’s famous! I needn’t be ashamed of mine, then.”

 

One evening, before the week was over, he saw her busy with a rake about the

door. Last year’s leaves were still scattered about, with twigs and even

small boughs wrested by the winds from the trees. He was provoked with

himself that he had neglected the usual spring clearing away of litter, and a

little irritated that she should have tried to do the work herself. He left

the horses at the barn and came forward directly. “Alida,” he said gravely,

“there’s no need of your doing such work; I don’t like to see you do it.”

 

“Why,” she replied, “I’ve heard that women in the country often milk and take

care of the chickens.”

 

“Yes, but that’s very different from this work. I wouldn’t like people to

think I expected such things of you.”

 

“It’s very easy work,” she said smilingly, “easier than sweeping a room,

though something like it. I used to do it at home when I was a girl. I think

it does me good to do something in the open air.”

 

She was persisting, but not in a way that chafed him. Indeed, as he looked

into her appealing eyes and face flushed with exercise, he felt that it would

be churlish to say another word.

 

“Well,” he said, laughing, “it makes you look so young and rosy I guess it

does you good. I suppose you’ll have to have your own way.”

 

“You know I wouldn’t do this or anything else if you really didn’t want me

to.”

 

“You are keen,” he replied, with his good nature entirely restored. “You can

see that you get me right under your thumb when you talk that way. But we

must both be on our guard against your fault, you know, or pretty soon you’ll

be taking the whole work of the farm