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

the eyes if he charged you with

doing a good deed. But what does your wife say to adopting such a cherub?”

 

“We’re not going to adopt her or bind ourselves. My wife took the child’s

part and plead with me in her behalf, though I could see the young one almost

made her sick. She thinks it’s her duty, you know, and that’s enough for

her.”

 

“By jocks, Holcroft! She don’t feel that way about you, does she?”

 

“Why shouldn’t she?”

 

“Why should she? I can take about anything from Angy, but it wouldn’t do for

her to let me see that she disliked me so that I kinder made her sick.”

 

“Oh, thunder, Tom! You’re getting a wrong impression. I was never treated

better by anybody in my life than by Mrs. Holcroft. She’s a lady, every inch

of her. But there’s no reason why she should dote on an old fellow like me.”

 

“Yes, there is. I have my opinion of a woman who wouldn’t dote on a man

that’s been such a friend as you have.”

 

“Oh, hang it all, Tom! Let’s talk about business. She’s too grateful—that’s

what worries me. By the way she took hold and filled the house with comfort

she made everything even from the start. She’s been as good a friend to me as

I to her. She’s done all she agreed and more, and I’ll never hear a word

against her. The point I’ve been trying to get at is this: If Mrs. Mumpson

will agree never to come near us or make trouble in any way, we’ll take the

child. If she won’t so agree, I’ll have nothing to do with the girl. I don’t

want to see her mother, and you’d do me one of the kindest turns you ever did

a man by stating the case to her.”

 

“If I do,” said Watterly, laughing, “you’ll have to forgive me everything in

the past and the future.”

 

“I will, Tom, for I’d rather have an eye tooth pulled than face that woman.

We’re all right—just as we used to be at school, always half quarreling, yet

ready to stand up for each other to the last drop. But I must have her

promise in black and white.”

 

“Well, come to my office and we’ll try to arrange it. The law is on your

side, for the county won’t support people that anyone will take off its hands.

Besides I’m going to shame the woman’s relations into taking her away, and

they’ll be glad there’s one less to support.”

 

They drew up a brief, strong agreement, and Watterly took it to the widow to

sign. He found her in great excitement and Jane looking at her defiantly. “I

told you he was the one who enticed away my offspring,” she began, almost

hysterically. “He’s a cold-blooded villain! If there’s a law in the land,

I’ll—”

 

“Stop!” thundered Watterly. His voice was so high and authoritative that she

did stop, and with open mouth stared at the superintendent. “Now, be quiet and

listen to me,” he continued. “Either you are a sane woman and can stop this

foolishness, or else you are insane and must be treated as such. You have

your choice. You can’t tell me anything about Holcroft; I’ve known him since

he was a boy. He doesn’t want your girl. She ran away to him, didn’t you?”

to Jane, who nodded. “But he’s willing to take her, to teach her something and

give her a chance. His motive is pure kindness, and he has a good wife

who’ll—”

 

“I see it all,” cried the widow, tragically clasping her hands. “It’s his

wife’s doings! She wishes to triumph over me, and even to usurp my place in

ministering to my child. Was there ever such an outrage? Such a bold,

vindictive female—”

 

Here Jane, in a paroxysm of indignant protest, seized her mother and began to

shake her so violently that she could not speak.

 

“Stop that!” said Watterly, repressing laughter with difficulty. “I see you

are insane and the law will have to step in and take care of you both.”

 

“What will it do with us?” gasped the widow.

 

“Well, it ought to put you in strait jackets to begin with—”

 

“I’ve got some sense if mother aint!” cried Jane, commencing to sob.

 

“It’s plain the law’ll decide your mother’s not fit to take care of you.

Anyone who can even imagine such silly ridiculous things as she’s just said

must be looked after. You MAY take a notion, Mrs. Mumpson, that I’m a

murderer or a giraffe. It would be just as sensible as your other talk.”

 

“What does Mr. Holcroft offer?” said the widow, cooling off rapidly. If there

was an atom of common sense left in any of his pauper charges, Watterly soon

brought it into play, and his vague threatenings of law were always

awe-inspiring.

 

“He makes a very kind offer that you would jump at if you had sense—a good

home for your child. You ought to know she can’t stay here and live on

charity if anyone is willing to take her.”

 

“Of course I would be permitted to visit my child from time to time? He

couldn’t be so monstrously hard-hearted as—”

 

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Watterly impatiently. “The idea of his letting you come

to his house after what you’ve said about him! I’ve no time to waste in

foolishness, or he either. He will let Jane visit you, but you are to sign

this paper and keep the agreement not to go near him or make any trouble

whatever.”

 

“It’s an abominable—”

 

“Tut! Tut! That kind of talk isn’t allowed here. If you can’t decide like a

sane woman the law’ll soon decide for you.”

 

As was always the case when Mrs. Mumpson reached the inevitable, she yielded;

the paper was signed, and Jane, who had already made up her small bundle,

nodded triumphantly to her mother and followed Watterly. Mrs. Mumpson, on

tiptoe, followed also, bent on either propitiating Holcroft and so preparing

the way for a visit, or else on giving him once more a “piece of her mind.”

 

“All right, Holcroft!” said Watterly, as he entered the office, “here’s the

paper signed. Was there ever such an id–—”

 

“Oh, how do you do, Mr. Holcroft?” cried the widow, bursting in and rushing

forward with extended hand.

 

The farmer turned away and looked as if made of stone.

 

Changing her tactics instantly, she put her handkerchief to her eyes and

moaned, “You never can have the heart to say I can’t come and see my child.

I’ve signed writings, ‘tis true, under threats and compulsions; but I trust

there will be relentings—”

 

“There won’t be one relent!” cried Jane. “I never want to see you again, and a

blind post could see that he doesn’t.”

 

“Jane,” said Holcroft sternly, “don’t speak so again. If strangers can be

kind and patient with you, you can be so with your mother. She has no claims

on me and has said things which make it impossible for me to speak to her

again, but I shall insist on your visiting and treating her kindly. Goodbye,

Watterly. You’ve proved yourself a friend again,” and he went rapidly away,

followed by Jane.

 

Mrs. Mumpson was so taken aback by Holcroft’s final words and Watterly’s stern

manner as he said, “This is my office,” that for once in her life she

disappeared silently.

 

Holcroft soon purchased the articles on his list, meanwhile racking his brains

to think of something that he could buy for Alida, but the fear of being

thought sentimental and of appearing to seek a personal regard for himself,

not “nominated in the bond,” restrained him.

 

On his way home he was again sunk in deep abstraction, but the bitterness of

his feeling had passed away. Although as mistaken as before in his

apprehension of Alida, his thoughts were kinder and juster. “I’ve no right to

find fault or complain,” he said to himself. “She’s done all I asked and

better than she agreed, and there’s no one to blame if she can’t do more. It

must have been plain enough to her at first that I didn’t want anything but a

housekeeper—a quiet, friendly body that would look after the house and dairy,

and she’s done better than I even hoped. That’s just the trouble; she’s

turned out so different from what I expected, and looks so different from what

she did, that I’m just sort of carried away. I’d give half the farm if she

was sitting by my side this June evening and I could tell her all I feel and

know she was glad. I must be just and fair to her. I asked her to agree to

one thing and now I’m beginning to want a tremendous sight more—I want her to

like not only her home and work and the quiet life she so longed for, but I

want her to like me, to enjoy my society, not only in a friendly, businesslike

way, but in another way—yes, confound my slow wits! Somewhat as if she was

my wife in reality and not merely in name, as I insisted. It’s mighty mean

business in me, who have been so proud of standing up to my agreements and so

exacting of others to do the same. I went away cold and stiff this afternoon

because she wasn’t silly and sentimental when I was. I’m to her an

unpolished, homely, middle-aged man, and yet I sort of scoffed at the

self-sacrifice which has led her to be pleasant and companionable in every way

that her feelings allowed. I wish I were younger and better looking, so it

wouldn’t all be a sense of duty and gratitude. Gratitude be hanged! I don’t

want any more of it. Well, now, James Holcroft, if you’re the square man you

supposed yourself to be, you’ll be just as kind and considerate as you know

how, and then you’ll leave Alida to the quiet, peaceful life to which she

looked forward when she married you. The thing for you to do is to go back to

your first ways after you were married and attend to the farm. She doesn’t

want you hanging around and looking at her as if she was one of her own

posies. That’s something she wasn’t led to expect and it would be mean enough

to force it upon her before she shows that she wishes it, and I couldn’t

complain if she NEVER wished it.”

 

During the first hour after Holcroft’s departure Alida had been perplexed and

worried, but her intuitions soon led to hopefulness, and the beauty and peace

of nature without aided in restoring her serenity. The more minutely she

dwelt on Holcroft’s words and manner, the more true it seemed that he was

learning to take an interest in her that was personal and apart from every

other consideration. “If I am gentle, patient, and faithful,” she thought,

“all will come out right. He is so true and straightforward that I need have

no fears.”

 

When he returned and greeted her with what seemed his old, friendly, natural

manner, and, during a temporary absence of Jane, told her laughingly of the

Mumpson episode, she was almost completely reassured. “Suppose the widow

breaks through all restraint and appears as did Jane, what would you do?” he

asked.

 

“Whatever you wished,” she replied, smiling.

 

“In other words, what you thought your duty?”

 

“I suppose that is what one should try to do.”

 

“I guess you are the one that would succeed in doing it, even to Mrs.

Mumpson,” he said, turning hastily