He Fell In Love With His Wife by Edward Payson Roe (best books to read for students TXT) 📖
- Author: Edward Payson Roe
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and Jane abiding there, seem a refuge. In the morning after the day on which
he had brought, or in a sense had carted, Mrs. Wiggins to his domicile, Nature
was evidently bent on instituting contrasts between herself and the rival
phases of femininity with which the farmer was compelled to associate. It may
have been that she had another motive and was determined to keep her humble
worshiper at her feet, and to render it impossible for him to make the changes
toward which he had felt himself driven.
Being an early riser he was up with the sun, and the sun rose so serenely and
smiled so benignly that Holcroft’s clouded brow cleared in spite of all that
had happened or could take place. The rain, which had brought such discomfort
the night before, had settled the ground and made it comparatively firm to his
tread. The southern breeze which fanned his cheek was as soft as the air of
May. He remembered that it was Sunday, and that beyond feeding his stock and
milking, he would have nothing to do. He exulted in the unusual mildness and
thought, with an immense sense of relief, “I can stay outdoors nearly all
day.” He resolved to let his help kindle the fire and get breakfast as they
could, and to keep out of their way. Whatever changes the future might bring,
he would have one more long day in rambling about his fields and in thinking
over the past. Feeling that there need be no haste about anything, he
leisurely inhaled the air, fragrant from springing grass, and listened with a
vague, undefined pleasure to the ecstatic music of the bluebirds,
song-sparrows, and robins. If anyone had asked him why he liked to hear them,
he would have replied, “I’m used to ‘em. When they come, I know that plowing
and planting time is near.”
It must be admitted that Holcroft’s enjoyment of spring was not very far
removed from that of the stock in his barnyard. All the animal creation
rejoices in the returning sun and warmth. A subtle, powerful influence sets
the blood in more rapid motion, kindles new desires, and awakens a glad
expectancy. All that is alive becomes more thoroughly alive and existence in
itself is a pleasure. Spring had always brought to the farmer quickened
pulses, renewed activity and hopefulness, and he was pleased to find that he
was not so old and cast down that its former influence had spent itself.
Indeed, it seemed that never before had his fields, his stock, and outdoor
work—and these comprised Nature to him—been so attractive. They remained
unchanged amid the sad changes which had clouded his life, and his heart clung
more tenaciously than ever to old scenes and occupations. They might not
bring him happiness again, but he instinctively felt that they might insure a
comfort and peace with which he could be content.
At last he went to the barn and began his work, doing everything slowly, and
getting all the solace he could from the tasks. The horses whinnied their
welcome and he rubbed their noses caressingly as he fed them. The cows came
briskly to the rack in which he foddered them in pleasant weather, and when he
scratched them between the horns they turned their mild, Juno-like eyes upon
him with undisguised affection. The chickens, clamoring for their breakfast,
followed so closely that he had to be careful where he stepped. Although he
knew that all this good will was based chiefly on the hope of food and the
remembrance of it in the past, nevertheless it soothed and pleased him. He
was in sympathy with this homely life; it belonged to him and was dependent on
him; it made him honest returns for his care. Moreover, it was agreeably
linked with the past. There were quiet cows which his wife had milked,
clucking biddies which she had lifted from nests with their downy broods. He
looked at them wistfully, and was wondering if they ever missed the presence
that he regretted so deeply, when he became conscious that Jane’s eyes were
upon him. How long she had been watching him he did not know, but she merely
said, “Breakfast’s ready,” and disappeared.
With a sigh he went to his room to perform his ablutions, remembering with a
slight pang how his wife always had a basin and towel ready for him in the
kitchen. In the breaking up of just such homely customs, he was continually
reminded of his loss.
On awakening to the light of this Sabbath morning, Mrs. Mumpson had thought
deeply and reasoned everything out again. She felt that it must be an
eventful day and that there was much to be accomplished. In the first place
there was Mrs. Wiggins. She disapproved of her decidedly. “She isn’t the sort
of person that I would prefer to superintend,” she remarked to Jane while
making a toilet which she deemed befitting the day, “and the hour will
assuredly come when Mr. Holcroft will look upon her in the light that I do.
He will eventually realize that I cannot be brought in such close relationship
with a pauper. Not that the relationship is exactly close, but then I shall
have to speak to her—in brief, to superintend her. My eyes will be offended
by her vast proportions and uncouth appearance. The floor creaks beneath her
tread and affects my nerves seriously. Of course, while she is here, I shall
zealously, as befits one in my responserble position, try to render useful
such service as she can perform. But then, the fact that I disapprove of her
must soon become evident. When it is discovered that I only tolerate her,
there will be a change. I cannot show my disapproval very strongly today for
this is a day set apart for sacred things, and Mrs. Viggins, as she called
herself,—I cannot imagine a Mr. Viggins for no man in his senses could have
married such a creature,—as I was saying, Mrs. Viggins is not at all sacred,
and I must endeavor to abstract my mind from her till tomorrow, as far as
posserble. My first duty today is to induce Mr. Holcroft to take us to
church. It will give the people of Oakville such a pleasing impression to see
us driving to church. Of course, I may fail, Mr. Holcroft is evidently a
hardened man. All the influences of his life have been adverse to spiritual
development, and it may require some weeks of my influence to soften him and
awaken yearnings for what he has not yet known.”
“He may be yearnin’ for breakfast,” Jane remarked, completing her toilet by
tying her little pigtail braid with something that had once been a bit of
black ribbon, but was now a string. “You’d better come down soon and help.”
“If Mrs. Viggins cannot get breakfast, I would like to know what she is here
for” continued Mrs. Mumpson loftily, and regardless of Jane’s departure. “I
shall decline to do menial work any longer, especially on this sacred day, and
after I have made my toilet for church. Mr. Holcroft has had time to think.
My disapproval was manifest last night and it has undoubtedly occurred to him
that he has not conformed to the proprieties of life. Indeed, I almost fear I
shall have to teach him what the proprieties of life are. He witnessed my
emotions when he spoke as he should not have spoken to ME. But I must make
allowances for his unregenerate state. He was cold, and wet, and hungry last
night, and men are unreasonerble at such times. I shall now heap coals of
fire upon his head. I shall show that I am a meek, forgiving Christian woman,
and he will relent, soften, and become penitent. Then will be my
opportunity,” and she descended to the arena which should witness her efforts.
During the period in which Mrs. Mumpson had indulged in these lofty
reflections and self-communings, Mrs. Wiggins had also arisen. I am not sure
whether she had thought of anything in particular or not. She may have had
some spiritual longings which were not becoming to any day of the week. Being
a woman of deeds, rather than of thought, probably not much else occurred to
her beyond the duty of kindling the fire and getting breakfast. Jane came
down, and offered to assist, but was cleared out with no more scruple than if
Mrs. Wiggins had been one of the much-visited relatives.
“The hidee,” she grumbled, “of ‘avin’ sich a little trollop round hunder my
feet!”
Jane, therefore, solaced herself by watching the “cheap girl” till her mother
appeared.
Mrs. Mumpson sailed majestically in and took the rocking chair, mentally
thankful that it had survived the crushing weight imposed upon it the evening
before. Mrs. Wiggins did not drop a courtesy. Indeed, not a sign of
recognition passed over her vast, immobile face. Mrs. Mumpson was a little
embarrassed. “I hardly know how to comport myself toward that female,” she
thought. “She is utterly uncouth. Her manners are unmistakerbly those of a
pauper. I think I will ignore her today. I do not wish my feelings ruffled
or put out of harmony with the sacred duties and motives which actuate me.”
Mrs. Mumpson therefore rocked gently, solemnly, and strange to say, silently,
and Mrs. Wiggins also proceeded with her duties, but not in silence, for
everything in the room trembled and clattered at her tread. Suddenly she
turned on Jane and said, “‘Ere, you little baggage, go and tell the master
breakfast’s ready.”
Mrs. Mumpson sprang from her chair, and with a voice choked with indignation,
gasped, “Do you dare address my offspring thus?”
“Yer vat?”
“My child, my daughter, who is not a pauper, but the offspring of a most
respecterble woman and respecterbly connected. I’m amazed, I’m dumfoundered,
I’m—”
“Ye’re a bit daft, hi’m a-thinkin’.” Then to Jane, “Vy don’t ye go an’ hearn
yer salt?”
“Jane, I forbid—” But it had not taken Jane half a minute to decide between
the now jarring domestic powers, and henceforth she would be at Mrs. Wiggins’
beck and call. “She can do somethin’,” the child muttered, as she stole upon
Holcroft.
Mrs. Mumpson sank back in her chair, but her mode of rocking betokened a
perturbed spirit. “I will restrain myself till tomorrow, and then—” She
shook her head portentously and waited till the farmer appeared, feeling
assured that Mrs. Wiggins would soon be taught to recognize her station. When
breakfast was on the table, she darted to her place behind the coffeepot, for
she felt that there was no telling what this awful Mrs. Wiggins might not
assume during this day of sacred restraint. But the ex-pauper had no thought
of presumption in her master’s presence, and the rocking chair again
distracted Mrs. Mumpson’s nerves as it creaked under an unwonted weight.
Holcroft took his seat in silence. The widow again bowed her head devoutly,
and sighed deeply when observing that the farmer ignored her suggestion.
“I trust that you feel refreshed after your repose,” she said benignly.
“I do.”
“It is a lovely morning—a morning, I may add, befitting the sacred day.
Nature is at peace and suggests that we and all should be at peace.”
“There’s nothing I like more, Mrs. Mumpson, unless it is quiet.”
“I feel that way, myself. You don’t know what restraint I have put upon
myself that the sacred quiet of this day might not be disturbed. I have had
strong provercation since I entered this apartment. I will forbear to speak
of it till tomorrow in order that there may be quietness and that
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