Iola Leroy - Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (suggested reading txt) 📗

boy. Har’yet’s in clover now. Well, ebery dorg has its day, and de cat has Sunday. I allers tole Har’yet ter keep a stiff upper lip; dat it war a long road dat had no turn.”

Dr. Latimer was much gratified by the tender care Aunt Linda bestowed on Iola.

“I ain’t goin’ to let her do nuffin till she gits seasoned. She looks as sweet as a peach. I allers wanted some nice lady to come down yere and larn our gals some sense. I can’t read myself, but I likes ter yere dem dat can.”

“Well, Aunt Linda, I am going to teach in the Sunday-school, help in the church, hold mothers’ meetings to help these boys and girls to grow up to be good men and women. Won’t you get a pair of spectacles and learn to read?”

“Oh, yer can’t git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. I knows nuff to git to hebben, and dat’s all I wants to know.” Aunt Linda was kind and obliging, but there was one place where she drew the line, and that was at learning to read.

Harry and Miss Delany accompanied Iola as far as her new home, and remained several days. The evening before their departure, Harry took Miss Delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens.

“This thing is getting very monotonous,” Harry broke out, when they had gone some distance.

“Oh, I enjoy it!” replied Miss Delany. “These stately pines look so grand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks.”

“What in the world are you talking about, Lucille?” asked Harry, looking puzzled.

“About those pine-trees,” replied Miss Delany, in a tone of surprise.

“Pshaw, I wasn’t thinking about them. I’m thinking about Iola and Frank.”

“What about them?” asked Lucille.

“Why, when I was in P⁠⸺, Dr. Latimer used to be first-rate company, but now it is nothing but what Iola wants, and what Iola says, and what Iola likes. I don’t believe that there is a subject I could name to him, from spinning a top to circumnavigating the globe, that he wouldn’t somehow contrive to bring Iola in. And I don’t believe you could talk ten minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latest discovery in science, that she wouldn’t manage to lug in Frank.”

“Oh, you absurd creature!” responded Lucille, “this is their honeymoon, and they are deeply in love with each other. Wait till you get in love with someone.”

“I am in love now,” replied Harry, with a serious air.

“With whom?” asked Lucille, archly.

“With you,” answered Harry, trying to take her hand.

“Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed, playfully resisting. “Don’t be so nonsensical! Don’t you think the bride looked lovely, with that dress of spotless white and with those orange blossoms in her hair?”

“Yes, she did; that’s a fact,” responded Harry. “But, Lucille, I think there is a great deal of misplaced sentiment at weddings,” he added, more seriously.

“How so?”

“Oh, here are a couple just married, and who are as happy as happy can be; and people will crowd around them wishing much joy; but who thinks of wishing joy to the forlorn old bachelors and restless old maids?”

“Well, Harry, if you want people to wish you much happiness, why don’t you do as the doctor has done, get yourself a wife?”

“I will,” he replied, soberly, “when you say so.”

“Oh, Harry, don’t be so absurd.”

“Indeed there isn’t a bit of absurdity about what I say. I am in earnest.” There was something in the expression of Harry’s face and the tone of his voice which arrested the banter on Lucille’s lips.

“I think it was Charles Lamb,” replied Lucille, “who once said that schoolteachers are uncomfortable people, and, Harry, I would not like to make you uncomfortable by marrying you.”

“You will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me.”

“But,” replied Lucille, “your mother may not prefer me for a daughter. You know, Harry, complexional prejudices are not confined to white people.”

“My mother,” replied Harry, with an air of confidence, “is too noble to indulge in such sentiments.”

“And Iola, would she be satisfied?”

“Why, it would add to her satisfaction. She is not one who can’t be white and won’t be black.”

“Well, then,” replied Lucille, “I will take the question of your comfort into consideration.”

The above promise was thoughtfully remembered by Lucille till a bridal ring and happy marriage were the result.

Soon after Iola had settled in C⁠⸺ she quietly took her place in the Sunday-school as a teacher, and in the church as a helper. She was welcomed by the young pastor, who found in her a strong and faithful ally. Together they planned meetings for the especial benefit of mothers and children. When the dens of vice are spreading their snares for the feet of the tempted and inexperienced her doors are freely opened for the instruction of the children before their feet have wandered and gone far astray. She has no carpets too fine for the tread of their little feet. She thinks it is better to have stains on her carpet than stains on their souls through any neglect of hers. In lowly homes and windowless cabins her visits are always welcome. Little children love her. Old age turns to her for comfort, young girls for guidance, and mothers for counsel. Her life is full of blessedness.

Doctor Latimer by his kindness and skill has won the name of the “Good Doctor.” But he is more than a successful doctor; he is a true patriot and a good citizen. Honest, just, and discriminating, he endeavors by precept and example to instill into the minds of others sentiments of good citizenship. He is a leader in every reform movement for the benefit of the community; but his patriotism is not confined to race lines. “The world is his country, and mankind his countrymen.” While he abhors their deeds of violence, he pities the shortsighted and besotted men who seem madly intent upon laying magazines of powder under the cradles of unborn generations. He has