He Fell In Love With His Wife - Edward Payson Roe (the speed reading book .txt) 📗

the coldest of rain and made his house, with even Mrs. Mumpson

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