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

sent him to prison.”

 

“He took the chance of killing me last night,” was the cold reply. “What’s far

worse, he insulted my wife.”

 

“Oh, Mr. Holcroft! He was young and foolish; he didn’t realize—”

 

“Were you and your husband young and foolish,” he interrupted bitterly, “when

you gulled me into employing that crazy cousin of yours?”

 

This retort was so overwhelming that Mrs. Weeks sobbed speechlessly.

 

Alida could not help overhearing the conversation, and she now glided into the

room and stood by her husband’s side.

 

“James,” she said, “won’t you do me a favor, a great kindness?”

 

Mrs. Weeks raised her eyes and looked wonderingly at this dreadful woman,

against whom all Oakville was talking.

 

“I know what you wish, Alida,” he replied sternly, “but I can’t do it. This

is a case for justice. This woman’s son was the leader of that vile crowd

that insulted you last night. I can forgive his injuring me, but not the

words he used about you. Moreover, when I was alone and struggling to keep my

home, Mrs. Weeks took part with her husband in imposing on me their fraud of a

cousin and in tricking me out of honest money. Any woman with a heart in her

breast would have tried to help a man situated as I was. No, it’s a clear

case of justice, and her son shall go to jail.”

 

Mrs. Weeks wailed afresh at this final sentence. Holcroft was amazed to see

his wife drop on her knees beside his chair. He raised her instantly. “Don’t

do such a thing as that,” he said huskily.

 

Without removing her pleading eyes from his face she asked gently, “Who told

us to forgive as we would be forgiven? James, I shall be very unhappy if you

don’t grant this mother’s prayer.”

 

He tried to turn away, but she caught his hand and held his eyes with hers.

“Alida,” he said in strong agitation, “you heard the vile, false words that

Timothy Weeks said last night. They struck you down like a blow. Can you

forgive him?”

 

“Yes, and I plead with you to forgive him. Grant me my wish, James; I shall

be so much happier, and so will you.”

 

“Well, Mrs. Weeks, now you know what kind of a woman your son came to insult.

You may tell your neighbors that there’s one Christian in Oakville. I yield

to Mrs. Holcroft, and will take no further action in the affair if we are let

alone.”

 

Mrs. Weeks was not a bad woman at heart, and she had received a wholesome

lesson. She came and took Alida’s hand as she said, “Yes, you are a

Christian—a better woman than I’ve been, but I aint so mean and bad but what,

when I see my fault, I am sorry and can ask forgiveness. I do ask your

forgiveness, Mr. Holcroft. I’ve been ashamed of myself ever since you brought

my cousin back. I thought she would try, when she had the chance you gave

her, but she seems to have no sense.”

 

“There, there! Let bygones be bygones,” said the farmer in embarrassment.

“I’ve surrendered. Please don’t say anything more.”

 

“You’ve got a kind heart, in spite—”

 

“Oh, come now! Please quit, or I’ll begin to swear a little to keep up the

reputation my neighbors have given me. Go home and tell Tim to brace up and

try to be a man. When I say I’m done with a grudge, I AM done. You and Mrs.

Holcroft can talk all you like, but please excuse me,” and with more than most

men’s horror of a scene, he escaped precipitately.

 

“Sit down, Mrs. Weeks,” said Alida kindly.

 

“Well, I will. I can’t say much to excuse myself or my folks—”

 

“You’ve already said everything, Mrs. Weeks,” interrupted Alida gently;

“you’ve said you are sorry.”

 

Mrs. Weeks stared a moment, and then resumed sententiously, “Well, I’ve heard

more gospel in that remark than if I’d gone to church. And I couldn’t go to

church, I could never have gone there again or held my head up anywhere

if—if—”

 

“That’s all past and gone,” said Alida, smiling. “When Mr. Holcroft says

anything, you may depend on it.”

 

“Well, God bless you for intercedin’—you had so much to forgive. Nobody shall

ever speak a word against you again while I’ve got breath to answer. I wish

you’d let me come and see you sometimes.”

 

“Whenever you wish, if you care to visit one who has had so much—so much

trouble.”

 

“I see now that’s all the more reason I should come, for if it hadn’t been for

you, I’d have been in bitter trouble myself. We’ve been worse than heathen,

standin’ off and talking against you. Oh, I’ve had a lesson I won’t forget!

Well, I must hurry home, for I left Timothy and Lemuel in a dreadful state.”

 

Seeing the farmer in the barn as she was passing, she rushed to him. “You’ve

got to shake hands with me, Mr. Holcroft. Your wife IS a good woman, and

she’s a lady, too. Anyone with half an eye can see she’s not one of the

common sort.”

 

The farmer shook the poor woman’s hand good-naturedly and said heartily,

“That’s so! All right, meeting’s over. Goodbye.” Then he turned to his work

and chuckled, “That’s what Tom Watterly said. Thank the Lord! She ISN’T of

the common sort. I’ve got to brace up and be more of a man as well as Tim

Weeks.”

 

In spite of the pain in his head, Alida’s words proved true. He was happier

than he had been in many a long day. He had the glow which follows a generous

act, and the thought that he had pleased a sweet little woman who somehow

seemed very attractive to him that May morning; at the same time the old Adam

in his nature led to a sneaking satisfaction that he had laid on the hickory

so unsparingly the evening before.

 

Alida uttered a low, happy laugh as she heard him whistling “Coronation” in

jig time, and she hustled away the breakfast things with the eagerness of a

girl, that she might be ready to read to him when he came in.

 

Chapter XXVII. Farm and Farmer Bewitched

 

The day grew warm, and having finished her tasks indoors and cared for the

poultry, Alida brought a chair out in the porch. Her eyes were dreamy with a

vague, undefined happiness. The landscape in itself was cause for exquisite

pleasure, for it was an ideal day of the apple-blossoming period. The old

orchard back of the barn looked as if pink-and-white clouds had settled upon

it, and scattered trees near and far were exhaling their fragrance. The light

breeze which fanned her cheek and bent the growing rye in an adjacent field

was perfumed beyond the skill of art. Not only were her favorite meadow larks

calling to each other, but the thrushes had come and she felt that she had

never heard such hymns as they were singing. A burst of song from the lilac

bush under the parlor window drew her eyes thither, and there was the paternal

redbreast pouring out the very soul of ecstasy. From the nest beneath him

rose the black head and yellow beak of his brooding mate. “How contented and

happy she looks!” Alida murmured, “how happy they both are! And the secret of

it is HOME. And to think that I, who was a friendless waif, am at home, also!

At home with Eden-like beauty and peace before my eyes. But if it hadn’t been

for him, and if he were not brave, kind, and true to all he says—” and she

shuddered at a contrast that rose before her fancy.

 

She could now scarcely satisfy herself that it was only gratitude which filled

her heart with a strange, happy tumult. She had never been conscious of such

exaltation before. It is true, she had learned to cherish a strong affection

for the man whom she had believed to be her husband, but chiefly because he

had seemed kind and she had an affectionate disposition. Until within the

last few hours, her nature had never been touched and awakened in its

profoundest depths. She had never known before nor had she idealized the

manhood capable of evoking the feelings which now lighted her eyes and gave to

her face the supreme charm and beauty of womanhood. In truth, it was a

fitting day and time for the birth of a love like hers, simple, all-absorbing,

and grateful. It contained no element not in harmony with that May Sunday

morning.

 

Holcroft came and sat on the steps below her. She kept her eyes on the

landscape, for she was consciously enough on her guard now. “I rather guess

you think, Alida, that you are looking at a better picture than any artist

fellow could paint?” he remarked.

 

“Yes,” she replied hesitatingly, “and the picture seems all the more lovely

and full of light because the background is so very dark. I’ve been thinking

of what happened here last night and what might have happened, and how I felt

then.”

 

“You feel better—different now, don’t you? You certainly look so.”

 

“Yes!—You made me very happy by yielding to Mrs. Weeks.”

 

“Oh! I didn’t yield to her at all.”

 

“Very well, have it your own way, then.”

 

“I think you had it your way.”

 

“Are you sorry?”

 

“Do I look so? How did you know I’d be happier if I gave in?”

 

“Because, as you say, I’m getting better acquainted with you. YOU couldn’t

help being happier for a generous act.”

 

“I wouldn’t have done it, though, if it hadn’t been for you.”

 

“I’m not so sure about that.”

 

“I am. You’re coming to make me feel confoundedly uncomfortable in my

heathenish life.”

 

“I wish I could.”

 

“I never had such a sermon in my life as you gave me this morning. A

Christian act like yours is worth a year of religious talk.”

 

She looked at him wistfully for a moment and then asked, a little abruptly,

“Mr. Holcroft, have you truly forgiven that Weeks family?”

 

“Oh, yes! I suppose so. I’ve forgiven the old lady, anyhow. I’ve shaken

hands with her.”

 

“If her husband and son should come and apologize and say they were sorry,

would you truly and honestly forgive them?”

 

“Certainly! I couldn’t hold a grudge after that. What are you aiming at?”

and he turned and looked inquiringly into her face.

 

It was flushed and tearful in its eager, earnest interest. “Don’t you see?”

she faltered.

 

He shook his head, but was suddenly and strangely moved by her expression.

 

“Why, Mr. Holcroft, if you can honestly forgive those who have wronged you,

you ought to see how ready God is to forgive.”

 

He fairly started to his feet so vividly the truth came home to him,

illumined, as it was, by a recent and personal experience. After a moment, he

slowly sat down again and said, with a long breath, “That was a close shot,

Alida.”

 

“I only wish you to have the trust and comfort which this truth should bring

you,” she said. “It seems a pity you should do yourself needless injustice

when you are willing to do what is right and kind by others.”

 

“It’s all a terrible muddle, Alida. If God is so ready to forgive, how do you

account for all the evil and suffering in the world?”

 

“I don’t account for it and can’t. I’m only one of his little children; often

an erring one,