He Fell In Love With His Wife by Edward Payson Roe (good inspirational books .txt) 📕

The two men now withdrew from the table to the fireside and lighted their

pipes. Mrs. Watterly stepped out for a moment and Tom, looking over his

shoulder to make sure she was out of ear shot, said under his breath, “But

suppose you found a woman that you could love and obey, and all that?”

“Oh, of course, that would make everything different. I wouldn’t begin with a

lie then, and I know enough of my wife to feel sure that she wouldn’t be a

sort of dog in the manger after she was dead. She was one of those good souls

that if she could speak her mind this minute she would say, ‘James, what’s

best and right for you is best and right.’ But it’s just because she was such

a good wife that I know there’s no use of trying to put anyone in her place.

Where on earth could I find anybody, and how could we get acquainted so that

we’d know anything about each other? No, I must just scratch along for a

short time as things are and be on the lookout to sell or rent.”

Tom smoked meditatively for a few moments, and then remarked, “I guess that’s

your best way out.”

“It aint an easy way, either,” said Holcroft. “Finding a purchaser or tenant

for a farm like mine is almost as hard as finding a wife. Then, as I feel,

leaving my place is next to leaving the world.”

Tom shook his head ruefully and admitted,, “I declare, Jim, when a feller

comes to think it all over, you ARE in a bad fix, especially as you feel. I

thought I could talk you over into practical common sense in no time. It’s

easy enough when one don’t know all the bearin’s of a case, to think

carelessly, ‘Oh, he aint as bad off as he thinks he is. He can do this and

that and the t’other thing.’ But when you come to look it all over, you find

he can’t, except at a big loss. Of course, you can give away your farm on

which you were doing well and getting ahead, though how you did it, I can’t

see. You’d have to about give it away if you forced a sale, and where on

earth you’ll find a tenant who’ll pay anything worth considering—But there’s

no use of croaking. I wish I could help you, old feller. By jocks! I believe

I can. There’s an old woman here who’s right smart and handy when she can’t

get her bottle filled. I believe she’d be glad to go with you, for she don’t

like our board and lodging over much.”

“Do you think she’d go tonight?”

“Oh, yes! Guess so. A little cold water’ll be a good change for her.”

Mrs. Wiggins was seen, and feeling that any change would be for the better,

readily agreed to go for very moderate wages. Holcroft looked dubiously at

the woman’s heavy form and heavier face, but felt that it was the best he

could do. Squeezing Mrs. Watterly’s cold, limp hand in a way that would have

thawed a lump of ice, he said “goodby;” and then declaring that he would

rather do his own harnessing for a night ride, he went out into the storm.

Tom put on his rubber coat and went to the barn with his friend, toward whom

he cherished honest good will.

“By jocks!” he ejaculated sympathetically, “but you have hard lines, Jim.

What in thunder would I do with two such widdy women to look after my house!”

Chapter IX. Mrs. Mumpson Accepts Her Mission

As Holcroft drove through the town, Mrs. Wiggins, who, as matters were

explained to her, had expressed her views chiefly by affirmative nods, now

began to use her tongue with much fluency.

“Hi ‘ave a friend ‘herhabouts,” she said, “an’ she’s been a-keepin’ some of my

things. Hi’ll be ‘olden to ye, master, hif ye’ll jes stop a bit hat the door

whiles hi gets ‘em. Hif ye’ll hadvance me a dollar or so on me wages hit’ll

be a long time hafore I trouble ye hagain.”

The farmer had received too broad a hint not to know that Mrs. Wiggins was

intent on renewing her acquaintance with her worst enemy. He briefly replied,

therefore, “It’s too late to stop now. I’ll be coming down soon again and

will get your things.”

In vain Mrs. Wiggins expostulated, for he drove steadily on. With a sort of

grim humor, he thought of the meeting of the two “widdy women,” as Tom had

characterized them, and of Mrs. Mumpson’s dismay at finding in the “cheap

girl” a dame of sixty, weighing not far from two hundred. “If it wasn’t such

awfully serious business for me,” he thought, “it would be better’n going to a

theater to see the two go on. If I haven’t got three ‘peculiar females’ on my

hands now, I’d like to hear of the man that has.”

When Mrs. Wiggins found that she could not gain her point, she subsided into

utter silence. It soon became evident in the cloudy light of the moon that

she was going to sleep, for she so nodded and swayed about that the farmer

feared she would tumble out of the wagon. She occupied a seat just back of

his and filled it, too. The idea of stepping over, sitting beside her, and

holding her in, was inexpressibly repugnant to him. So he began talking to

her, and finally shouting at her, to keep her awake.

His efforts were useless. He glanced with rueful dismay over his shoulder as

he thought, “If she falls out, I don’t see how on earth I’ll ever get her back

again.”

Fortunately the seat slipped back a little, and she soon slid down into a sort

of mountainous heap on the bottom of the wagon, as unmindful of the rain as if

it were a lullaby. Now that his mind was at rest about her falling out, and

knowing that he had a heavy load, Holcroft let the horses take their own time

along the miry highway.

Left to her own devices by Holcroft’s absence, Mrs. Mumpson had passed what

she regarded as a very eventful afternoon and evening. Not that anything

unusual had happened, unless everything she said and did may be looked upon as

unusual; but Mrs. Mumpson justly felt that the critical periods of life are

those upon which definite courses of action are decided upon. In the secret

recess of her heart—supposing her to possess such an organ—she had partially

admitted to herself, even before she had entered Holcroft’s door, that she

might be persuaded into marrying him; but the inspection of his room, much

deliberate thought, and prolonged soliloquy, had convinced her that she ought

to “enter into nuptial relations,” as her thought formulated itself. It was a

trait of Mrs. Mumpson’s active mind, that when it once entered upon a line of

thought, it was hurried along from conclusion to conclusion with wonderful

rapidity.

While Jane made up Mr. Holcroft’s bed, her mother began to inspect, and soon

suffered keenly from every painful discovery. The farmer’s meager wardrobe

and other belongings were soon rummaged over, but one large closet and several

bureau drawers were locked. “These are the receptercles of the deceased Mrs.

Holcroft’s affects,” she said with compressed lips. “They are moldering

useless away. Moth and rust will enter, while I, the caretaker, am debarred.

I should not be debarred. All the things in that closet should be shaken out,

aired, and carefully put back. Who knows how useful they may be in the

future! Waste is wicked. Indeed, there are few things more wicked than

waste. Now I think of it, I have some keys in my trunk.”

“He won’t like it,” interposed Jane.

“In the responserble persition I have assumed,” replied Mrs. Mumpson with

dignity, “I must consider not what he wants, but what is best for him and what

may be best for others.”

Jane had too much curiosity herself to make further objection, and the keys

were brought. It was astonishing what a number of keys Mrs. Mumpson

possessed, and she was not long in finding those which would open the ordinary

locks thought by Holcroft to be ample protection.

“I was right,” said Mrs. Mumpson complacently. “A musty odor exudes from these

closed receptercles,. Men have no comprehension of the need of such

caretakers as I am.”

Everything that had ever belonged to poor Mrs. Holcroft was pulled out, taken

to the window, and examined, Jane following, as usual, in the wake of her

mother and putting everything to the same tests which her parent applied.

Mrs. Holcroft had been a careful woman, and the extent and substantial

character of her wardrobe proved that her husband had not been close in his

allowances to her. Mrs. Mumpson’s watery blue eyes grew positively animated

as she felt of and held up to the light one thing after another. “Mrs.

Holcroft was evidently unnaturally large,” she reflected aloud, “but then

these things could be made over, and much material be left to repair them,

from time to time. The dresses are of somber colors, becoming to a lady

somewhat advanced in years and of subdued taste.”

By the time that the bed and all the chairs in the room were littered with

wearing apparel, Mrs. Mumpson said, “Jane, I desire you to bring the rocking

chair. So many thoughts are crowding upon me that I must sit down and think.”

Jane did as requested, but remarked, “The sun is gettin’ low, and all these

things’ll have to be put back just as they was or he’ll be awful mad.”

“Yes, Jane,” replied Mrs. Mumpson abstractedly and rocking gently, “you can

put them back. Your mind is not burdened like mine, and you haven’t offspring

and the future to provide for,” and, for a wonder, she relapsed into silence.

Possibly she possessed barely enough of womanhood to feel that her present

train of thought had better be kept to herself. She gradually rocked faster

and faster, thus indicating that she was rapidly approaching a conclusion.

Meanwhile, Jane was endeavoring to put things back as they were before and

found it no easy task. As the light declined she was overcome by a sort of

panic, and, huddling the things into the drawers as fast as possible, she

locked them up. Then, seizing her mother’s hand and pulling the abstracted

woman to her feet, she cried, “If he comes and finds us here and no supper

ready, he’ll turn us right out into the rain!”

Even Mrs. Mumpson felt that she was perhaps reaching conclusions too fast and

that some diplomacy might be necessary to consummate her plans. Her views,

however, appeared to her so reasonable that she scarcely thought of failure,

having the happy faculty of realizing everything in advance, whether it ever

took place or not.

As she slowly descended the stairs with the rocking chair, she thought,

“Nothing could be more suiterble. We are both about the same age; I am most

respecterbly connected—in fact, I regard myself as somewhat his superior in

this respect; he is painfully undeveloped and irreligious and thus is in sore

need of female influence; he is lonely and downhearted, and in woman’s voice

there is a spell to banish care; worst of all, things are going to waste. I

must delib’rately face the great duty with which Providence has brought me

face to face. At first, he may be a little blind to this great oppertunity of

his life—that I must expect, remembering the influence he was under so many

years—but I