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

sooner cut out their tongues than purloin. How happy is the change which has

been affected! How could you abide in the house with such a person as that

Bridget Malony?”

“Well, well, Mrs. Mumpson! She abode with herself. I at least had this room

in peace and quietness.”

“Of course, of course! A person so utterly unrespecterble would not think of

entering THIS apartment; but then you had to meet her, you know. You could

not act as if she was not, when she was, and there being so much of her, too.

She was a monstrous-looking person. It’s dreadful to think that such persons

belong to our sex. I don’t wonder you feel as you do about it all. I can

understand you perfectly. All your senserbleness was offended. You felt that

your very home had become sacrilegious. Well, now, I suppose she said awful

things to you?”

Holcroft could not endure this style of inquisition and comment another second

longer. He rose and said, “Mrs. Mumpson, if you want to know just what she

said and did, you must go and ask her. I’m very tired. I’ll go out and see

that the stock’s all right, and then go to bed.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly!” ejaculated the widow. “Repose is nature’s sweet

rester, says the poet. I can see how recalling those dreadful scenes with

those peculiar females—” But he was gone.

In passing out, he caught sight of Jane whisking back into the kitchen. “She’s

been listening,” he thought. “Well, I’ll go to town tomorrow afternoon, get a

stove for my room upstairs, and stuff the keyhole.”

He went to the barn and looked with envy at the placid cows and quiet horses.

At last, having lingered as long as he could, he returned to the kitchen.

Jane had washed and put away the supper dishes after a fashion, and was now

sitting on the edge of a chair in the farthest corner of the room.

“Take this candle and go to your mother,” he said curtly. Then he fastened

the doors and put out the lamp. Standing for an instant at the parlor

entrance, he added, “Please rake up the fire and put out the light before you

come up. Good night.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly! We’ll look after everything just as if it was our

own. The sense of strangeness will soon pass—” But his steps were halfway up

the stairs.

Mother and daughter listened until they heard him overhead, then, taking the

candle, they began a most minute examination of everything in the room.

Poor Holcroft listened also; too worried, anxious, and nervous to sleep until

they came up and all sounds ceased in the adjoining apartment.

Chapter V. Mrs. Mumpson Takes Up Her Burdens

The next morning Holcroft awoke early. The rising sun flooded his plain

little room with mellow light. It was impossible to give way to dejection in

that radiance, and hope, he scarcely knew why, sprung up in his heart. He was

soon dressed, and having kindled the kitchen fire, went out on the porch.

There had been a change in the wind during the night, and now it blew softly

from the south. The air was sweet with the indefinable fragrance of spring.

The ethereal notes of bluebirds were heard on every side. Migratory robins

were feeding in the orchard, whistling and calling their noisy congratulations

on arriving at old haunts. The frost was already oozing from the ground, but

the farmer welcomed the mud, knowing that it indicated a long advance toward

plowing and planting time.

He bared his head to the sweet, warm air and took long, deep breaths. “If this

weather holds,” he muttered, “I can soon put in some early potatoes on that

warm hillside yonder. Yes, I can stand even her for the sake of being on the

old place in mornings like this. The weather’ll be getting better every day

and I can be out of doors more. I’ll have a stove in my room tonight; I would

last night if the old air-tight hadn’t given out completely. I’ll take it to

town this afternoon and sell it for old iron. Then I’ll get a bran’-new one

and put it up in my room. They can’t follow me there and they can’t follow me

outdoors, and so perhaps I can live in peace and work most of the time.”

Thus he was muttering to himself, as lonely people so often do, when he felt

that someone was near. Turning suddenly, he saw Jane half-hidden by the

kitchen door. Finding herself observed, the girl came forward and said in her

brief monotonous way:

“Mother’ll be down soon. If you’ll show me how you want the coffee and

things, I guess I can learn.”

“I guess you’ll have to, Jane. There’ll be more chance of your teaching your

mother than of her teaching you, I fear. But we’ll see, we’ll see; it’s

strange people can’t see what’s sensible and best for ‘em when they see so

much.”

The child made no reply, but watched him intently as he measured out and then

ground half a cup of coffee.

“The firs thing to do,” he began kindly, “is to fill the kettle with water

fresh drawn from the well. Never make coffee or tea with water that’s been

boiled two or three times. Now, I’ll give the kettle a good rinsing, so as to

make sure you start with it clean.”

Having accomplished this, he filled the vessel at the well and placed it on

the fire, remarking as he did so, “Your mother can cook a little, can’t she?”

“I s’pose so,” Jane replied. “When father was livin’ mother said she kept a

girl. Since then, we’ve visited round. But she’ll learn, and if she can’t, I

can.”

“What on earth—but there’s no use of talking. When the water boils—bubbles

up and down, you know—call me. I suppose you and your mother can get the

rest of the breakfast? Oh, good morning, Mrs. Mumpson! I was just showing

Jane about the coffee. You two can go on and do all the rest, but don’t touch

the coffee till the kettle boils, and then I’ll come in and show you my way,

and, if you please, I don’t wish it any other way.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly!” began Mrs. Mumpson, but Holcroft waited to hear no

more.

“She’s a woman,” he muttered, “and I’ll say nothing rude or ugly to her, but I

shan’t listen to her talk half a minute when I can help myself; and if she

won’t do any thing but talk—well, we’ll see, we’ll see! A few hours in the

dairy will show whether she can use anything besides her tongue.”

As soon as they were alone Jane turned sharply on her mother and said, “Now

you’ve got to do something to help. At Cousin Lemuel’s and other places they

wouldn’t let us help. Anyhow, they wouldn’t let me. He ‘spects us both to

work, and pays you for it. I tell you agin, he won’t let us stay here unless

we do. I won’t go visitin’ round any more, feelin’ like a stray cat in every

house I go to. You’ve got to work, and talk less.”

“Why, Jane! How YOU talk!”

“I talk sense. Come, help me get breakfast.”

“Do you think that’s a proper way for a child to address a parent?”

“No matter what I think. Come and help. You’ll soon know what he thinks if

we keep breakfast waitin’.”

“Well, I’ll do such menial work until he gets a girl, and then he shall learn

that he can’t expect one with such respecterble connections—”

“Hope I may never see any of ‘em agin,” interrupted Jane shortly, and then she

relapsed into silence while her mother rambled on in her characteristic way,

making singularly inapt efforts to assist in the task before them.

As Holcroft rose from milking a cow he found Jane beside him. A ghost could

not have come more silently, and again her stealthy ways gave him an

unpleasant sensation. “Kettle is boilin’,” she said, and was gone.

He shook his head and muttered, “Queer tribe, these Mumpsons! I’ve only to

get an odd fish of a girl to help, and I’ll have something like a menagerie in

the house.” He carried his pails of foaming milk to the dairy, and then

entered the kitchen.

“I’ve only a minute,” he began hastily, seeking to forestall the widow. “Yes,

the kettle’s boiling all right. First scald out the coffeepot—put

three-quarters of a cup of ground coffee into the pot, break an egg into it,

so; pour on the egg and coffee half a cup of cold water and stir it all up

well, this way. Next pour in about a pint of boiling water from the kettle,

set the pot on the stove and let it—the coffee, I mean—cook twenty minutes,

remember, not less than twenty minutes. I’ll be back to breakfast by that

time. Now you know just how I want my coffee, don’t you?” looking at Jane.

Jane nodded, but Mrs. Mumpson began, “Oh certainly, certainly! Boil an egg

twenty minutes, add half a cup of cold water, and—”

“I know,” interrupted Jane, “I can always do as you did.”

Holcroft again escaped to the barn, and eventually returned with a deep sigh.

“I’ll have to face a good deal of her music this morning,” he thought, “but I

shall have at least a good cup of coffee to brace me.”

Mrs. Mumpson did not abandon the suggestion that grace should be said,—she

never abandoned anything,—but the farmer, in accordance with his purpose to

be civil, yet pay no attention to her obtrusive ways, gave no heed to her

hint. He thought Jane looked apprehensive, and soon learned the reason. His

coffee was at least hot, but seemed exceedingly weak.

“I hope now that it’s just right,” said Mrs. Mumpson complacently, “and

feeling sure that it was made just to suit you, I filled the coffeepot full

from the kettle. We can drink what we desire for breakfast and then the rest

can be set aside until dinner time and warmed over. Then you’ll have it just

to suit you for the next meal, and we, at the same time, will be practicing

econermy. It shall now be my great aim to help you econermize. Any coarse,

menial hands can work, but the great thing to be considered is a caretaker;

one who, by thoughtfulness and the employment of her mind, will make the labor

of others affective.”

During this speech, Holcroft could only stare at the woman. The rapid motion

of her thin jaw seemed to fascinate him, and he was in perplexity over not

merely her rapid utterance, but also the queries. Had she maliciously spoiled

the coffee? Or didn’t she know any better? “I can’t make her out,” he

thought, “but she shall learn that I have a will of my own,” and he quietly

rose, took the coffeepot, and poured its contents out of doors; then went

through the whole process of making his favorite beverage again, saying

coldly, “Jane, you had better watch close this time. I don’t wish anyone to

touch the coffeepot but you.”

Even Mrs. Mumpson was a little abashed by his manner, but when he resumed his

breakfast she speedily recovered her complacency and volubility. “I’ve always

heard,” she said, with her little cackling laugh, “that men would be

extravergant, especially in some things. There are some things they’re

fidgety about and will have just so. Well, well, who has a better right than

a well-to-do, fore-handed man? Woman is to