"You," and here the apron and hand with the knife in it came down from

her eyes--"you'll excuse me, Richard, for speaking so plain, but you

seem like my own boy, and I can't help it. Your mother is the best and

cleverest woman in the world, but she has some peculiarities which a

Boston girl may not put up with, not being used to them as Melin--I

mean, as poor Abigail was."

It was the first time it had ever occurred to Richard that his mother

had peculiarities, and even now he did not know what they were. Taking

her all in all, she was as nearly perfect, he thought, as a woman well

could be, and on his way home from his interview with Mrs. Jones he

pondered in his mind what she could mean, and then wondered if for the

asking he could have taken Melinda Jones to the fireside where he was

going to install Ethelyn Grant. There was a comical smile about his

mouth as he thought how little either Melinda or Abigail would suit him

now; and then, by way of making amends for what seemed disrespect to the

dead, he went round to the sunken grave where Abigail had slept for so

many years, and stood again just where he had stood that day when he

fancied the light from his heart had gone out forever. But he could not

bring back the olden feeling, or wish that Abigail had lived.

"She is happy now--happier than I could have made her. It is better as

it is," he said, as he walked away to Daisy's grave, where his tears

dropped just as they always did when he stood by the sod which covered

the fairest, brightest, purest being he had ever known, except

his Ethie.

She was just as pure and gentle and good as blue-eyed Daisy had been,

and on the manly face turned so wistfully to the eastward there was a

world of love and tenderness for the Ethie who, alas, did not deserve it

then, and to whom a few weeks later he gave his mother's kindly message.

Then, remembering what Mrs. Jones had said, he felt in duty bound

to add: "Mother has some peculiarities, I believe most old people have; but I

trust to your good sense to humor them as much as possible. She has had

her own way a long time, and though you will virtually be mistress of

the house, inasmuch as it belongs to me, it will be better for mother to

take the lead, as heretofore."

There was a curl on Ethelyn's lip as she received her first lesson with

regard to her behavior as daughter-in-law; but she made no reply, not

even to ask what the peculiarities were which she was to humor. She

really did not care what they were, as she fully intended having an

establishment of her own in the thriving prairie village, just half a

mile from her husband's home. She should probably spend a few weeks with

Mrs. Markham, senior, whom she fancied a tall, stately woman, wearing

heavy black silk dresses and thread lace caps on great occasions, and

having always on hand some fine lamb's-wool knitting work when she sat

in the parlor where Daisy's picture hung. Ethelyn could not tell why it

was that she always saw Richard's mother thus, unless it were what Mrs.

Captain Markham once said with regard to her Western sister-in-law,

sending to Boston for a black silk which cost three dollars per yard--a

great price for those days--and for two yards of handsome thread lace,

which she, the Mrs. Captain, had run all over the city to get, "John's

wife was so particular to have it just the pattern and width she

described in her letter."




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024