Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 22

"Do you think, then, that your lot is a peculiarly fortunate one?"

"If I did not think so, I would be worse than those Jews who fell to murmuring on their way to Canaan. If they could have made the journey as comfortably as I am doing they would never have said a word, I believe."

"That is quite an original way of putting it. Theologians generally are very severe on the poor Jews."

"And you are usually pretty severe on the poor theologians," I said laughingly, as I started for my room. On the way I met Reynolds, who seemed so glad to have us back that I kissed her on the spot.

"Bless your dear heart," she exclaimed, "it's like a flash of sunlight to have you bursting in on us. You remind me so much of your papa. He had just such a strong, hearty way as you."

"Oh, Reynolds, is that so? Why did you never tell me before that I was like him?"

"It did not occur to me to tell you. Does it please you to know it?"

"Certainly it does. It takes away the feeling that I am a changeling, which often haunts me when you tell me I am odd and unconventional,"

I said, turning to Mrs. Flaxman.

"Darling, I would rather have you just as you are. If we went to make improvements, we would only spoil a bit of G.o.d's sweetest handiwork."

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, what a tremendous compliment! Mr. Winthrop would read you another lecture, if he heard you say that."

"Some day we may need to lecture him," she said with a smile, and then went into her own room, leaving me a trifle perplexed over her meaning.

When we joined Mr. Winthrop in the dining room we found the table laid with its usual precision and elegance for dinner. As I stood on the hearth-rug, looking around the pleasant room, the firelight glancing on the polished silver, and china, and lighting up the beautiful pictures on the walls, no wonder the cheerful home scene made me, for the time, forget the solitary mourner with his dead, out in the cold and darkness.

Mrs. Flaxman presently joined me. Drawing her an easy-chair close to the cheerful blaze I knelt on the rug beside her, the easier to stroke Fleta, the pretty Angora cat, who with her rough tongue licked my hand with affectionate welcome. Presently Mr. Winthrop joined us. His presence at first unnoticed in our busy chat, I happened to turn my head and saw him calmly regarding us. "You would make a pleasant picture, kneeling there with the firelight playing in your hair," he said, coming to my side.

"The picture would be more perfect now that you have joined us."

"No, my presence would spoil it. A child playing with her kitten needs no other figures to complete the picture."

"Ah, that spoils your compliment."

"Mr. Winthrop very judiciously mixes his sweets and bitters," Mrs.

Flaxman said with a smile.

"Yes; I should be too vain if he gave me a compliment really. I wonder if he ever will do that?" I looked up into his face and saw that its expression was kindly.

"You would not wish me to spoil you. If my praising you made you vain, as you just said it would, that would be the worst unkindness."

"I want you always to be honest with me. A very slight word of praise then will have its genuine meaning."

"Now that we have once more settled our relations to each other, we will take our dinners. One must descend from the highest summits to the trivialities of eating and drinking."

"I have never seen you very high up yet, Mr. Winthrop. I do not think there is a spark of sentiment in your composition."

"Alas, that I should be so misjudged. But wait until your friend Bovyer shows you my tears."

Mrs. Flaxman generally looked a trifle worried when Mr. Winthrop and I got into conversation. This night, when I wanted every one to be happy, I held my troublesome tongue in check, and made no further reply to my guardian's badinage.

When I went to my room for the night, I drew back my curtain and looked out into the darkness of a cloudy, moonless night. It chilled me, I wondered if the baby and its father, with the cold, still form of the once happy mother, had got into the light and warmth of home. I compared our bright evening together in the drawing-room, where Mr. Winthrop had sat with us reading, or rather translating as he read, some splendid pa.s.sages from his favorite cla.s.sical authors, a treat not often granted, but he was, I fancied, too tired to read or study in his library alone. I too had tried to add my share to the evening's entertainment; singing mostly some German home songs to an accompaniment on the piano. He had not criticised my performance, a fact very encouraging to me.

But now, as I stood looking out into the black night, I thought of their journey over the rough roads, already beginning to freeze, the baby cold and hungry, and so tired. I turned hurriedly from the window and knelt to say my prayers, a new element entering into my pet.i.tions. Forgetting the stereotyped phrases, I remembered with peculiar vividness the impetuous prayer uttered by Mr. Lathrop at Mrs. Blake's funeral, and I too tried to bring comfort to another by prayer. There was such help in the thought that G.o.d never forgets us. I so soon forgot amid the pleasures of home-coming the sorrows of another; but He watches ever. The splendors of His throne and crowns, and the adoration of the highest intelligences never so absorbing Him as to cause forgetfulness of the humblest parish pensioner, looking Heavenward for consolation. "Oh, to be more G.o.d-like, more unforgetting!" I murmured, still lingering in the att.i.tude of prayer. I do not think in all my life, I had got so near to the Divine Heart.

The next morning an agreeable duty awaited me. First, I had the materials for Mr. Bowen's new suit, and along with these a good many lesser gifts for one and another. In the daily papers, I studied very industriously the notices of cheap sales of dry goods while in the city; and for such a novice in the art of shopping, I made some really good bargains. When I came to get my presents all unpacked I found that Thomas' services would be required if I took all at once.

I found him at last in the kitchen, superintending the preparation of some medicine for one of his horses. Making known my errand, he consented to drive me to the Mill Road; but first a.s.sured me that it would disarrange all his plans for the day. Thomas was an old bachelor, with ways very set and precise; and his hours were divided off as regularly as a college professor's.

On our way out he informed me that the widow Lark.u.m was very ill, with the doctor in attendance.

I was surprised that his words should give me such a sinking at the heart.

"What will become of the blind father and orphaned children if she dies?"

"They will go to the poor farm. I pity them; for that Bill Day, that has charge, is a tough subject."

"She may not die. Doctors are very often mistaken. They do not know much more about the secrets of life and death than the rest of us."

"I allow that's true; for a couple of them give me up for death, a good many years ago; and a pretty fright they give me for nothing."

"Were you afraid to die?"

"You may be sure I was. Its very unsartin work, is dying."

"Mrs. Flaxman has lent me the lives of some very good people to read.

They were not afraid to die, but looked forward to it, some of them, with delight."

"They was the pious sort, that don't make much reckonin' in this life, I allow."

"I have read the lives of both kinds of people--the good, and those who were not pious. The former seemed to be the happiest always."

"They say Mr. Winthrop is a great man--writes fine works and things--but he's not happy. I take more good out of Oaklands and the horses than he does. He seems to sense the flower-gardens a good deal. I often find him there early of a summer's morning when I go to work, with a bit of paper and a pencil writing away for dear life; and he don't seem to mind me any more'n if I was one of the vegetables."

I smiled at Thomas' comparison; for now that he mentioned it, he did seem something like an animated turnip.

"I dare say he has far higher pleasures than you or I ever experience.

His thoughts are like a rich kingdom to him."

"He's had some pretty bitter thoughts, I guess. He got crossed in love once, and its sort of made him dislike wimmen folks. Maybe you've noticed it yourself?" Thomas gave me a searching look.

"I did not know he ever cared for a woman in his life. I thought he was above such things," I murmured, too astonished to think of a proper reply.

"There's very few men get up that high, I reckon; leastaways, I've never sot eyes on them."

I turned a quizzical look on Thomas, which he understood--his face reddened.

"I don't claim to be one of the high kind, but I allow Oaklands is better for me than a wife. I never sot great store by wimmen folks. They're sort of pernicketty cattle to manage; I'd sooner take to horses; and if one happens to die, you don't feel so cut up like as if it was a wife.

Now there's Dan Blake. Marrying's been enough sight more worryment to him than comfort. I've figgured up the pros and cons close, and them that keeps single don't age near as fast as the married ones. There's the widow Lark.u.m, if she'd kept single, she'd have been young and blooming now. Human folks is many of them very poor witted," Thomas concluded, with fine scorn, and then he was silent.

My thoughts went off in eager surprise over that strange episode in Mr.

Winthrop's life, wondering what sort of a woman it was who had power so to mar his happiness, and why she had not responded to his love, and all the fascinating story that my sense of honor prevented me from finding out from Thomas, or Mrs. Blake, or even Mrs. Flaxman. Now that I had quiet to think it over, it seemed like desecration to have the stolid, phlegmatic Thomas talk about it.