Cora and The Doctor Part 24

I am almost too happy. I have a dear husband whose steps become more quick and elastic; whose eye grows more bright whenever he approaches his home, his wife, his sweet little daughter Pauline, and his darling, frolicsome _boy_-baby. Walter knows his father's step right well, and almost springs out of my arms as he opens the door and advances to take him from me.

Nothing can be more tender than Pauline's fondness for her little brother. Without a word, she yields her choicest toys, or stands for him to pull her curls. This is master Lenox's richest sport. It is sport, however, which I have forbidden. He must learn, even thus early in life, to respect the rights of his yielding sister, or he will tyrannize over her. I prophesy no small trouble from this source, for not only is she willing to be deprived of whatever she has in her hand, but if I say "_No_, Walter, that is sister's," the affectionate child, in her rich musical voice, pleads, "Please, mamma, let Pauline give brother. Pauline don't want now."

Mother, and sister, are very proud of the young Lenox, who, they fondly imagine, will add much to the honor of their name. Indeed he is a true Lenox, and already a.s.serts his authority over every one of the family, most of whom yield obedience to him far too readily.

_Friday, December 30th._

For a few days Pauline has not been well. I feel quite anxious; she has heretofore enjoyed uniform health. She coughed very hard last night. Her father thinks she has taken a cold which will soon pa.s.s away. I have allowed Ann to take most of the care of Walter, so that I can devote myself to my little girl.

Walter has gained a great victory over Ann, of which he does not fail to make the most. He now appears to realize that she is completely under his control, and insists upon having his own way whenever with her. I wish she were more decided with him. She would have far less trouble.

When his wishes conflict with mine, he yields at once. Instead of the loud crying, and throwing his head back, which so frightens his nurse, he looks in my face to see if I am in earnest, and then pleasantly turns to something else. I have been telling Frank, it is high time for him to a.s.sert his authority; but he begs off. He drives into the yard, springs up the stairs to the nursery, catches up his boy and gives him a ride upon his shoulder, or upon his back, gets him into a great frolic, and then he is off. Sometimes it takes me half an hour to restore quiet.

Frank says his mother always managed him, and he thinks such duties belong to the mother.

I told him, I really believed he dared not make the attempt for fear he could not carry it out. He only laughed and went out of the room, saying he would try his skill on Pauline. Dear child, she loves her father so dearly that the thought of displeasing or disobeying him, would never enter her heart. She is now quietly sleeping, and I hope will awake refreshed.

CHAPTER XIX.

"Kindness has resistless charms, All things else but weakly move; Fiercest anger it disarms, And clips the wings of flying love." ROCHESTER.

_Sat.u.r.day, December 31st._

DEAR MOTHER,--I must not forget to tell you that I received a call in the parlor yesterday from Mrs. Thomas Jones. She was dressed so differently that at first I hardly knew her. Thomas and his wife after a suitable time for examination and trial, made a public profession of religion in our church; and have since conducted themselves and their household in such a manner as to give the strongest evidence of the sincerity of their profession.

Mrs. Jones called to see me with reference to William Reynolds, for whom both she and her husband feel a lively interest; and from her I received these incidents. Mrs. Reynolds with her interesting children, was long ago removed to a decent tenement in the village, where she has supported herself comfortably by her skill as a tailoress. During the past year she has seen nothing of her husband, who wandered away when released from his confinement.

Now he has returned, pale and haggard, worn out in body and mind. He loitered around the streets all one day, not daring to ask for his family. At length, Thomas met him and took him to his own home.

"I could not but think," said the kind-hearted woman with tears starting to her eyes, "of the time when my husband used to return from a drunken frolic, looking pretty near as forlorn as he. But Thomas brushed him up, and we made him look as smart as we could, though we couldn't restore the ruddy cheeks, or the bright eyes he used to have; and then I jest stepped over to Anna Reynolds's. She was a sitting so kind o'

comfortable hearing her little girl read a nice book, she got from Sabbath-school, while Willie was whittling into a basket, that I couldn't help feeling kind o' guilty, to think how soon the errand, I'd come on might destroy all her peace. For you know, her husband had been gone so long she'd got settled like to have him away. But I knew who was waiting at home, and so I made bold to walk in.

"'Good evening, Miss Reynolds,' I says.

"She looked up as pleasant as could be, and says she,'good evening, Miss Jones,' and then she got up and set me a chair by the fire. I allus said she was a born lady, and so is her little Anna. After all I didn't know how to bring in my message, and I begun to wish I hadn't come, for fear she'd faint away or something. She looked up from her work while I was trying to think how I could begin, and says she, 'can't you stop and spend the evening?'

"'Oh! no,' says I, 'I'm expected home. Miss Reynolds,' says I, my heart beating so I was feared she'd hear it, 'who do you think's over to our house?'

"'I can't say indeed,' says she. Then she smiled and asked, 'has Samuel returned?'

"'No' says I, 'but your husband has' and with that I burst right out a crying, I couldn't help it, I'd tried to keep in so long. Miss Reynolds turned jest as white as a sheet; and her work fell out of her lap to the floor. 'Oh, dear!' says I, 'I didn't mean to tell you of it so sudden.'

"'Is it true?' says she, whispering with her white lips; her voice was clean gone.

"'Yes, 'tis true,' says I, 'Thomas brought him home when he came from work,' and then I was jest a going to tell her that he was a sitting with one of Thomas's coats on a waiting to see her; but somehow I thought that wouldn't be just the thing.

"'Is he himself?' she asked.

"'He's all right,' says I, meaning here, raising her hand to her head,'

but he isn't very well.'

"She started right up, and took her bonnet and shawl down from a nail, and said, 'come' before I could hardly think what to do next. She almost flew across the road and up the lane. I had to run all the way to keep up. She stopped a minute in the entry to kind o' prepare herself, and then I opened the door; and them two sprang right into each other's arms. I declare, I acted like a fool, and stood behind the door crying as hard as ever I could, I was so astonished. She started and pushed him off a little to see if it was really her own husband, and then she hugged him tighter'n ever.

"'Anna,' says William, when he could speak, wiping his eyes with an old rag of an handkercher, 'can you forgive me all?'

"'Yes, _all_,' says she, 'if you'll only be my own William again,' and then she took his hand to lead him home. 'You'll hardly know the children,' says she.

"He put on the old slouched thing, he called a hat, when he suddenly bethought himself he'd got on Thomas's best coat, almost bran new; and with that he begun to pull it right off. But Thomas wouldn't let him.

'Reynolds,' says he, 'if you'll promise to be a good husband to her, as I know you will be, if you'll let rum alone, I'll make you welcome to it.'

"William s.n.a.t.c.hed hold of his hands as if he was going to cry, and says he, 'I don't dare to promise, oh, how I wish I could!'

"'Well, _well_,' says Thomas, 'I'll see you again,' for he thought 'twa'n't just the time to say more. I couldn't help feelin proud o' my man, then, though I'm 'fraid 'twas kind o' wicked.'"

Kind Mrs. Jones! she was obliged to stop and find her pocket-handkerchief. The tears were streaming down her honest face, and I must confess, I wept with her. She resumed, "The next morning Anna came in and brought the coat all wrapped up in a towel, and says she, 'I thank your kind husband, Miss Jones, but William will soon be able to earn himself a coat with my help.'

"I urged her to keep it, and told her we both made her welcome to it, for I know what it is to want help and to _have_ it too. But no, she wouldn't take it, and with that I asked her to wait a minute, and I ran up garret where Thomas had a good warm overcoat a little too small, and I'd laid it by to make Samuel one out of it. 'Here, Miss Reynolds,' says I, 'is a coat,'tain't no kind o' use to Thomas, 'cause it's too small; and I want the nail desprit bad, where it hung, so I'll be behoven to you, if you'll give it house room.'

"'Oh, Miss Jones,' says she, 'I can see through your kindness, and I shall be very grateful for the coat,' and so she took it and went home.

Now Thomas and I have been putting our heads together to get some work for Reynolds, so he wont have to go to the distillery for it. And at last we concluded to ask the Doctor's advice."

_Monday, March 6th, 1837._

How little I thought when I wrote last that so long a time would pa.s.s before I should write again. I should hardly prove a very good correspondent, did not Frank fill up and make amends for all my deficiencies.

The sickness of Pauline, which, I think, I mentioned in my last, and which probably reached you more than a month since, proved to be the worst kind of measles. We were very much alarmed for a time, as they did not come out; and the poor child was burning up with fever.

I kept Walter over at mother's for more than a fortnight, while Emily remained here to a.s.sist me in the care of the little sufferer. Even when her face was so much swollen as to close her eyes, she was patient and gentle as a lamb. "Dear mamma," she would say, "will G.o.d let me see my little brother again? Please ask G.o.d to make me well quick; this don't make Pauline's face feel nice."

When she had repeatedly begged that Walter might be brought to the bed where she could hear his voice, I explained to her that we feared, if he came, he would be sick too, and his eyes just like hers. After this, the patient sufferer with true self-denial, said, "Mamma, won't you be sick too? I will try to lie still if you can't come. I want to get well to see my brother, but he mustn't come here, because he will take the sick too," she repeated to every one after this.

Frank began to grow seriously alarmed, as week after week pa.s.sed away, and she had nearly recovered from the effects of the measles, to find that her cough still continued. He feared lest her lungs might be affected. From being a very plump, rosy child, she had become extremely pale and thin. Her eyes looked unnaturally large and thoughtful. Her complexion which in health is the richest brunette, was almost sallow. I felt that she was growing too mature. Her questions were so serious and showed so much thought, that I would often catch her in my arms, and feel that I could not give her up. I saw that Frank watched her very closely, and administered to her with the tenderest care. But I dared not ask him what he thought.

"Mamma," said Pauline one day, "will you please teach me a little hymn?"

"Why, my love!" I asked, struck by the expression of her countenance.

"I want more hymns to say in the night. I have said 'Mary had a little lamb,' and 'I knew a little cottage girl,' and all my other hymns, and then I say 'Now I lay me' a great many times over, because that's so short, and I want to learn more."

"But, Pauline, why don't you shut your eyes, and go to sleep?"

"I do shut my eyes, mamma; but they won't stay shut, and the moon looks so bright, I like to see it. Then I say, 'G.o.d made the sky that looks so blue.' Is there a hymn, mamma, about the moon?"

I taught her "twinkle, twinkle little star," but with a sad weight at my heart. That night I took Frank alone, and asked him if he knew Pauline lay awake at night repeating hymns.