“Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise that has survived the fall!”
About a week after Charlie’s funeral, Meg and Robert chanced to meet at
the Walker home, where both had gone to see the desolate young widow.
As they walked home together, both were silent. When within a block of
Meg’s home they passed a little cottage, plainly the home of people in
moderate circumstances. When they were just opposite the gate, a comely
young woman came out of the door and called, “Supper’s ready.”
Her husband, who was on the lawn in front, picked up one child, swung
him on his back, while the youngster squealed with glee, and called,
“Supper’s ready. Didn’t you hear Mama call, boys? The first one in gets
all the hot biscuit.”
Off he capered over the yard, the child on his back kicking and
pounding, and crying, “Get up, old horsie,” while the other two little
lads raced after him as fast as their short legs would carry them. The
mother stood in the open door, her hands on her hips, watching the
race, her face radiating good-humor and joy.
It was such a domestic scene! Rough and uncouth though they might be,
these people typified home, with all of the sweet meaning which is
often lost amid the environment of wealth.
Robert watched with his heart in his eyes. He noted each of the little
lads, for he loved children very dearly. He saw the look of idolatrous
pride on the mother’s face. He was absorbed in the delight of the
domestic scene.
And then they entered the house; the door closed upon them! It was as
though he had been given a glimpse of Heaven through a crack in the
door, which had suddenly been closed, leaving him out in the dark and
the night of his own despair.
Something of what he felt was in his eyes as he turned and looked at
Meg. Then the veil which had obscured his mental vision was lifted, and
he found himself face to face with his great soul-problem!
He seemed to see her for the first time. He took in the pure little
profile, the fresh red lips, the dark-lashed eyes, in a way he had
never done before. He even found himself looking with tender, amused
eyes at her reddish hair, and vaguely wondered what she would do if he
were to call her, school-boy fashion, “Sorrel-top.”
Suddenly he remembered! Not for him those charms, not for him the
companionship of this winsome little creature, of whose deeper nature
he had been given a glimpse, during the sad communion of the last few
weeks!
When they reached her gate he dared not trust himself to shake hands
with her. He feared the touch of the soft little hand, and knew he must
be alone to fight it out by himself.
As Meg stepped up on the porch and was about to go in, a querulous
voice said: “Well, I see you have been gallivanting around with Robert
Malloy again. I should think he would be disgusted with you, the way
you run after him!”
“Oh, Auntie, don’t, please,” she pleaded, holding out her hands
beseechingly.
“Every one sees it,” continued the merciless voice, “even his mother.
And from the way she spoke that night she was here, I could tell that
she was very much displeased.”
“Are you sure of that?” Meg asked quietly.
“Of course I’m sure,” was the impatient answer.
“Very well. I’ll see that no one has reason to criticise my actions
again. Thank you for telling me. Good-night,” she said gently, as she
started to her room.