MIXED HAPPINESS.
They had gone away, Clinton and Norine, on their simple, inexpensive
wedding tour. A very simple little trip of two weeks it was to be, for
although Clinton would gladly have extended it in the pride he felt for
his girl-wife, and the desire he had to exhibit his happiness, he had
been obliged to limit it out of deference to Norine’s wishes.
This was the first time that the brother and sister had ever been
separated, and Jim found the little cottage amazingly dull without her.
Doctor Conway drove over every day, and it was touching to see the
affectionate consideration that these two men showed for each other.
The object of Conway’s affection had never been mentioned between them,
yet Jim fully understood it, and tried in his quiet way to console his
friend for his loss; not that the matter was ever spoken of openly
between them.
Sympathy can be shown without words, and Lester Conway felt it in every
hand-clasp and every kindly look his friend gave him.
Still, it was a dull, weary life at the farm, lightened somewhat,
however, by Norine’s happy letters that Conway brought over almost
daily, but rendered gloomy again by the deserted look of the little
rooms, and still more to Jim by his dark forebodings of the future.
Jim berated himself sadly during this time for what he considered his
moral cowardice. Norine had always been his idol; he would gladly
have sacrificed his own happiness if he could thereby promote hers.
And now that she was away from him, he felt that he had done wrong in
consenting to this hasty wedding.
True, he had done so only after Norine had protested that it was her
one chance for happiness in the future, and he knew that she would have
been very unhappy had he withheld his consent.
But Jim was too honest to exonerate himself for that reason. He
had done something wrong and he knew it, and was very miserable in
consequence.
And then, Mrs. Higgins, not the most cheerful companion at the best of
times, was particularly depressing during Norine’s absence, and made
life galling to good-natured Jim.
Still, two weeks is not a very long time, and it did pass away, though
very slowly; and promptly upon the day set, Norine and her husband
returned to the cottage.
“Are you glad to see me, Jim?” she cried, between a sob and a laugh, as
she threw herself into her brother’s arms.
“Very glad, Norry,” he said. “I never passed such a dismal time in all
my life.”
“Was not Mrs. Higgins good to you, dear?” she laughed, kissing him.
“Well, I will make it all up to you. And, Jim, do you know I have made
a discovery?”
“What is it?” inquired Jim, getting a hand free to offer Clinton. “What
is it, dear?”
“Why, it is that there is no place in the world like the little farm,
and that no girl was ever blessed with such a good brother and husband
as I am.”
And she danced off and saluted Mrs. Higgins with a hug and a kiss, and
then donning one of those immense gingham aprons, that seemed to infold
her in a most coquettish manner, she bustled around, intent on her
household duties, with such a charming assumption of matronliness that
she most certainly would have won the heart of any man who could have
seen it.
As for the hearts of those two, why, she already owned them.
And then to see her when the supper work was all done, and the room
straightened up again! To see her then perched on the arm of her
brother’s chair, detailing to him all the adventures of that marvelous
two weeks!
How happy she was, and how fondly Clinton would look at her! No wonder
Jim thought less of the future. Forebodings would have to be very dark
indeed that Norine’s bright face could not banish. And, in fact, Jim’s
doubts for the future very soon disappeared.
Clinton proved himself such a wonderful fellow around the farm; there
was scarcely a tool or an appliance about the place that he did not
improve in some respect. Not that he was at all energetic; he spent
far more time in lounging around the house than Jim did, and would very
often laugh at himself for a lazy fellow that was always pottering
around. Yet, he pottered around effectively, Jim thought.
And when he, with certain pulleys and a rope, arranged a complicated
affair in the loft of the big red barn that would actually unload
and store away the hay almost automatically, Jim thought he was a
wonderful fellow indeed, and began to feel quite proud of his talented
brother-in-law.
So the summer and fall passed, and the storms of winter were raging
around the little cottage before Clinton showed any signs of
dissatisfaction with his life on the farm. Then, indeed, he did get a
little gloomy, and at times uncertain as to his temper.
He had not entirely recovered his strength, and the farm life in winter
was very dull to one accustomed, as he had been, to the roar and
excitement of a large city.
And thinking thus, they bore with him patiently, and only Jim began to
think his old fears were well-founded.
But the winter passed without any outbreak to mar their happiness,
and with the summer came Norine’s baby. Such a baby, Mrs. Higgins
testified, there never had been before!
And Doctor Conway vowed that he was proud to be professionally
connected with such a child. Of course Norine believed them. It was not
necessary that they should tell _her_ so; she _knew_ that there never
was such a baby before. And she devoted herself to it, showing all the
loveliest grace of maternity, and looking so beautiful in her young
dignity that the men folks thought her almost as wonderful as the baby.
The coming of the baby had its effect on Clinton; but not in the way
Norine hoped for. He was very proud of both the baby and her, and very
fond of both; but latterly he talked a great deal about money.
The little capital he had had on his arrival at Bright Farm had
remained untouched. But now he said that there was a necessity for
increasing it.
Norine laughed when he spoke of making provision for the child.
“He will have the farm,” she said; “and we will be able to give him a
good education. What more will he need?”
“My love,” said Clinton, “you do not expect to keep the child cooped up
on this little farm all his life?”
“Why not?” inquired Norine, raising her eyebrows. “I have been here all
my life, and have been very happy.”
“Ah! you are a woman,” said Clinton, with something very like a sneer.
“Girls naturally prefer to stay at home; but he is a boy, and you will
find him different. He will want to get out into the world, and be
something. All boys do,” he added inconsequentially.
“Jim has been here all his life, and I am sure he would not care to
change.”
“Jim is the best fellow in the world,” replied Clinton, “but I do not
expect my child will be like him; besides, we will have to respect the
child’s inclinations when they become formed. You would not care to
keep him on this little farm if he should prove talented?”
Norine could not answer this. She had no doubt whatever of the child’s
talent.
“What will you do?” she asked meekly.
“I think I will go to Altoona,” said Clinton, “and see if I can not get
into something there.”
“I am sure, dear,” said Norine, raising her wet eyes from the child to
his father, “that little Clinton would rather stay on the farm all his
life than to be the means of separating you and me.”
“Why, who thought of separating?” cried Clinton impatiently. “I shall
not be gone longer than a week at a time; and if I am successful, it
will not take long to make as much money as we shall need. It is like
a woman,” he added in an injured tone. “You would risk your child’s
future rather than make a little sacrifice for him now.”
“Very well, dear,” said Norine, drying her eyes. “Do as you think best,
and I will try and not be selfish.”
“Now that is my own dear little wife again,” said Clinton, kissing
her gayly. “Remember, dear, how proud you will be to have your son,
perhaps, famous.”
Norine said nothing, but she smiled at him through her tears, and
assisted in his preparations for departure as cheerfully as possible.
After he had really gone, she locked herself into her own room with the
baby, and wept the first bitter tears of her life.
So the summer passed away, and autumn came with its beautiful changes,
and they all prospered, and little Clinton grew daily in strength and
beauty. His father came home at irregular intervals; sometimes only
coming to stay over Sunday, sometimes staying contentedly at the farm
for over a week at a time.
Norine asked no questions as to his business. She would not seek his
confidence, but was always pleased whenever he would volunteer any
information.
If he was successful while away from the farm, he was not improved
thereby, for his temper became more uncertain with every visit.
But Norine never spoke of it, and so Jim, whose blood very often boiled
over some passionate word, was disarmed. He had a great dread of
interfering between man and wife, had Jim, and so he held himself in
check, only waiting until Norine should seek his help.
“Jim,” said Norine, one evening, when they were sitting before the
kitchen fire, with little Clinton asleep in his crib between them, “is
it not strange that we have never heard from Aunt Darling?”
“I suppose if she wanted us to hear she would have written,” replied
Jim a little gruffly.
“Do you think we had better write again, Jim?”
“No,” said Jim, rising, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, “I
don’t. If she wants to see us, let her come here.”
“I should like so much to have her see my baby,” said Norine musingly;
“but I don’t suppose she ever will.”
“He will probably live just as long if she doesn’t,” replied Jim
testily. “I think we have done our share, and rather more. Now it is
her turn.”
“Perhaps she never received our letter,” hazarded Norine.
“Received it? Of course she received it,” asserted Jim scornfully. “If
she had not received it, it would have been returned to us. It is easy
enough to see that she wants to have nothing to do with us, and you had
better forget her as quickly as possible.”
And he stamped out of the little kitchen, feeling very indignant and
determined, while Norine, busied with her household cares, took his
advice and forgot for a time, at least, all about their unfriendly
relative.