THE “LITTLE WIFE.”
“COME hither, Bose,” said Aunt Nyna, shortly after the departure of Mr.
Byers, “I am minded to talk with thee.”
The faithful old house dog, who lay dozing in the chimney corner,
opened his eyes sleepily and drew a long breath. He rose up, and
shaking his rough coat, came and sat down beside his mistress--rested
his fore paws upon her knees, and gazed up into her face with a
knowing, expectant look.
“I am mindful that thou art but a poor, dumb beast, without a soul,”
continued the good lady, “yet nevertheless, as I have no other friend
in my loneliness, I would fain speak with thee. Dost thee remember
Master Harry, Bose? and dost thee know, too, that here I have a letter
from him--the first since he left us three months agone? Look at it,
poor creature! It is brim-full of hope and affection, and there are
even words of kindly remembrance for thee, which would make thy old
heart leap for joy, could they be spoken in his own cheery tone.”
She held the closely written sheet before the face of her faithful
companion, but he only winked at it with an unconcerned look, as any
dog might be expected to do. Suddenly, however, he started up, wagging
his tail, scented the letter keenly, and rubbed his head against it,
with a quick, low cry.
“Lord bless his dear old heart,” exclaimed the good lady, with a gush
of tears. “He knows all about it. What wonderful gifts the good Lord
has bestowed upon his dumb creatures! and she glanced up reverently,
with clasped hands, in silent acknowledgment of the wisdom and goodness
of the Creator. Again and again did she read over this welcome missive
from the only remaining one of the little band which had once gathered
around her. Then she placed it once more as a sacred keep-sake between
the lids of the Bible, and folding her hands meekly, leaned back in
her chair. Her face was turned towards the window, where she could see
the clear moonlight falling upon the hills and corn-fields--the locust
trees and vines which grew by the cottage waving in the wind, and far
out beyond, the village church, with the little grave-yard about it,
and the white stones gleaming in the moonlight. Then the faces of her
loved and lost, whose mortal remains lay buried there, seemed to look
kindly down upon her with the faces of angels, and as they faded away
she sank into a deep and quiet slumber. As she sat thus, the door was
gently opened, and a young girl entered--a fair, round-faced girl, with
rosy cheeks and bright eyes. She wore a checked handkerchief tied over
her head--a little brown sack--a short striped dress--blue stockings
fitting very closely to her legs, and stout leather shoes. Bose raised
his head quickly, but upon seeing who it was, he got up and wagged his
tail as if she were an old acquaintance.
“Good evening, aunty,” said the girl in a cheerful tone.
“Bless me!” exclaimed the good lady, starting up--“Why Hesper! is it
thou? Verily, I was almost, if not quite asleep. Come to the fire dear
child and warm thee. I hope thou hast brought thy work, and will sit
with me awhile.”
“No, aunty,” she replied, as she knelt down by the fire and rubbed her
little ruddy hands together, “I have come to you in trouble, and must
fly away home again as soon as possible.”
“Trouble, Hesper?” repeated the good lady with a look of concern, “what
is it?”
“Why, you see, aunty, just before dark, as father was at work in the
mill, a large bar of iron fell upon his foot, and crushed it badly. He
was so faint he could not stand, and Capt. Clark brought him home in
his wagon.”
“Dear! dear! that is a great pity! And dids’t thou send for the doctor,
Hesper?”
“No; mother wished to, and so did I, but father would not listen to us.
He said doctors always charged so much that it was like giving them the
bread out of the children’s mouths. Poor Mose has been hard at work all
day, and now he must take father’s place to-night.”
“To-night! what for?”
“Why, yes; you know that Mose works days and father nights. Mose
was just about leaving, when father hurt him, and as Mr. Brown, the
overseer, said that he must have a man in his place, Mose was obliged
to stay.”
“Poor Mose! it is really too bad,” said Aunt Nyna, sorrowfully. “He
begins to stoop and look almost as old as his father. He has altogether
too much hard labor for one so young. How old is he, Hesper?”
“He was seventeen last month.”
“Only seventeen! poor soul! and he does as much work as any man,
without fretting or finding fault either.”
“No; he never says one complaining word, and is just as ready to lend
me a helping hand about the house, when he comes home, as if he had
done nothing at all. I wish he _did_ talk more, for sometimes, when
father complains and finds so much fault, and all the time Mose is so
good and patient, I long to throw my arms about his neck and tell him
how much I love him. But then we children are not used to doing such
things, and I am afraid he would think me a very silly girl. So I do
what is next best--I knit stockings for him, mend his old jacket as
well as I can, and have his supper all nice and hot for him when he
comes home.”
“Heaven help thee, Hesper!” piously ejaculated the old lady, “thou hast
many trials, but thou may’st be sure while trying so hard to do well,
that God will bless thee.”
“He does bless me, aunty, for I have a thousand things to make me
happy. But I mustn’t stop to talk with you any longer. I only ran over
to see if you could spare me a few of your green wormwood leaves to
bruise into a salve for father’s foot, as mother says if he won’t have
a doctor, that is the best thing which can be done for him.”
“Well, I suppose it is,” said Aunt Nyna, “Though I verily fear he will
repent it sorely if he does not have proper care in the first place.”
She took down her old shawl from the peg in the corner, and wrapping
it about her, they went out into the little garden in the rear of the
cottage. The moon shown so brightly they could easily find the bed of
herbs, in the centre of which grew the great wormwood root.
“I had almost forgotten to tell thee, Hesper,” said Aunt Nyna, as they
were gathering the leaves, “that I have had a letter from Harry.”
“From Harry!” exclaimed the girl, in a tone of joyful surprise. She let
go of the plant at once, and sitting down flat upon the ground, looked
up to the good lady with an expression of eager expectation.
“Yea, darling! a letter from Harry, this very night; and he said--well
he said so much that I scarce know what first to tell thee.”
“Was he well and happy, aunty? and does he remember us all, and mean to
come back so soon as he is able?”
“Yes; all that and more: but very particularly he says--’Tell my little
wife,’ just as he always called you Hesper--’that I don’t like the
looks of the Chinese ladies at all, and that I think more of her every
day I live. That I shall work hard to earn all the money I can, and
when I come back shall take her--if she is willing--to be my little
wife in reality.’”
Hesper laughed merrily--“that is just like Harry,” she said. “But,
aunty,” she added in a graver tone, “father said, a short time ago,
that he didn’t like it at all that Harry should call me his little
wife. He said it was only putting foolish notions into children’s
heads, which would get there soon enough without any assistance. Mother
told him that she didn’t see any particular harm in it, and I never
shall forget how he looked, or what his words were when he answered.”
“‘Susan,’ said he, ‘perhaps _you_ think so, for every woman who has
made a fool of herself, is perfectly willing that another should do so.
Now-a-days, the boys and girls are brought up to think, that to get
married is all they live for, and that if they can cheat one another
into it, they are remarkably fortunate; but when a few years have
passed by, and the cares of the world are fairly upon them, they will
wish they were in their graves, with all that belong to them.’ Mother
looked very sad when he said this, and I saw her slyly wipe the tears
from her eyes. It made me feel so sorrowful that I didn’t know what to
do, and so, when there was a good chance, I stole up into my chamber,
and kneeling down I prayed with all my heart, that I might die before I
was old enough to marry, or if I could live, that I might be kept from
doing anything so wrong and foolish.”
“Nay, my child,” said the good woman, with much earnestness, “that
is not right. I am sorry to say that thy father always looks on the
dark side of life, but verily, there is a bright one also. It may be
that he is right in thinking that the young people have very foolish
notions about such things, now-a-days, but that is mostly the fault
of their elders. Every sensible father and mother should tell their
children, so soon as they are old enough to understand, of the great
duties that life has in store for them--that they are growing up to
be men and women--it may be, husbands and wives, fathers and mothers,
and therefore they should keep their bodies pure, sound and healthy,
and store their minds with useful knowledge, so they may be able to
act faithfully and wisely in whatsoever situation they may be placed.
Then there would not be so many mistaken marriages as there are now,
and those who do marry, would be far happier. Yea, Hesper, I am not
afraid to say to thee, young as thou art, that it is a solemn thing to
become a wife, and God grant thou may’st never take that step, without
thinking well about it in the first place.”
“No, aunty,” replied Hesper, with a serious countenance and a decided
shake of her head, “I never shall marry. I am sorry Harry ever called
me his little wife, and you must write to him not to do so any longer,
for I never shall be _his_ wife or any one’s? I only want to be a good
woman, and stay at home and take care of father and mother.”
“Well, child, thou hast indeed a thoughtful head, but thee knows little
as yet of the world, and the experiences of life. I only pray that thy
heart may ever keep in its child-like purity, and be preserved from the
blight and mildew of misplaced affection.”
Thus they went on talking, as they slowly gathered the leaves, without
thinking how fast time flew, until they had obtained a sufficient
quantity.
“Dear me, aunty,” exclaimed Hesper, as she rose up to depart, “I am
afraid I have quite spoiled one of your beautiful herbs, for I have
trampled directly over it, and should not have thought it anything more
than grass, had it not been for its strong and pleasant fragrance.”
“O, there is no harm done,” said Aunt Nyna, “it is only my camomile
root, which is not easily hurt, for, like a good Christian, the more it
is trampled upon, the greater is the fragrance and the better it grows.”
“Why, what a good-natured thing!” said Hesper, laughing. “I must carry
some of the leaves home with me to put under my pillow. Then I may
dream of it, and perhaps grow just like it.”
As they passed along through the garden, aunt Nyna gathered some fine,
ripe peaches, and gave them to Hesper for her mother. “How is thy
mother to-night?” she asked.
“O, she doesn’t seem to get any better, and sometimes I think,”
continued the girl sorrowfully, “that she never will.”
“Aye, well, it isn’t best to be discouraged,” said aunt Nyna,
cheerfully, though at the same time she felt that the poor girl had
great reason to be so.
The fact was, that Hesper’s mother had been ill for a long time, and
during the last six months, had been confined entirely to her bed.
Hesper was only fifteen years of age, and quite small at that, but
being the only daughter in a large and poor family, she had been
obliged to think and care for others early. Until the past year she had
attended school, and learned very fast, but now, the sickness of her
mother made it necessary for her to remain at home. Her loving heart
and cheerful disposition made her as quick to learn in one place as
another, and she soon became quite an accomplished little house-keeper.
All the neighbors wondered at her readiness and ability, and her aunt
Betsey, who was very particular and hard to please, declared that
Hesper would make a real nice woman, if she lived long enough.
“I sometimes think,” said Hesper, “that mother might get better if
she didn’t worry so much about poor little Johnny; but she lies there
in bed, and watches him as he eats his bread and milk in the chimney
corner, or sits with his playthings on the floor, and she sighs often,
as she says--’Poor child! what would become of you if I should be taken
away!’ O, it makes my heart ache, and I feel as though I should cry.”
“It is sad, very sad,” said aunt Nyna.
“Mother says,” continued Hesper, “that for many years she kept thinking
he would come out bright at last, but there’s no use hoping for that
any longer. Although he is ten years old now, yet he cannot speak a
single word, and is just as much pleased with his little playthings,
as when he was an infant. Poor Johnny,” she added, thoughtfully, “he
is a simple child, but I know he loves me, and if mother should die, I
would sooner beg from door to door, than see him suffer.”
As they were talking together, they passed out through the garden
gate, and continued down the lane, till they came to the bridge over
the brook. Here with many a word of affection and encouragement, they
parted. Aunt Nyna returned to her cottage, and Hesper scampered up the
winding road by the old wind-mill, in the direction of her home.