Harry's father began life on a farm in Vermont. Between handling
ploughs, hoes, and harrows, he had managed to pick up sufficient
knowledge to establish himself as a country doctor; well contented to
ride six miles on horseback of a stormy night, to extract a tooth for
some distracted wretch, for twenty-five cents. Naturally loquacious, and
equally fond of administering jalap and gossip, he soon became a great
favorite with the "women folks," which every aspiring Esculapius, who
reads this, knows to be half the battle. They soon began to trust him,
not only in drawing teeth, but in cases involving the increase of the
village census. Several successes in this line, which he took no pains
to conceal, put him behind a gig of his own, and enabled his practice to
overtake his fame as far as the next village.
Like many other persons, who revolve all their life in a peck measure,
the doctor's views of the world in general, and its denizens in
particular, were somewhat circumscribed. Added to this, he was as
persevering as a fly in the dog-days, and as immovable as the old rusty
weather-cock on the village meeting-house, which for twenty years had
never been blown about by any whisking wind of doctrine. "When he opened
his mouth, no dog must bark;" and any dissent from his opinion, however
circumspectly worded, he considered a personal insult. As his wife
entertained the same liberal views, occasional conjugal collisions,
on this narrow track, were the consequence; the interest of which was
intensified by each reminding the other of their Calvinistic church
obligations to keep the peace. They had, however, one common ground of
undisputed territory--their "_Son Harry_," who was as infallible as the
Pope, and (until he got married) never did a foolish thing since he was
born. On this last point, their "Son Harry" did not exactly agree with
them, as he considered it decidedly the most delightful negotiation he
had ever made, and one which he could not even think of without a sudden
acceleration of pulse.
Time wore on, the young couple occupying their own suite of apartments,
while the old people kept house. The doctor, who had saved enough to lay
his saddle-bags with his medical books on the shelf, busied himself,
after he had been to market in the morning, in speculating on what Ruth
was about, or in peeping over the balustrade, to see who called when
the bell rang; or, in counting the wood-pile, to see how many sticks
the cook had taken to make the pot boil for dinner. The second girl (a
supernumerary of the bridal week) had long since been dismissed; and
the doctor and his wife spent their evenings with the cook, to save
the expense of burning an extra lamp. Consequently, Betty soon began
to consider herself one of the family, and surprised Ruth one day by
modestly requesting the loan of her bridal veil "to wear to a little
party;" not to speak of sundry naps to which she treated herself in
Ruth's absence, in her damask rocking chair, which was redolent, for
some time after, of a strong odor of dish-water.
Still, Ruth kept her wise little mouth shut; moving, amid these
discordant elements, as if she were deaf, dumb, and blind.
Oh, love! that thy silken reins could so curb the spirit and bridle the
tongue, that thy uplifted finger of warning could calm that bounding
pulse, still that throbbing heart, and send those rebellious tears,
unnoticed, back to their source.
Ah! could we lay bare the secret history of many a wife's heart, what
martyrs would be found, over whose uncomplaining lips the grave sets its
unbroken seal of silence.
But was Harry blind and deaf? Had the bridegroom of a few months grown
careless and unobservant? Was he, to whom every hair of that sunny head
was dear, blind to the inward struggles, marked only by fits of feverish
gaiety? Did he never see the sudden _ruse_ to hide the tell-tale blush,
or starting tear? Did it escape his notice, that Ruth would start,
like a guilty thing, if a sudden impulse of tenderness betrayed her
into laying her hand upon his forehead, or leaning her head upon his
shoulder, or throwing her arms about his neck, when the jealous mother
was by? Did not his soul bend the silent knee of homage to that youthful
self-control that could repress its own warm emotions, and stifle its
own sorrows, lest _he_ should know a heart-pang?
Yes; Ruth read it in the magnetic glance of the loving eye as it
lingeringly rested on her, and in the low, thrilling tone of the
whispered, "God bless you, my wife;" and many an hour, when alone in
his counting room, was Harry, forgetful of business, revolving plans
for a separate home for himself and Ruth.
This was rendered every day more necessary, by the increased
encroachments of the old people, who insisted that no visitors should
remain in the house after the old-fashioned hour of nine; at which
time the fire should be taken apart, the chairs set up, the lights
extinguished, and a solemn silence brood until the next morning's
cock-crowing. It was also suggested to the young couple, that the wear
and tear of the front entry carpet might be saved by their entering the
house by the back gate, instead of the front door.
Meals were very solemn occasions; the old people frowning, at such
times, on all attempts at conversation, save when the doctor narrated
the market prices he paid for each article of food upon the table. And
so time wore on. The old couple, like two scathed trees, dry, harsh, and
uninviting, presenting only rough surfaces to the clinging ivy, which
fain would clothe with brightest verdure their leafless branches.