"There can be no sorrow greater than this sorrow," sobbed Ruth, as the
heavy sod fell on Daisy's little breast.
In after years, when bitterer cups had been drained to the dregs, Ruth
remembered these, her murmuring words. Ah! mourning mother! He who seeth
the end from the beginning, even in this blow "remembered mercy."
* * * * *
"Your daughter-in-law is quite crushed by her affliction, I hear," said
a neighbor to old Mrs. Hall.
"Yes, Mrs. Jones, I think she is," said the old lady complacently. "It
has taken right hold of her."
"It died of croup, I believe," said Mrs. Jones.
"Well, they _say_ so," said the old lady. "It is _my_ opinion the
child's death was owing to the thriftlessness of the mother. I don't
mourn for it, because I believe the poor thing is better off."
"You surprise me," said Mrs. Jones. "I always had the impression that
young Mrs. Hall was a pattern mother."
"People differ," said the old lady, raising her eyebrows, compressing
her lips, and looking mysteriously at the ceiling, as if she _could_
tell a tale, were she not too charitable.
"Well, the amount of it is," said the garrulous old doctor, emerging
from the corner; "the amount of it is, that the mother always thought
she knew better than anybody else how to manage that child. Now, you
know, Mis. Jones, I'm a physician, and _ought_ to know something about
the laws that govern the human body, but you'll be astonished to hear
that she frequently acted directly contrary to my advice, and this is
the result; that tells the whole story. However, as Mis. Hall says,
the child is better off; and as to Ruth, why the Lord generally sends
afflictions where they are _needed_;" and the doctor returned to his
corner.
"It looks very lonely at the Glen since they moved away," remarked Mrs.
Jones. "I suppose they don't think of coming back."
"How?" replied the doctor, re-appearing from his corner.
"I suppose your son and his wife have no idea of returning to the Glen,"
said Mrs. Jones.
"No--no. Ruth is one of the uneasy kind; it's coming and going--coming
and going with her. She fancied everything in doors and out reminded her
of Daisy, and kept wandering round, trying to be rid of herself. Now
that proves she didn't make a sanctifying use of her trouble. It's no
use trying to dodge what the Lord sends. We've just got to stand and
take it; if we don't, he'll be sending something else. Them's my
sentiments, and I consider 'em scripteral. I shouldn't be surprised if
_Harry_ was taken away from her;--a poor, miserable thing she'd be to
take care of herself, if he was. She couldn't earn the salt to her
porridge. Thriftless, Mis. Jones, thriftless--come of a bad stock--can't
expect good fruit off a wild apple tree, at least, not without grace is
grafted on; that tells the whole story."
"Well; my heart aches for her," said the kind Mrs. Jones. "Mrs. Hall is
very delicately organized,--one of those persons capable of compressing
the happiness or misery of a lifetime into a few moments."
"Stuff," said the doctor, "stuff; don't believe it. _I'm_ an example to
the contrary. I've been through everything, and just look at me;" and
the doctor advanced a pace or two to give Mrs. Jones a better view of
his full-blown peony face, and aldermanic proportions; "don't believe
it, Mis. Jones; stuff! Fashion to be sentimental; nerves a modern
invention. Ridiculous!"
"But," said the persistent Mrs. Jones, "don't you think, doctor,
that--"
"Don't think anything _about_ it," said the doctor. "Don't want to
_hear_ anything about it. Have no patience with any woman who'd let a
husband sell a farm at such a sacrifice as Harry's was sold, merely
because there was a remote chance she would become insane if she staid
there. Now, I've enough to do--plenty to do, but, still, I was willing
to superintend that farm a little, as my doing so was such a help to
Harry. Well, well; they'll both go to the dogs, that's the amount of it.
A rolling stone gathers no moss. Harry was good for something before he
married Ruth; had a mind of his own. Ruth aint the wife for him."
"He did not appear to think so," replied the obstinate Mrs. Jones.
"Everybody in the village says, 'what a happy couple they are.'"
"_O-o-h_--my!" hissed the old lady, "did you _ever_, doctor? Of course,
Mrs. Jones, you don't suppose Harry would be such a fool as to tell
people how miserable he was; but _mothers_, Mrs. Jones, _mothers_ are
keen-sighted; can't throw dust in a _mother's_ eyes."
"_Nor in mine_," retorted the independent Mrs. Jones, with a mock
courtesy to the old lady, as she walked out the door, muttering as she
went down the road, "Sally Jones will tell her the truth if nobody else
will."
"Mis. Hall," said the doctor, drawing himself up so straight as to
snap off his waist-band button, "this is the last time that woman ever
crosses _my_ threshold. I shall tell Deacon Smith that I consider her a
proper subject for church discipline; she's what the bible calls 'a busy
body in other men's matters;' a character which both you and I despise
and abominate, Mis. Hall."