I
That winter was for Minnie the bitterest and hardest one she was ever to
know. She came to the very brink of discouragement; she had not as yet
fully developed the supreme self-confidence which later sustained her
through such extraordinary trials, and there were moments when she had
faint doubts of her own wisdom and ability. When she _almost_ regretted
that she had embarked upon this course.
The boarder was practically the first man she had ever known, for Mr.
Petersen she didn’t count, and on him and his gentlemanly letter she had
built an elaborate and exciting future. She looked upon it as almost a
certainty that she would marry him. Or if not him, then some one of his
literary friends, whom he would be encouraged to invite frequently to
the farm. She was anxious to marry. All her maiden dreams were of
marriage, never of love, always of a husband, never of a lover. She
required a man who was kind and able to support her; she didn’t indulge
in romantic dreams of a handsome man, or a gallant one.
Still, Mr. Blair was almost too unromantic. She was shocked when she saw
him. She had gone down to the station to meet him, expectant of Heaven
knows what--anything but what he was; a pompous middle-aged man in
spectacles and baggy, cheap clothes. She could have wept at the sight of
him.
But before they had reached the house, she had begun to see
compensations in him. He was affable, obliging, and courtly; so
attentive that she was disposed to overlook his age, his bagginess and
his dustiness.
His conversation was remarkable. He talked ceaselessly, in a bland, slow
voice. He explained everything, because all things were known to him.
They passed the rubber factory, and he explained the entire process of
rubber manufacture, went back to the gathering of rubber, and finally to
curious facts about rubber trees. He took pains to use terms she would
understand. Also he explained to her why Bess refused to pass milk
waggons, and told her a great deal about horses hitherto unknown to her.
Of the old lady he made an easy conquest. He obeyed the call to supper
with alacrity, but although he had had quite an hour and a half to rest
and make ready, although warm water and a clean towel and a new cake of
scented soap had been provided for him, it was evident that he had spent
no time in washing. His nails were grimy, like his cuffs. Still, he was
so pleasant and so courtly, so full of interesting information, that the
two women couldn’t withstand him. Especially the old lady.
“Minnie,” she whispered, when the girl rose to clear the table, “why
don’t you make some of your fudge for Mr. Blair?”
Minnie was quite willing and Mr. Blair very much pleased; he rather
archly admitted a “sweet tooth.” She made haste to clear the table, and
while the kettle was heating for the dishes, she started her
confectionery, bending seriously over a saucepan on the fire. Michael
sat watching her with scornful eyes. He never looked at anyone else; all
his faith was placed in Minnie; he expected nothing from any other
source.
She was somewhat surprised at seeing Mr. Blair saunter in; the kitchen
was not the place for any man, let alone a boarder. He was, however,
oblivious of the proprieties. He offered to, and insisted upon, drying
the dishes for her. Humorously he tied about his ample middle a gingham
apron and set to work slowly but competently. He gave her many points,
too, about how things might be done better, how she could save steps,
and so forth. About the range, and the coal, about soaps, about how a
kitchen should be arranged efficiently.
Then, when everything was neat and clean, the fire banked and Michael
and his brethren locked in the cellar, he followed Minnie into the
parlour, bringing a plate of the fudge.
They sat up unusually late, very cosy, about the blue china lamp, eating
Minnie’s candy and hearing Mr. Blair’s stately voice telling of dairy
farming in Holland. He admitted that he had never been there, but he
knew. This was a curious feature about Mr. Blair; he always spoke as a
witness, irrefutable and calmly positive; apparently his knowledge came
through inspiration or clairvoyance, for he never mentioned having read
or heard any of it.
“Well,” said the old lady to Minnie, as they were going up to bed, “I
don’t know _when_ I’ve spent a pleasanter evening!”