EXPERIENCE IN TAKING BOARDERS.
I HAVE no experiences of my own to relate on this subject. But I
could fill a book with the experiences of my friends. How many poor
widows, in the hope of sustaining their families and educating their
children, have tried the illusive, and, at best, doubtful experiment
of taking boarders, to find themselves in a year or two, or three,
hopelessly involved in debt, a life time of labor would fail to
cancel. Many, from pride, resort to this means of getting a living,
because--why I never could comprehend--taking boarders is thought to
be more genteel than needlework or keeping a small store for the
sale of fancy articles.
The experience of one of my friends, a Mrs. Turner, who, in the
earlier days of her sad widowhood, found it needful to make personal
effort for the sustenance of her family, I will here relate. Many
who find themselves in trying positions like hers, may, in reviewing
her mistakes, be saved from similar ones themselves.
"I don't know what we shall do!" exclaimed Mrs. Turner, about six
months after the death of her husband, while pondering sadly over
the prospect before her. She had one daughter about twenty, and two
sons who were both under ten years of age. Up to this time she had
never known the dread of want. Her husband had been able to provide
well for his family; and they moved in a very respectable, and
somewhat showy circle. But on his death, his affairs were found to
be much involved, and when settled, there was left for the widow and
children only about the sum of four thousand dollars, besides the
household furniture, which was very handsome. This sad falling off
in her prospects, had been communicated to Mrs. Turner a short time
before, by the administrator on the estate; and its effect was to
alarm and sadden her extremely. She knew nothing of business, and
yet, was painfully conscious, that four thousand dollars would be
but a trifle to what she would need for her family, and that effort
in some direction was now absolutely necessary. But, besides her
ignorance of any calling by which money could be made, she had a
superabundance of false pride, and shrunk from what she was pleased
to consider the odium attached to a woman who had to engage in
business. Under these circumstances, she had a poor enough prospect
before her. The exclamation as above recorded, was made in the
presence of Mary Turner, her daughter, a well educated girl, who had
less of that false pride which obscured her mother's perceptions of
right. After a few moments' silence the latter said--
"And yet we must do something, mother."
"I know that, Mary, too well. But I know of nothing that we can do."
"Suppose we open a little dry goods' store?" suggested Mary. "Others
seem to do well at it, and we might. You know we have a great many
friends."
"Don't think of it, Mary! We could not expose ourselves in that
way."
"I know that it would not be pleasant, mother; but, then, we must do
something."
"It must be something besides that, Mary. I can't listen to it. It's
only a vulgar class of women who keep stores."
"I am willing to take in sewing, mother; but, then, all I could earn
would go but a little way towards keeping the family. I don't
suppose I could even pay the rent, and that you know, is four
hundred dollars."
"Too true," Mrs. Turner said, despondingly.
"Suppose I open a school?" suggested Mary.
"O no! no! My head would never stand the noise and confusion. And,
any way, I never did like a school."
"Then I don't know what we shall do, unless we take some boarders."
"A little more genteel. But even that is low enough."
"Then, suppose, mother we look for a lower rent, and try to live
more economically. I will take in sewing, and we can try for awhile,
and see how we get along."
"O no, indeed, child. That would never do. We must keep up
appearances, or we shall lose our place in society. You know that it
is absolutely necessary for you and your brothers, that we should
maintain our position."
"As for me, mother," said Mary, in a serious tone, "I would not have
you to take a thought in that direction. And it seems to me that our
true position is the one where we can live most comfortably
according to our means."
"You don't know anything about it, child," Mrs. Turner replied, in a
positive tone.
Mary was silenced for the time. But a banishment of the subject did
not, in any way, lesson the difficulties. Thoughts of these soon
again became apparent in words; and the most natural form of these
was the sentence--
"I don't know what we _shall_ do!" uttered by the mother in a tone
of deep despondency.
"Suppose we take a few boarders?" Mary urged, about three weeks
after the conversation just alluded to.
"No, Mary; we would be too much exposed: and then it would come very
hard on you, for you know that I cannot stand much fatigue," Mrs.
Turner replied, slowly and sadly.
"O, as to that," said Mary, with animation: "I'll take all the
burden off of you."
"Indeed, child, I cannot think of it," Mrs. Turner replied,
positively; and again the subject was dismissed.
But it was soon again recurred to, and after the suggestion and
disapproval of many plans, Mary again said--
"Indeed, mother, I don't see what we will do, unless we take a few
boarders."
"It's the only thing at all respectable, that I can think of," Mrs.
Turner said despondingly; "and I'm afraid it's the best we can do."
"I think we had better try it, mother, don't you?"
"Well, perhaps we had, Mary. There are four rooms that we can spare;
and these ought to bring us in something handsome."
"What ought we to charge?"
"About three dollars and a half for young men, and ten dollars for a
man and his wife."
"If we could get four married couples for the four rooms, that would
be forty dollars a week, which would be pretty good," said Mary,
warming at the thought.
"Yes, if we could, Mary, we might manage pretty well. But most
married people have children, and they are such an annoyance that I
wouldn't have them in the house. We will have to depend mainly on
the young men."
It was, probably, three weeks after this, that an advertisement,
running thus, appeared in one of the newspapers:
"BOARDING--Five or six genteel young men, or a few gentlemen and
their wives, can be accommodated with boarding at No.--Cedar street.
Terms moderate."
In the course of the following day, a man called and asked the terms
for himself and wife.
"Ten dollars," said Mrs. Turner.
"That's too high--is it not?" remarked the man.
"We cannot take you for less."
"Have you a pleasant room vacant?"
"You can have your choice of the finest in the house?"
"Can I look at them, madam?"
"Certainly, sir." And the stranger was taken through Mrs. Turner's
beautifully furnished chambers.
"Well, this is certainly a temptation," said the man, pausing and
looking around the front chamber on the second floor. "And you have
named your lowest terms?"
"Yes, sir; the lowest."
"Well, it's higher than I've been paying, but this looks too
comfortable. I suppose we will have to strike a bargain."
"Shall be pleased to accommodate you, sir."
"We will come, then, to-morrow morning."
"Very well, sir." And the stranger departed.
"So much for a beginning," said Mrs. Turner, evidently gratified.
"He seems to be much of a gentleman. If his wife is like him, they
will make things very agreeable I am sure."
"I hope she is," said Mary.
On the next morning, the new boarders made their appearance, and the
lady proved as affable and as interesting as the husband.
"I always pay quarterly. This is the custom in all the boarding
houses I have been in. But if your rules are otherwise, why just say
so. It makes no difference to me," remarked the new boarder, in the
blandest manner imaginable.
"Just suit yourself about that, Mr. Cameron. It is altogether
immaterial," Mrs. Turner replied, smiling. "I am in no particular
want of money."
Mr. Cameron bowed lower, and smiled more blandly, if possible, than
before.
"You have just opened a boarding house, I suppose, madam?" he said.
"Yes sir, I am a new beginner at the business."
"Ah--well, I must try and make you known all I can. You will find
Mrs. Cameron, here, a sociable kind of a woman. And if I can serve
you at any time, be sure to command me."
"You are too kind!" Mrs. Turner responded, much pleased to have
found, in her first boarders, such excellent, good-hearted people.
In a few days, a couple of young men made application, and were
received, and now commenced the serious duties of the new
undertaking. Mary had to assume the whole care of the house. She had
to attend the markets, and oversee the kitchen, and also to make
with her own hands all the pastry. Still, she had, a willing heart,
and this lightened much of the heavy burden now imposed upon her.
"How do you like your new boarding house?" asked a friend of one of
the young men who had applied, and been received. This was about two
weeks after his entrance into Mrs. Turner's house.
"Elegant," responded the young man, giving his countenance a
peculiar and knowing expression.
"Indeed? But are you in earnest?"
"I am that. Why, we live on the very fat of the land."
"Pshaw! you must be joking. Whoever heard of the fat of the land
being found in a boarding house. They can't afford it."
"I don't care, myself, whether they can afford it or not. But we do
live elegantly. I wouldn't ask to sit down to a better table."
"What kind of a room have you? and what kind of a bed?"
"Good enough for a lord."
"Nonsense!"
"No, but I am in earnest, as I will prove to you. I sleep on as fine
a bed as ever I saw, laid on a richly carved mahogany bedstead, with
beautiful curtains. The floor is covered with a Brussels carpet,
nearly new and of a rich pattern. There is in the room a mahogany
wardrobe, an elegant piece of furniture--a marble top dressing
bureau, and a mahogany wash-stand with a marble slab. Now if you
don't call that a touch above a common boarding house, you've been
more fortunate than I have been until lately."
"Are there any vacancies there, Tom?"
"There is another bed in my room."
"Well, just tell them, to-night, that I'll be there to-morrow
morning."
"Very well."
"And I know of a couple more that'll add to the mess, if there is
room."
"It's a large house, and I believe they have room yet to spare."
A week more passed away, and the house had its complement, six young
men, and the polite gentleman and his wife. This promised an income
of thirty-one dollars per week.
As an off-set to this, a careful examination into the weekly
expenditure would have shown a statement something like the
following: Marketing $12; groceries, flour, &c., $10; rent, $8;
servants' hire-cook, chambermaid, and black boy, $4; fuel, and
incidental expenses, $6--in all, $40 per week. Besides this, their
own clothes, and the schooling of the two boys did not cost less
than at the rate of $300 per annum. But neither Mrs. Turner nor Mary
ever thought that any such calculation was necessary. They charged
what other boarding house keepers charged, and thought, of course,
that they must make a good living. But in no boarding house, even
where much higher prices were obtained, was so much piled upon the
table.
Every thing, in its season, was to be found there, without regard to
prices. Of course, the boarders were delighted, and complimented
Mrs. Turner upon the excellent fare which they received.
Mr. and Mrs. Cameron continued as affable and interesting as when
they first came into the house. But the first quarter passed away,
and nothing was said about their bill, and Mrs. Turner never thought
of giving them a polite hint. Two of her young men were also remiss
in this respect, but they were such gentlemanly, polite, attentive
individuals, that, of course, nothing could be said.
"I believe I've never had your bill, Mrs. Turner, have I?" Mr.
Cameron said to her one evening, when about six months had passed.
"No; I have never thought of handing it in. But it's no difference,
I'm not in want of money."
"Yes, but it ought to be paid. I'll bring you up a check from the
counting-room in a few days."
"Suit your own convenience, Mr. Cameron," answered Mrs. Turner, in
an indifferent tone.
"O, it's perfectly convenient at all times. But knowing that you
were not in want of it, has made me negligent."
This was all that was said on the subject for another quarter,
during which time the two young men alluded to as being in arrears,
went off, cheating the widow out of fifty dollars each.
But nothing was said about it to the other boarders, and none of
them knew of the wrong that had been sustained. Their places did not
fill up, and the promised weekly income was reduced to twenty-four
dollars.
At the end of the third quarter, Mr. Cameron again recollected that
he had neglected to bring up a check from the counting-room, and
blamed himself for his thoughtlessness.
"I am so full of business," said he, "that I sometimes neglect these
little things."
"But it's a downright shame, Mr. Cameron, when it's so easy for you
to draw off a check and put it into your pocket," remarked his wife.
"O, it's not a particle of difference," Mrs. Turner volunteered to
say, smiling--though, to tell the truth, she would much rather have
had the money.
"Well, I'll try and bear it in mind this very night," and Mr.
Cameron hurried away, as business pressed.
The morning after Mr. Cameron's fourth quarter expired, he walked
out, as usual, with his wife before breakfast. But when all
assembled at the table, they had not (something very uncommon for
them) returned.
"I wonder what keeps Mr. and Mrs. Cameron?" remarked Mrs. Turner.
"Why, I saw them leave in the steamboat for the South, this
morning," said one of the boarders.
"You must be mistaken," Mrs. Turner replied.
"O no, ma'am, not at all. I saw them, and conversed with them before
the boat started. They told me that they were going on as far as
Washington."
"Very strange!" ejaculated Mrs. Turner. "They said nothing to me
about it."
"I hope they don't owe you any thing," remarked one of the boarders.
"Indeed, they do."
"Not much, ma'am; I hope."
"Over five hundred dollars."
"O, that is too bad! How could you trust a man like Mr. Cameron to
such an amount?"
"Why, surely," said Mrs. Turner, "he is a respectable and a
responsible merchant; and I was in no want of the money."
"Indeed, Mrs. Turner, he is no such thing."
"Then what is he?"
"He is one of your gentlemen about town, and lives, I suppose, by
gambling. At least such is the reputation he bears. I thought you
perfectly understood this."
"How cruelly I have been deceived!" said Mrs. Turner, unable to
command her feelings; and rising, she left the table in charge of
Mary.
On examining Mr. and Mrs. Cameron's room, their trunk was found, but
it was empty. The owners of it, of course, came not back to claim
their property.
The result of this year's experience in keeping boarders, was an
income of just $886 in money, and a loss of $600, set off against an
expense of $2380. Thus was Mrs. Turner worse off by $1494 at the end
of the year, than she was when she commenced keeping boarders. But
she made no estimates, and had not the most remote idea of how the
matter stood. Whenever she wanted money, she drew upon the amount
placed to her credit in bank by the administrator on her husband's
estate, vainly imagining that it would all come back through the
boarders. All that she supposed to be lost of the first year's
business were the $600, out of which she had been cheated. Resolving
to be more circumspect in future, another year was entered upon. But
she could not help seeing that Mary was suffering from hard labor
and close confinement, and it pained her exceedingly. One day she
said to her, a few weeks after they had entered upon the second
year--
"I am afraid, Mary, this is too hard for you. You begin to look pale
and thin. You must spare yourself more."
"I believe I do need a little rest, mother," said Mary; "but if I
don't look after things, nobody will, and then we should soon have
our boarders dissatisfied."
"That is too true, Mary."
"But I wouldn't mind it so much, mother, if I thought we were
getting ahead. But I am afraid we are not."
"What makes you think so, child?"
"You know we have lost six hundred dollars already, and that is a
great deal of money."
"True, Mary; but we must be more careful in future. We will soon
make that up, I am sure."
"I hope so," Mary responded, with a sigh. She did not herself feel
so sanguine of making it up. Still, she had not entered into any
calculation of income and expense, leaving that to her mother, and
supposing that all was right as a matter of course.
As they continued to set an excellent table, they kept up pretty
regularly their complement of boarders. The end of the second year
would have shown this result, if a calculation had been made: cash
income, $1306--loss by boarders, $150--whole expenses, $2000.
Consequently, they were worse off at the end of the year by $694; or
in the two years, $2188, by keeping boarders.
And now poor Mrs. Turner was startled on receiving her bank book
from the bank, settled up, to find that her four thousand dollars
had dwindled down to $1812. She could not at first believe her
senses. But there were all her checks regularly entered; and, to
dash even the hope that there was a mistake, there were the
cancelled checks, also, bearing her own signature.
"Mary, what _shall_ we do?" was her despairing question, as the full
truth became distinct to her mind.
"You say we have sunk more than two thousand dollars in two years?"
"Yes, my child."
"And have had all our hard labor for nothing?" Mary continued, and
her voice trembled as she thought of how much she had gone through
in that time.
"Yes."
"Something must be wrong, mother. Let us do what we should have done
at first, make a careful estimate of our expenses."
"Well."
"It costs us just ten dollars each week for marketing--and I know
that our groceries are at least that, including flour; that you see
makes twenty dollars, and we only get twenty-eight dollars for our
eight boarders. Our rent will bring our expenses up to that. And
then there are servants' wages, fuel, our own clothes, and the boys'
schooling, besides what we lose every year, and the hundred little
expenses which cannot be enumerated."
"Bless me, Mary! No wonder we have gone behindhand."
"Indeed, mother, it is not."
"We have acted very blindly, Mary."
"Yes, we have; but we must do so no longer. Let us give up our
boarders, and move into a smaller house."
"But what shall we do Mary? Our money will soon dwindle away."
"We must do something for a living, mother, that is true. But if we
cannot now see what we shall do, that is no reason why we should go
on as we are. Our rent, you know, takes away from us eight dollars a
week. We can get a house large enough for our own purposes at three
dollars a week, or one hundred and fifty dollars a year, I am sure,
thus saving five dollars a week there, and that money would buy all
the plain food our whole family would eat."
"But it will never do, Mary, for us to go to moving into a little
bit of a pigeon-box of a house."
"Mother, if we don't get into a cheaper house and husband our
resources, we shall soon have no house to live in!" said Mary, with
unwonted energy.
"Well, child, perhaps you are right; but I can't bear the thought of
it," Mrs. Turner replied. "And any how, I can't see what we are
going to do then."
"We ought to do what we see to be right, mother, had we not?" Mary
asked, looking affectionately into her mother's face.
"I suppose so, Mary."
"Won't it be right for us to reduce our expenses, and make the most
of what we have left?"
"It certainly will, Mary."
"Then let us do what seems to be right, and we shall see further, I
am sure, as soon as we have acted."
Thus urged, Mrs. Turner consented to relinquish her boarders, and to
move into a small house, at a rent very considerably reduced.
Many articles of furniture they were obliged to dispose of, and this
added to their little fund some five hundred dollars. About two
months after they were fairly settled, Mary said to her mother--
"I've been thinking a good deal lately, mother, about getting into
something that would bring us in a living."
"Well, child, what conclusion have you come to?"
"You don't like the idea of setting up a little store?"
"No, Mary, it is too exposing."
"Nor of keeping a school?"
"No."
"Well, what do you think of my learning the dress-making business?"
"Nonsense, Mary!"
"But, mother, I could learn in six months, and then we could set up
the business, and I am sure we could do well. Almost every one who
sets up dress-making, gets along."
"There was always something low to me in the idea of a milliner or
mantua maker, and I cannot bear the thought of your being one," Mrs.
Turner replied, in a decided tone.
"You know what Pope says, mother--
'Honor and shame from no _condition_ rise;
Act well your part, there all the honor lies.'"
"Yes, but that is poetry, child."
"And song is but the eloquence of truth, some one has beautifully
said," responded Mary, smiling.
The mother was silent, and Mary, whose mind had never imbibed,
fully, her mother's false notions, continued--
"I am sure there can be no wrong in my making dresses. Some one must
make them, and it is the end we have in view, it seems to me, that
determines the character of an action. If I, for the sake of
procuring an honest living for my mother, my little brothers, and
myself, am willing to devote my time to dress-making, instead of
sitting in idleness, and suffering James and Willie to be put out
among strangers, then the calling is to me honorable. My aim is
honorable, and the means are honest. Is it not so, mother?"
"Yes, I suppose it is so. But then there was always something so
degrading to me in the idea of being nothing but a dress-maker!"
Just at that moment a young man, named Martin, who had lived with
them during the last year of their experiment in keeping boarders,
called in to see them. He kept a store in the city, and was reputed
to be well off. He had uniformly manifested an interest in Mrs.
Turner and her family, and was much liked by them. After he was
seated. Mrs. Turner said to him--
"I am trying, Mr. Martin, to beat a strange notion out of Mary's
head. She has been endeavouring to persuade me to let her learn the
dress-making business."
The young man seemed a little surprised at this communication, and
Mary evinced a momentary confusion when it was made. He said,
however, very promptly and pleasantly, turning to Mary--
"I suppose you have a good reason for it, Miss Mary."
"I think I have, Mr. Martin," she replied, smiling. "We cannot live,
and educate James and William, unless we have a regular income; and
I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that what we have cannot last
long--nor to another, that I am the only one in the family from whom
any regular income can be expected."
"And you are willing to devote yourself to incessant toil, night and
day, for this purpose?"
"Certainly I am," Mary replied, with a quiet, cheerful smile.
"But it never will do, Mr. Martin, will it?" Mrs. Turner remarked.
"Why not, Mrs. Turner?"
"Because, it is not altogether respectable."
"I do not see any thing disrespectable in the business; but, with
Mary's motive for entering into it, something highly respectable and
honorable," Mr. Martin replied, with unusual earnestness.
Mrs. Turner was silenced.
"And you really think of learning the business, and then setting it
up?" said Mr. Martin, turning to Mary, with a manifest interest,
which she felt, rather than perceived.
"Certainly I do, if mother does not positively object."
"Then I wish you all success in your praiseworthy undertaking. And
may the end you have in view support you amid the wearisome toil."
There was a peculiar feeling in Mr. Martin's tone that touched the
heart of Mary, she knew not why. But certain it was, that she felt
doubly nerved for the task she had proposed to herself.
As Mr. Martin wended his way homeward that evening, he thought of
Mary Turner with an interest new to him. He had never been a great
deal in her company while he boarded with her mother, because Mary
was always too busy about household affairs, to be much in the
parlor. But what little he had seen of her, made him like her as a
friend. He also liked Mrs. Turner, and had from these reasons,
frequently called in to see them since their removal. After going
into his room, on his return home that evening, he sat down and
remained for some time in a musing attitude. At length he got up,
and took a few turns across the floor, and again seated himself,
saying as he did so--
"If that's the stuff she's made of, she's worth looking after."
From this period, Mr. Martin called to see Mrs. Turner more
frequently, and as Mary, who had promptly entered upon the duties of
a dress-maker's apprentice, came home every evening, he had as many
opportunities of being with her and conversing with her as he
desired. Amiable accomplished, and intelligent, she failed not to
make, unconsciously to herself, a decided impression upon the young
man's heart. Nor could she conceal from herself that she was
happier in his company than she was at any other time.
Week after week, and month after month, passed quickly away, and
Mary was rapidly acquiring a skill in the art she was learning,
rarely obtained by any. After the end of four months, she could turn
off a dress equal to any one in the work-room. But this constant
application was making sad inroads upon her health. For two years
she had been engaged in active and laborious duties, even beyond her
strength. The change from this condition to the perfectly sedentary,
was more than her constitution could bear up under, especially as
she was compelled to bend over her needle regularly, from ten to
twelve hours each day. As the time for the expiration of her term of
service approached, she felt her strength to be fast failing her.
Her cheek had become paler and thinner, her step more languid, and
her appetite was almost entirely gone.
These indications of failing health were not unobserved by Mr.
Martin. But, not having made up his mind, definitely, that she was
precisely the woman he wanted for a wife, he could not interfere to
prevent her continuance at the business which was too evidently
destroying her health. But every time he saw her his interest in her
became tenderer. "If no one steps forward and saves her," he would
sometimes say to himself, as he gazed with saddened feelings upon
her colorless cheek, "she will fall a victim in the very bloom of
womanhood."
And Mary herself saw the sad prospect before her. She told no one of
the pain in her side, nor of the sickening sensation of weakness and
weariness that daily oppressed her. But she toiled on and on, hoping
to feel better soon. At last her probation ended. But the determined
and ambitious spirit that had kept her up, now gave way.
Martin knew the day when her apprenticeship expired, and without
asking why, followed the impulse that prompted him, and called upon
her in the evening.
"Is any thing the matter, Mrs. Turner?" he asked, with a feeling of
alarm, on entering the house and catching a glance at the expression
of that lady's countenance.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Martin, Mary is extremely ill," she replied, in
evident painful anxiety.
"What ails her?" he asked, showing equal concern.
"I do not know, Mr. Martin. She came home this evening, and as soon
as she reached her chamber fainted away. I sent for the doctor
immediately, and he says that she must be kept very quiet, and that
he will be here very early in the morning again. I am afraid she has
overworked herself. Indeed, I am sure she has. For many weeks back,
I have noticed her altered appearance and loss of appetite. It was
in vain that I urged her to spare herself for a few weeks and make
up the time afterwards. She steadily urged the necessity of getting
into business as soon as possible, and would not give up. She has
sacrificed herself, Mr. Martin, I very much fear, to her devotion to
the family." And Mrs. Turner burst into tears.
We need not say how sad and depressed Martin was, on turning away
from the house, without the chance of seeing Mary, under the idea,
too, of her dangerous illness. He called about ten o'clock the next
morning, and learned that she was no better; that the doctor had
been there, and pronounced her in a low nervous fever. Strict
injunctions had been left that no one should be admitted to her room
but the necessary attendants.
Regularly every morning and evening Martin called to ask after Mary,
for the space of fifteen days, and always received the sad
information that she was no better. His feelings had now become
intensely excited. He blamed himself for having favored the idea of
Mary's going to learn a trade.
"How easily I might have prevented it!" he said to himself. "How
blind I was to her true worth! How much suffering and toil I might
have saved her!"
On the evening of the sixteenth day, he received the glad
intelligence that Mary was better. That although greatly emaciated,
and feeble as an infant, a decidedly healthy action had taken place,
and the doctor expressed confident hopes of her recovery.
"May I not see her, Mrs. Turner?" he asked, earnestly.
"Not yet, Mr. Martin, The doctor is positive in his directions to
have her kept perfectly quiet."
Martin had, of course, to acquiesce, but with great reluctance. For
five days more he continued to call in twice every day, and each
time found her slightly improved.
"May I not see her now?" he again asked, at the end of these
additional days of anxious self-denial.
"If you will not talk to her," said Mrs. Turner.
Martin promised, and was shown up to her chamber. His heart sickened
as he approached the bed-side, and looked upon the thin, white,
almost expressionless face, and sunken eye, of her who was now the
ruler of his affections. He took her hand, that returned a feeble,
almost imperceptible pressure, but did not trust himself to utter
her name. She hardly seemed conscious of his presence, and he soon
turned away, sad, very sad, yet full of hope for her recovery.
The healthy action continued, and in a week Mary could bear
conversation. As soon as she could begin to sit up, Martin passed
every evening with her, and seeing, as he now did, with different
eyes, he perceived in her a hundred things to admire that had before
escaped his notice. Recovering rapidly, in a month she was fully
restored to health, and looked better than she had for years.
Just about this time, as Martin was making up his mind to declare
himself her lover, he was surprised, on entering their parlor one
evening, to find on the table a large brass door-plate, with the
words, "MARY TURNER, FANCY DRESS MAKER," engraved upon it.
"Why, what are you going to do with this Mary?" he asked, forgetting
that she did not know his peculiar thoughts about her.
"I am going to commence my business," she replied in a quiet tone.
"I have learned a trade, and now I must turn it, if possible, to
some good account."
"But your health won't bear it, Mary," he urged. "Don't you know
that you made yourself sick by your close application in learning
your trade?"
"I do, Mr. Martin; but still, you know why I learned my trade."
Mr. Martin paused for a few moments, and then looking into her face,
said--
"Yes, I know the reason, Mary, and I always admired your noble
independence in acting as you did--nay," and he took her hand, "If
you will permit me to say so, have loved you ever since I had a true
appreciation of your character. May I hope for a return of kindred
feelings?"
Mary Turner's face became instantly crimsoned with burning blushes,
but she did not withdraw her hand. A brief silence ensued, during
which the only sounds audible to the ears of each, was the beating
of their own hearts. Martin at length said--
"Have I aught to hope, Mary?"
"You know, Mr. Martin," she replied, in a voice that slightly
trembled, "that I have duties to perform beyond myself. However much
my feelings may be interested, these cannot be set aside. Under
present circumstances, my hand is not my own to give."
"But, your duties will become mine, Mary; and most gladly will I
assume them. Only give me your hand, and in return I will give you a
home for all you love, and you can do for them just as your heart
desires. Will you now be mine?"
"If my mother object not," she said, bursting into tears.
Of course, the mother had no objection to urge, and in a few weeks
they were married. It was, perhaps, three months after this event,
that the now happy family were seated in a beautifully furnished
parlor, large enough to suit even Mrs. Turner's ideas. Something had
turned their thoughts on the past, and Mary alluded to their sad
experience in keeping boarders.
"You did not lose much, did you?" asked her husband.
"We sunk over two thousand dollars," Mary replied.
"Is it possible! You paid rather dear, then, for your experience in
keeping a boarding house."
"So I then thought," Mary answered, looking into his face with a
smile, "But I believe it was money well laid out. What you call a
good investment."
"How so?"
Mary stooped down to the ear of her husband, who sat a little behind
her mother, and whispered,
"You are dull, dear--I got you by it, didn't I?"
His young wife's cheek was very convenient, and his lips touched it
almost involuntarily.
"What is that, Mary?" asked her mother, turning towards them, for
she had heard her remark, and was waiting for the explanation.
"Oh, nothing, mother, it was only some of my fun."
"You seem quite full of fun, lately," said Mrs. Turner, with a quiet
smile of satisfaction, and again bent her eyes upon the book she was
reading.