ON entering the main street of the pretty town, the name of Somers, in
gilt capitals, was sufficiently conspicuous over the door of a very
imposing shop. It boasted two plate-glass windows, at one of which
were tastefully exhibited various articles of fine stationery,
embroidery patterns, etc.; at the other, no less tastefully, sundry
specimens of ornamental basket-work.
Kenelm crossed the threshold and recognized behind the counter--fair
as ever, but with an expression of face more staid, and a figure more
rounded and matron-like--his old friend Jessie. There were two or
three customers before her, between whom she was dividing her
attention. While a handsome young lady, seated, was saying, in a
somewhat loud but cheery and pleasant voice, "Do not mind me, Mrs.
Somers: I can wait," Jessie's quick eye darted towards the stranger,
but too rapidly to distinguish his features, which, indeed, he turned
away, and began to examine the baskets.
In a minute or so the other customers were served and had departed;
and the voice of the lady was again heard, "Now, Mrs. Somers, I want
to see your picture-books and toys. I am giving a little children's
party this afternoon, and I want to make them as happy as possible."
"Somewhere or other, on this planet, or before my Monad was whisked
away to it, I have heard that voice," muttered Kenelm. While Jessie
was alertly bringing forth her toys and picture-books, she said, "I am
sorry to keep you waiting, sir; but if it is the baskets you come
about, I can call my husband."
"Do," said Kenelm.
"William, William," cried Mrs. Somers; and after a delay long enough
to allow him to slip on his jacket, William Somers emerged from the
back parlour.
His face had lost its old trace of suffering and ill health; it was
still somewhat pale, and retained its expression of intellectual
refinement.
"How you have improved in your art!" said Kenelm, heartily.
William started, and recognized Kenelm at once. He sprang forward and
took Kenelm's outstretched hand in both his own, and, in a voice
between laughing and crying, exclaimed, "Jessie, Jessie, it is he!--he
whom we pray for every night. God bless you! God bless and make you
as happy as He permitted you to make me!"
Before this little speech was faltered out, Jessie was by her
husband's side, and she added, in a lower voice, but tremulous with
deep feeling, "And me too!"
"By your leave, Will," said Kenelm, and he saluted Jessie's white
forehead with a kiss that could not have been kindlier or colder if it
had been her grandfather's.
Meanwhile the lady had risen noiselessly and unobserved, and stealing
up to Kenelm, looked him full in the face.
"You have another friend here, sir, who has also some cause to thank
you--"
"I thought I remembered your voice," said Kenelm, looking puzzled.
"But pardon me if I cannot recall your features. Where have we met
before?"
"Give me your arm when we go out, and I will bring myself to your
recollection. But no: I must not hurry you away now. I will call
again in half an hour. Mrs. Somers, meanwhile put up the things I
have selected. I will take them away with me when I come back from
the vicarage, where I have left the pony-carriage." So, with a
parting nod and smile to Kenelm, she turned away, and left him
bewildered.
"But who is that lady, Will?"
"A Mrs. Braefield. She is a new comer."
"She may well be that, Will," said Jessie, smiling, "for she has only
been married six months."
"And what was her name before she married?"
"I am sure I don't know, sir. It is only three months since we came
here, and she has been very kind to us and an excellent customer.
Everybody likes her. Mr. Braefield is a city gentleman and very rich;
and they live in the finest house in the place, and see a great deal
of company."
"Well, I am no wiser than I was before," said Kenelm. "People who ask
questions very seldom are."
"And how did you find us out, sir?" said Jessie. "Oh! I guess," she
added, with an arch glance and smile. "Of course, you have seen Miss
Travers, and she told you."
"You are right. I first learned your change of residence from her,
and thought I would come and see you, and be introduced to the
baby,--a boy, I understand? Like you, Will?"
"No, sir, the picture of Jessie."
"Nonsense, Will; it is you all over, even to its little hands."
"And your good mother, Will, how did you leave her?"
"Oh, sir!" cried Jessie, reproachfully; "do you think we could have
the heart to leave Mother,--so lone and rheumatic too? She is tending
baby now,--always does while I am in the shop."
Here Kenelm followed the young couple into the parlour, where, seated
by the window, they found old Mrs. Somers reading the Bible and
rocking the baby, who slept peacefully in its cradle.
"Will," said Kenelm, bending his dark face over the infant, "I will
tell you a pretty thought of a foreign poet's, which has been thus
badly translated:
"'Blest babe, a boundless world this bed so narrow seems to thee;
Grow man, and narrower than this bed the boundless world shall
be.'"[1]
[1] Schiller.
"I don't think that is true, sir," said Will, simply; "for a happy
home is a world wide enough for any man."
Tears started into Jessie's eyes; she bent down and kissed--not the
baby, but the cradle. "Will made it." She added blushing, "I mean
the cradle, sir."
Time flew past while Kenelm talked with Will and the old mother, for
Jessie was soon summoned back to the shop; and Kenelm was startled
when he found the half-hour's grace allowed to him was over, and
Jessie put her head in at the door and said, "Mrs. Braefield is
waiting for you."
"Good-by, Will; I shall come to see you again soon; and my mother
gives me a commission to buy I don't know how many specimens of your
craft."