THE WIDOW'S VISIT
Parson Dan spent most of the day in visiting his people in the parish,
and accordingly had little time to give to Rodney. But after supper he
began to romp with the wee man much to Mrs. Royal's amusement. There
was considerable excitement for a while as the clergyman, on all-fours,
carried the baby through the kitchen, into the dining-room, and back
again. The boy shivered with delight as he sat perched upon the broad
back. Forgotten were all parish cares as the venerable man gave
himself up to the little waif. He had become a child again, and had
entered that kingdom where children are the uncrowned monarchs, and the
strong and the aged are willing subjects, yea, even most abject slaves.
In the midst of this hilarious frolic, the door of the dining-room,
leading into the hall, was suddenly opened, and a woman entered. She
was dressed all in black which costume was well in keeping with her
face, which bore the same expression it did the day she buried her
husband two years before. Her sober face grew a shade more sober as
her eyes rested upon the undignified scene before her, and she was
about to turn and hurry back out of doors, when the parson caught sight
of her. His face, flushed with the excitement of the romp, took a
deeper hue when he saw Mrs. Marden standing before him. He scrambled
to his feet, and plunked Rodney down upon the floor, much to that young
gentleman's disgust. He at once set up a dismal howl, which took Mrs.
Royal some time to silence when she had him alone in the kitchen.
"I didn't see you, Mrs. Marden," the parson gasped, as he tried to
recover his breath as well as his composure.
"So I observe," was the somewhat sarcastic reply, as the visitor
surveyed her rector. "I knocked long and loud, but as there was no
response, I took the liberty to enter. I am sorry that I have
intruded. Perhaps I had better go."
"No, no, you must not think of such a thing," the parson replied, as he
handed her a chair, and then struggled quickly into his coat, which he
had cast aside at the beginning of the frolic. He was annoyed at Mrs.
Marden's intrusion into the privacy of his family life, especially when
he was off guard. He knew that she had come on some important
business, as she otherwise never darkened the rectory door.
"You've become quite a family man, so I understand," she began. "It's
the first time that I've seen the baby. I suppose you'll put him in
the Orphan Home in the city."
"No, I shall do nothing of the sort," was the emphatic reply. "He
shall stay here until his mother comes for him."
"H'm," and the widow tossed her head in a knowing manner, "then you'll
have him on your hands for a long time. Do you for a moment imagine
that a mother who is heartless enough to leave her baby with total
strangers, will come for him? Not a bit of it. Mark my word, she's
only too glad to be rid of it, and is off somewhere now having a good
time. I should be very careful, if I were you, about bringing up such
a child. You can't tell who his parents are, and he may inherit all
their bad qualities."
The clergyman made no reply. He merely stroked his chin, and thought
of the sob he had heard at the door that dark night.
"Such a child," Mrs. Marden continued, in her most doleful voice, "is
sure to bring trouble upon you sooner or later. But, then, we all have
our troubles, and must expect them. Ever since poor Abner was taken
from me my life has been full of trials and tribulations. He was very
good to me, and we were so happy."
At this point the widow produced her handkerchief, and wiped away the
tears which were flowing down her cheeks. Parson Dan knew, and all the
neighbours knew, that if Mrs. Marden's life was "full of trials and
tribulations" after her husband's death, Mr. Marden had more than his
share of them before he died, due directly to his wife's incessant
nagging.
"Yes, I have my troubles," and the widow resumed her tale of woe.
"They never cease, for just as soon as one is removed another springs
up."
"Why, what's wrong now?" the parson queried.
"What! haven't you heard?" and the visitor looked sharply at the
clergyman.
"No, I can't say that I have, especially of late."
"Dear me, and it's the talk of the whole parish. But, then, I suppose
you've been so taken up with this new addition to your family that you
have had no time to give to the cares of the widow and the fatherless."
A perceptible shade of annoyance passed over Parson Dan's face, and a
sharp word of retort sprang to his lips. He repressed this, however,
and answered as gently as possible.
"You know, Mrs. Marden," he began, "that often I am the last person to
hear what is being said throughout the parish. I try not to listen to
all the gossip which takes place, as I have more important things to
occupy my mind. So----"
"And you don't consider my troubles important enough to listen to, eh?"
Mrs. Marden interrupted. "Well, I declare. I never heard the like of
that, and you my clergyman, too."
"Let me explain, please," the parson continued. "As I said, I seldom
listen to gossip, because so much of it is of such a frivolous nature.
Therefore, when anything of real importance is talked about, as a rule
I do not hear that, either. In that way I have missed your story, Mrs.
Marden. But when you come yourself to tell me, that makes all the
difference, and I am ever ready to listen."
While Parson Dan was thus enduring with considerable patience his
wearisome visitor, Rodney was creeping about the kitchen floor in a
most lively manner. The dining-room door was ajar, and at last when
Mrs. Royal's back was turned, he reached forth a small chubby hand,
opened the door and entered. The parson saw him, but paid no attention
to his movements. Mrs. Marden, however, who was sitting with her back
to the door, was so occupied with her load of troubles that she neither
saw nor heard the baby's entrance. On all-fours Rodney glided behind
the widow's chair. Here against the wall stood a tall, slender
cabinet, the lower shelves of which were filled with books, while above
were various knick-knacks, all neatly arranged. It took Rodney but a
second to scramble to his feet, and balance himself by clutching firmly
at the cabinet which was not fastened to the wall. Then the inevitable
happened. The cabinet at first trembled, and then began to fall.
Parson Dan saw it coming, and with a cry he leaped to his feet, and
caught it as it was about to crash upon Mrs. Marden's head. He could
not, however, stop the knick-knacks, and so tea-cups, saucers,
work-basket, a china dog, and numerous other articles were showered
upon the widow, thus adding to her woes.
With a startled cry Mrs. Marden sprang to her feet, certain that the
ceiling had fallen upon her. Hearing the confusion, Mrs. Royal rushed
into the room, rescued Rodney unhurt from the ruins, and carried him
back into the kitchen. The clergyman at once turned his attention to
his visitor.
"I trust that you are not hurt," he remarked. "I am so sorry that this
accident happened."
"I'm not hurt," was the feeble response, "but I feel very faint," and
the widow sank into a chair, and closed her eyes. "There, I feel
better now," she continued, breathing heavily. "Oh, what a shock that
gave me! My troubles never cease. Just think, I might have been
killed if the good Lord had not stopped that thing from falling."
The clergyman repressed a smile as he well knew that the Lord had
nothing to do with it. He kept his thoughts to himself, however, and
busied himself with picking up the various articles and broken
fragments which strewed the floor.
"What an awful baby he is," Mrs. Marden at length, exclaimed. "If he
can do such a terrible thing now, what will he do when he grows up? It
is not safe to have such a child in your house."
"Why, any child would have done the same," the parson replied. "He
didn't mean any harm."
"He didn't! Why, what else did he mean, then? Children should be
taught to behave themselves. I never allowed a child of mine to climb
up and pull things over. Poor dear Abner often said that I was the one
woman in the whole parish who knew how to bring up children. But,
there, I must go. My head is aching badly, and I know that I shall get
no rest to-night. Oh, what troubles we poor mortals are heir to in
this mundane sphere."
"You must not walk, Mrs. Marden," Parson Dan insisted. "I shall drive
you home. It will take me only a few minutes to harness Sweepstakes."
"But I'm afraid it will be too much trouble," was the reply.
"Not at all, not at all, Mrs. Marden, I shall be only too glad to do
it." In fact the rector was most anxious to get his visitor out of the
house before she began to pour forth her tale of woe, which he believed
she had forgotten. But in this he was doomed to disappointment.
"Just a minute, parson," the widow began. "I haven't told you yet the
object of my visit here to-night."
"Doesn't your head trouble you too much to bother with it now?" the
clergyman asked, trying to look as sympathetic as possible. "Suppose
you wait until you feel better."
"No, I can't do that, for it might be too late. Just think what might
become of me and my poor fatherless children if I put it off until
to-morrow."
"Oh, is it as serious as that, Mrs. Marden?"
"Indeed it is, and it is but another example of how the widow is
oppressed. If poor Abner was only alive! But now that he is gone,
people think that they can do what they like with a lonely widow."
"What, has any one been trying to injure you, Mrs. Marden?"
"Yes, that's just it. Tom Dunker is the one, and he's trying to get
the lighthouse from me."
"Ah, so that's it?" and the parson gave a deep sigh.
"Yes. He's had the promise of it, so I understand. I've looked after
that lighthouse ever since Abner died, and I have never failed in my
duty once. But Tom Dunker, the sneak, wants it. He's a Government
supporter, and thinks he ought to have it for what he did at the last
election. Abner voted opposition, and though they let me keep it ever
since he died, the Dunkers have been making such a fuss about it that
something has to be done to pacify them."
"I am very sorry to hear this, Mrs. Marden," and Parson Dan placed his
hand to his forehead. This news troubled him, for he saw breakers
ahead.
"I knew that you would be sorry," the widow replied, "and so I have
come to ask you to write to headquarters. A letter from you explaining
the whole matter will have much effect."
The Bunkers were members of his flock, and Parson Dan was well aware
how troublesome they could become if things did not go their way. But
when his duty was clear he never hesitated, and as this was a case
where it was necessary to protect the weak against the strong, he
promised the widow that he would write at once on her behalf.
So at last the clergyman was free from the woman of many troubles, and
with a deep sigh of relief he sought the kitchen where Mrs. Royal had
Rodney all ready for bed.