A Country Doctor and Selected Stories and SketchesJewett, Sarah Orne
General
A Country Doctor and Selected Stories and Sketches
Jewett, Sarah Orne
Maine -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"Your health, cousin Walter!" said the girl quickly, lifting her own
glass, and making him a little bow over the old Madeira.
"Bless your dear heart!" responded the captain; "the same good wishes
to you in return, and now you must join me in my respects to your
aunt. Nancy! I beg you not to waste this in pudding-sauces; that's the
way with you ladies."
The toast-drinking had a good effect upon the little company, and it
seemed as if the cloud which had hung over it at first had been blown
away. When there was no longer any excuse for lingering at the table,
the guest seemed again a little ill at ease, and after a glance at his
hostess, proposed to Nan that they should take a look at the garden.
The old sailor had become in his later years a devoted tiller of the
soil, and pleaded a desire to see some late roses which were just now
in bloom. So he and Nan went down the walk together, and he fidgeted
and hurried about for a few minutes before he could make up his mind
to begin a speech which was weighing heavily on his conscience.
Nan was sure that something unusual was perplexing him, and answered
his unnecessary questions patiently, wondering what he was trying to
say.
"Dear me!" he grumbled at last, "I shall have to steer a straight
course. The truth is, Nancy has been telling me that I ought to advise
with you, and see that you understand what you are about with young
Gerry. She has set her heart on your fancying him. I dare say you know
she has treated him like a son all through his growing up; but now
that you have come to your rightful place, she can't bear to have
anybody hint at your going back to the other people. 'Tis plain enough
what he thinks about it, and I must say I believe it would be for your
good. Here you are with your father's family, what is left of it; and
I take no liberty when I tell you that your aunt desires this to be
your home, and means to give you your father's share of the property
now and the rest when she is done with it. It is no more than your
rights, and I know as much as anybody about it, and can tell you that
there's a handsomer fortune than you may have suspected. Money grows
fast if it is let alone; and though your aunt has done a good deal for
others, her expenses have been well held in hand. I must say I should
like to keep you here, child," the captain faltered, "but I shall want
to do what's for your happiness. I couldn't feel more earnest about
that if I were your own father. You must think it over. I'm not going
to beseech you: I learned long ago that 'tis no use to drive a
Prince."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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