Country life -- Juvenile fiction; Families -- Juvenile fiction; Farm life -- Juvenile fiction; New York (State) -- Juvenile fiction
"Oh, come now," she said, laughing slightly for the first time in the
evening; "you always begin to flatter a little when you want to carry a
point."
"Well, then, you are on your guard against my wiles. But believe me,
Winifred, the problem on my mind is not like one of my ordinary brown
studies; in those I often try to get back to the wherefore of things
which people usually accept and don't bother about. The question I am
considering comes right home to us, and we must meet it. I have felt
for some time that we could not put off action much longer, and
to-night I am convinced of it."
Then I told her how I had found three of the children engaged that
evening, concluding: "The circumstances of their lot are more to blame
than they themselves. And why should I find fault with you because you
are nervous? You could no more help being nervous and a little
impatient than you could prevent the heat of the lamp from burning you,
should you place your finger over it. I know the cause of it all. As
for Mousie, she is growing paler and thinner every day. You know what
my income is; we could not change things much for the better by taking
other rooms and moving to another part of the city, and we might find
that we had changed for the worse. I propose that we go to the country
and get our living out of the soil."
"Why, Robert! what do you know about farming or gardening?"
"Not very much, but I am not yet too old to learn; and there would be
something for the children to do at once, pure air for them to breathe,
and space for them to grow healthfully in body, mind, and soul. You
know I have but little money laid by, and am not one of those smart men
who can push their way. I don't know much besides bookkeeping, and my
employers think I am not remarkably quick at that. I can't seem to
acquire the lightning speed with which things are done nowadays; and
while I try to make up by long hours and honesty, I don't believe I
could ever earn much more than I am getting now, and you know it
doesn't leave much of a margin for sickness or misfortune of any kind.
After all, what does my salary give us but food and clothing and
shelter, such as it is, with a little to spare in some years? It sends
a cold chill to my heart to think what should become of you and the
children if I should be sick or anything should happen to me. Still, it
is the present welfare of the children that weighs most on my mind,
Winifred. They are no longer little things that you can keep in these
rooms and watch over; there is danger for them just outside that door.
It wouldn't be so if beyond the door lay a garden and fields and woods.
You, my overtaxed wife, wouldn't worry about them the moment they were
out of sight, and my work, instead of being away from them all day,
could be with them. And all could do something, even down to pale
Mousie and little Bobsey. Outdoor life and pure air, instead of that
breathed over and over, would bring quiet to your nerves and the roses
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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