Family life -- Fiction; Farm life -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
"Well, really, Mrs. Mumpson, I don't know who's to come."
"Oh, you'll see!" she replied, wrinkling her thin, blue lips into what
was meant for a smile, and nodding her head at him encouragingly. "You
won't be so isolated no more. Now that I'm here, with my offspring,
your neighbors will feel that they can show you their sympathy. The
most respecterble people in town will call, and your life will grow
brighter and brighter; clouds will roll away, and--"
"I hope the neighbors will not be so ill-mannered as to come without
being invited," remarked Mr. Holcroft grimly. "It's too late in the day
for them to begin now."
"My being here with Jane will make all the difference in the world,"
resumed Mrs. Mumpson, with as saccharine an expression as she could
assume. "They will come out of pure kindness and friendly interest,
with the wish to encourage--"
"Mrs. Mumpson," said Holcroft, half desperately, "if anyone comes it'll
be out of pure curiosity, and I don't want such company. Selling
enough butter, eggs, and produce to pay expenses will encourage me more
than all the people of Oakville, if they should come in a body. What's
the use of talking in this way? I've done without the neighbors so
far, and I'm sure they've been very careful to do without me. I shall
have nothing to do with them except in the way of business, and as I
said to you down at Lemuel Weeks's, business must be the first
consideration with us all," and he rose from the table.
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" the widow hastened to say, "but then
business is like a cloud, and the meetings and greetings of friends is
a sort of silver lining, you know. What would the world be without
friends--the society of those who take an abiding interest? Believe
me, Mr. Holcroft," she continued, bringing her long, skinny finger
impressively down on the table, "you have lived alone so long that you
are unable to see the crying needs of your own constitution. As a
Christian man, you require human sympathy and--"
Poor Holcroft knew little of centrifugal force; but at that moment he
was a living embodiment of it, feeling that if he did not escape he
would fly into a thousand atoms. Saying nervously, "I've a few chores
to do," he seized his hat, and hastening out, wandered disconsolately
around the barn. "I'm never going to be able to stand her," he groaned.
"I know now why my poor wife shook her head whenever this woman was
mentioned. The clack of her tongue would drive any man living crazy,
and the gimlet eyes of that girl Jane would bore holes through a
saint's patience. Well, well! I'll put a stove up in my room, then
plowing and planting time will soon be here, and I guess I can stand it
at mealtimes for three months, for unless she stops her foolishness she
shan't stay any longer."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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