Family life -- Fiction; Farm life -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
"Oh, certainly, certainly! We'll look after everything just as if it
was our own. The sense of strangeness will soon pass--" But his steps
were halfway up the stairs.
Mother and daughter listened until they heard him overhead, then,
taking the candle, they began a most minute examination of everything
in the room.
Poor Holcroft listened also; too worried, anxious, and nervous to sleep
until they came up and all sounds ceased in the adjoining apartment.
Chapter V.
Mrs. Mumpson Takes Up Her Burdens
The next morning Holcroft awoke early. The rising sun flooded his
plain little room with mellow light. It was impossible to give way to
dejection in that radiance, and hope, he scarcely knew why, sprung up
in his heart. He was soon dressed, and having kindled the kitchen
fire, went out on the porch. There had been a change in the wind during
the night, and now it blew softly from the south. The air was sweet
with the indefinable fragrance of spring. The ethereal notes of
bluebirds were heard on every side. Migratory robins were feeding in
the orchard, whistling and calling their noisy congratulations on
arriving at old haunts. The frost was already oozing from the ground,
but the farmer welcomed the mud, knowing that it indicated a long
advance toward plowing and planting time.
He bared his head to the sweet, warm air and took long, deep breaths.
"If this weather holds," he muttered, "I can soon put in some early
potatoes on that warm hillside yonder. Yes, I can stand even her for
the sake of being on the old place in mornings like this. The
weather'll be getting better every day and I can be out of doors more.
I'll have a stove in my room tonight; I would last night if the old
air-tight hadn't given out completely. I'll take it to town this
afternoon and sell it for old iron. Then I'll get a bran'-new one and
put it up in my room. They can't follow me there and they can't follow
me outdoors, and so perhaps I can live in peace and work most of the
time."
Thus he was muttering to himself, as lonely people so often do, when he
felt that someone was near. Turning suddenly, he saw Jane half-hidden
by the kitchen door. Finding herself observed, the girl came forward
and said in her brief monotonous way:
"Mother'll be down soon. If you'll show me how you want the coffee and
things, I guess I can learn."
"I guess you'll have to, Jane. There'll be more chance of your
teaching your mother than of her teaching you, I fear. But we'll see,
we'll see; it's strange people can't see what's sensible and best for
'em when they see so much."
The child made no reply, but watched him intently as he measured out
and then ground half a cup of coffee.
"The firs thing to do," he began kindly, "is to fill the kettle with
water fresh drawn from the well. Never make coffee or tea with water
that's been boiled two or three times. Now, I'll give the kettle a
good rinsing, so as to make sure you start with it clean."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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