Last Words: A Final Collection of StoriesEwing, Juliana Horatia
General
Last Words: A Final Collection of Stories
Ewing, Juliana Horatia
Children's stories; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
Presently she said, "Who washes all the white gowns?"
"I really don't know," said Peter Paul.
"I fancy they don't bleach anywhere as they do in Holland," she
continued. "Indeed, Brother, I doubt if Dutchwomen are what they were.
No one bleaches as Mother did. Mother bleached beautifully."
"Yes, she bleached beautifully," said Anna.
Peter Paul was only to be three weeks at home before he sailed again;
but when ten days were over, he began to think the rest of the time
would never come to an end. And this was from no want of love for his
sisters, or of respect for their friends. One cannot help having an
irritable brain, which rides an idea to the moon and home again,
without stirrups, whilst some folks are getting the harness of words
on to its back. There had been hours in his youth when all the
unsolved riddles, the untasted joys, the great possibilities of even a
common existence like his, so pressed upon him, that the shortness of
the longest life of man seemed the most pitiable thing about it. But
when he took tea with Vrow Schmidt and her daughters, and supper-time
would not come, Peter Paul thought of the penance of the Wandering
Jew, and felt very sorry for him.
The sisters would have been glad if Peter Paul would have given up the
sea and settled down with them. Leena had a plan of her own for it.
She wanted him to marry Vrow Schmidt's niece, who had a farm.
"But I am afraid you do not care for young ladies?" said she.
Peter Paul got red.
"Vrow Schmidt's niece is a very nice young lady," said he.
He was not thinking of Vrow Schmidt's niece, he was thinking of
something else--something for which he would have liked a little
sympathy; but he doubted whether Leena could give it to him. Indeed,
to cure heartache is Godfather Time's business, and even he is not
invariably successful. It was probably a sharp twinge that made Peter
Paul say, "Have you never wondered that when one's life is so very
short, one can manage to get so much pain into it?"
Leena dropped her work and looked up. "You don't say so?" said she.
"Dear Brother, is it rheumatism? I'm sure it must be a dreadful risk
being out on the masts in the night air, without a roof over your
head. But do you wear flannel, Peter Paul? Mother was very much
troubled with rheumatism latterly. She thought it was the dews at
milking time, and she always wore flannel."
"Yes, dear, Mother always wore flannel," said Anna.
Peter Paul satisfied them on this head. He wore flannel, red flannel
too, which has virtues of its own.
Leena was more anxious than ever that he should marry Vrow Schmidt's
niece, and be taken good care of.
But it was not to be: Peter Paul went back to his ship and into the
wide world again.
Uncle Jacob would have given him an off-set of his new tulip--a real
novelty, and named--if he had had any place to plant it in.
"I've a bed of breeders that will be worth looking at next time you
come home," said he.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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