Governesses -- Fiction; Love stories; New England -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Guy had never met with so much frankness and simplicity in any one,
unless it were in Lucy Atherstone, of whom Maddy reminded him a little,
except that she was more practical, more—he hardly knew what—only there
was a difference, and a thought crossed his mind that if Maddy had had
all Lucy’s advantage and was as old, she would be what the English call
cleverer. There was no disparagement to Lucy in his thoughts, only a
compliment to Maddy, who was waiting for him to answer her question; he
had offered his services; she had accepted; and with the mental comment,
“I dread Doc’s chaff the most so I’ll explain to him that I am educating
her for the future Mrs. Holbrook,” he replied:
“As soon as I am rested from my journey, or sooner, if you like; and now
tell me, please, who is this Uncle Joseph of whom you spoke?”
He remembered what the doctor had said of a crazy uncle, but wishing to
hear Maddy’s version of it, put to her the question he did.
“Uncle Joseph is grandma’s youngest brother,” Maddy answered, “and he
has been in the Lunatic Asylum for years. As long as his little property
lasted, his bills were paid, but now they keep him from charity, only
grandpa helps all he can, and buys some little nice things which he
wants so badly, and sometimes cries for, they say. I picked berries all
last summer, and sold them, to buy him a thin coat and pants. We should
have more to spend than we do, if it were not for Uncle Joseph,” and
Maddy’s face wore a thoughtful expression as she recalled all the shifts
and turns she’d seen made at home that the poor maniac might be more
comfortable.
“What made him crazy?” Guy asked, and after a moment’s hesitancy Maddy
replied:
“I don’t believe grandma would mind my telling you, though she don’t
talk about it much. I only knew it a little while ago. He was
disappointed once. He loved a girl very much, and she made him think
that she loved him. She was many years younger than Uncle Joseph—about
my age at first, and when she grew up she said she was sick of him,
because he was so much older. He wouldn’t have felt so badly, if she had
not gone straight off and married a _rich_ man who was a great deal
older even than Uncle Joseph; that was the hardest part, and he went
crazy at once. It has been so long that he never can be helped, and
sometimes grandma talks of bringing him home, as he is perfectly
harmless. I suppose it’s wicked, but I most hope she won’t, for it would
be terrible to live with a crazy man,” and a chill crept over Maddy, as
if there had fallen upon her a foreshadowing of what might be. “Mr.
Remington,” she continued, suddenly, “if you teach me, I can’t of course
expect three dollars a week. It would not be right.”
“Perfectly right,” he answered. “Your services to Jessie will be worth
just as much as ever, so give yourself no trouble on that score.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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