Bob Pierson possessed beyond most men the secret of happiness, for he
was always absorbed in the moment, to the point of unself-consciousness.
Eating an egg, cutting down a tree, sitting on a Tribunal, making up
his accounts, planting potatoes, looking at the moon, riding his cob,
reading the Lessons—no part of him stood aside to see how he was doing
it, or wonder why he was doing it, or not doing it better. He grew like
a cork-tree, and acted like a sturdy and well-natured dog. His griefs,
angers, and enjoyments were simple as a child's, or as his somewhat
noisy slumbers. They were notably well-suited, for Thirza had the same
secret of happiness, though her, absorption in the moment did not—as
became a woman—prevent her being conscious of others; indeed, such
formed the chief subject of her absorptions. One might say that they
neither of them had philosophy yet were as philosophic a couple as one
could meet on this earth of the self-conscious. Daily life to these two
was still of simple savour. To be absorbed in life—the queer endless
tissue of moments and things felt and done and said and made, the odd
inspiriting conjunctions of countless people—was natural to them;
but they never thought whether they were absorbed or not, or had any
particular attitude to Life or Death—a great blessing at the epoch in
which they were living.
Bob Pierson, then, paced the room, so absorbed in his dismay and
concern, that he was almost happy.
“By Jove!” he said, “what a ghastly thing!
“Nollie, of all people! I feel perfectly wretched, Thirza; wretched
beyond words.” But with each repetition his voice grew cheerier, and
Thirza felt that he was already over the worst.
“Your coffee's getting cold!” she said.
“What do you advise? Shall I go up, heh?”
“I think you'll be a godsend to poor Ted; you'll keep his spirits
up. Eve won't get any leave till Easter; and I can be quite alone, and
see to Nollie here. The servants can have a holiday—, Nurse and I will
run the house together. I shall enjoy it.”
“You're a good woman, Thirza!” Taking his wife's hand, he put it
to his lips. “There isn't another woman like you in the world.”
Thirza's eyes smiled. “Pass me your cup; I'll give you some fresh
coffee.”
It was decided to put the plan into operation at mid-month, and she bent
all her wits to instilling into her husband the thought that a baby more
or less was no great matter in a world which already contained twelve
hundred million people. With a man's keener sense of family propriety,
he could not see that this baby would be the same as any other baby.
“By heaven!” he would say, “I simply can't get used to it; in
our family! And Ted a parson! What the devil shall we do with it?”
“If Nollie will let us, why shouldn't we adopt it? It'll be
something to take my thoughts off the boys.”
“That's an idea! But Ted's a funny fellow. He'll have some
doctrine of atonement, or other in his bonnet.”
“Oh, bother!” said Thirza with asperity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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