The Path of Duty, and Other StoriesCaswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
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The Path of Duty, and Other Stories
Caswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
Country life -- Fiction; Family -- Fiction; Friendship -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction; Short stories
She laughed outright at the look of dismay with which I regarded her,
occasioned by the recollection which I retained of a visit she paid us
when I was eight years of age. She was a maiden lady somewhat advanced
in years, possessed of a very kind heart and many excellent qualities;
but the name of Patience seemed to me a misapplication in her case, for
she certainly possessed but a small quantity of that valuable article.
Early in life she had passed through many trials, which might have
tended to sour her disposition. I remember that during the visit
referred to, my mother had occasion to spend a day from home, leaving me
in care of Aunt Patience. It seemed a very long day to me. Like all
children, I was restless and troublesome, and to one unaccustomed to the
care of children it was doubtless very annoying. During the day I
received a severe box on the ear from Aunt Patience, for saying to her
in an outburst of childish anger, when provoked by her continued
fault-finding,
"I don't know what makes them call you Aunt Patience, for you scold all
the time."
She informed my mother of it upon her return, and she gave me a reproof
for allowing myself to speak disrespectfully to my relative; although,
while listening to the relation of the difficulty by Aunt Patience, she
found it extremely difficult to repress a smile. However, my mother both
loved and respected her, and thought she could live very comfortably
with her during my absence; indeed my mother thought her quite a
desirable companion, for, setting aside her irritability at petty
annoyances, she was a woman of good sense, and was well informed upon
most subjects, so I gladly joined in the invitation which my mother sent
her, to come and make our house her home for an indefinite period. As
she lived only a day's journey by railway from Philadelphia, she arrived
a week before I left home. She did not like the idea of my mother
spending so much money in sending me to school. To all of her remarks
upon the subject my mother replied pleasantly, for she was her own aunt,
and she would not treat her with disrespect. During the few days I
remained at home after her arrival, I formed a much more favorable
opinion of Aunt Patience than I had done during her visit in the days of
my childhood; and when I observed how kind she was to my mother I found
it easy to love her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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