Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1869-06-30
Mrs. Pages Daughtcr-in-Law.
PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE rs. rRrJUplci

PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE rs. PRLJUDlCE
Are we almost there, Charles ?"
DO you see that old moss-brown roof,
with the huge brick chimney, peepng up
among the apple blossoms ? That is the
house"
Laura's heart gave an involuntary throb.
Would they welcome her as a new daughter ?
Would they love her ? Charles Page smiled
as he read the thoughts passing through her
mind.
Do not fear, Laura | do not know who
could help loving you !"
Laura smiled little doubtfully she could
hardly expect the whole world to look at her
through her young husbands eyes.
Old Mrs Page stood at the farmhouse door,
in her best black silk, with her " company
cap and white ribbons, as the stagecoach
rolled up--a hard-featured old lady, with
silver-streaked hair brushed away from her
wrinkled forehead, and hands on which the
network of veins stood up like knotted cord.
Her welcoming kiss was like the peck Of a
bird of prey-so cold and hard did 1t seem
against Lauras check.
#" Mother - whispered Laura, softly.
{" am very glad to see you, Mrs Charles,
said the old lady.
$50 you are Charles new wife, hey 2
! said Farmer Page, from the sitting-room
e and tall, well-grown girl, too. Come in
come in /! Teas most ready, and dare sa.
you'll be glad of a cup"
There was something that passed like tn
chilled breath OF an ieeborg across Laura
/ heart as she entered, leaning on her husband
IL IL. t..I
pected and hoped for ; and iDvoluntarily sh,
felt that her mother-in-law's cold, criticisinG
eye was upon her, and with no favorable
glance.
al s'pose you've Been brought up to work.
said Mrs. Page, senior.
No Laura could not say that she had.
"Can you wash and iron your husband's
shirts 2"
No"
Can you make bread ?"
| have never tried
" Cannot you cook at all p
81 am afraid not, ma'am."
" Humph %
AT this stage Charles, who had been watch.
ing the deepening color on Laura's cheek
with some annoyance, broke in ;
But she can speak two or three different
languages, mother, and paint beautifully, and
| wish you could read some of the poetry
she has written"
Hump !" again enuncated the mother
in-law. Languages, painting, and poetry
stuff won't make the kettle boil, you'll find
young lady"
She has been taught in a seminary, moth
er," the young husband interposed, " where
she has had no opportunity to learn the use
: full things you speak of. All in good time
Rome wasn't built in a day"
But Mrs. Page, with her thin lips SCI
close together was busyng herself about the
tea-table. She need not have taken th'
houble-Laura's appetite was pretty eifectu
ally destroyed.
T " Come, darling" said Charles, " | wan
to show you the path to the spring in th'
woods"
Old Mrs. Page looked coutcmptuously ai
ter them.
That's all she's WORTH" she mutterci
:. to look at pretty things and listen to hon
eyed speeches. | wonder where Hiram Pag
would be now if l had been cut out after tha
pattern ?"
In short, il was an infinite relief all rouu
/. when the short visit came to an end, an
Charles took his young wife back to his home
Laura was depressed and melancholy, an
Charles though he would not have contesse
/, it even to himself was little prejudiced b
the strong opinions expressed by both fathe
,yS.nd mother on the subject Of his matrlmonia
Z Choice.
Scarcely six months had passed over tn
, horizon of their married life, however, who
clouds came to darken it.
Charles Page was only clerk in bank
but his humble salary had proved suihcen
for himself and Laura. Consequently, on
, night returning late from business, he slip
! ped and broken his right ankle so badly tina
a severe illness followed il brought tn
! grim phantom, poverty, nearer to them tina
was at all pleasant.
! 1--WE won't let the old folks at home kno'
/ of it, Laura said the young clerk, trying :
= speak cheerfully. &" I'm afraid they're /
> trouble themselves about that note my fathe
/ endorsed for old Millman, and | dare say W
. shall get along nicely with little economy.
Laura was sitting by her husbands bod
side one dreary November twilight, whe
there was an unwonted hustle at the door be
, Iowa throwing down Of trunks and shri
articulation of voices. She hastened to th
= head of the stairs--it was Farmer Page an
! his wife
We've no home Of our own Low" sal
Mrs. Page, senior, speaking bitterly an
a loud, and we've come to stay with you an
your wife, son Charles"
e No home OF your own mother =