Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1881-11-25
NO. Az.

On his way to church, Gus had posted a
long letter to his mother explaining his n
vincible repugnance to the career she had
destined for him; his determination to be a
farmer, the rare qualities of the wife he had
chosen, and her eminent fitness to adorn
that sphere Of life; his warm affection for
his mother and father; and the hope which
he and Alice INDUCED that it would be their
happiness to minister to the comfort Of both
their declining years. 1t was a good, honest,
sensible letter, but it made Mrs. Penny furi-
GUS.
She tore her hair, stamped, screamed,
flung herself on the floor, went into violent
Mysteries, and then lay for half the day on
the sofa, sobbing and moaning. Utterly un-
reasonable 1t was, everyone must see, but not
unnatural. The cherished purpose Of FIVE
and-twenty years had been, just as it seemed
on the eve of accomplishment, irrevocably
dashed into ruins, and the poor lady's desola-
tion of soul was complete. Her boy, her
hope, her one love. passionately loved under
that queer, eccentric autocrat, half comic ex-
terror, was dead to her, and the cloud which
had taken him away blotted out all the bright
ness of life. Presently, like David of old,
she arose from the earth and washed and
anointed herself, and changed her apparel,
and caused bread to be set before her, and
she did eat. There was nothing now to weep
for, to toll for, TO Joy for any longer.
When her husband approached her, some-
what awe struck, with homely words Of COM
fort, she repelled him with fierce soorn, and
imperatively forbade all reference to the sub
ject in the household. No stranger had in
termedded with her Joy; her bitterness was
all her own She went about her household
and farm affairs as usual, but more silently,
with pale face, compressed lips, and fierce
fire in the clear gray eyes of hers
Then, upon a day, the old gates swung
back and she saw the young man coming up
to the house with his bride, whose face was
rather pale and anxious, on his arm. She
went out and stood on the top step of the
doorway to receive them, her tall form drawn
to its full height, her gray hair blown hither
and thther by the wind, and her face burn
ing as with white heat.
Mother" said Gus, as he stretched out
his arms to her.
mo mother of yours, ungrateful boy! !"
shrieked She 'All that is past and buried;
you have scorned my love; you have tram
Piled on my heart. And now go and take
your beggar-bride, and work out your own
low tastes, and ditch, and delve and starve!
Never more shall you enter these doors; you
are no child of miner
NAY; but, mother" he exclaimed, aghast
at her angry vehemence, "hear me-"
'It is too late will never listen to your
voice again. 1t has no music for me now;
nor will it have till 1 die. You have made
me of less than no account, and 1 blot you
like an evil dream from my memory"
As she spoke she struck the door-post with
such force that the blood trickled from the
bruised and wounded hand, but without
needing it, she went on:
'The sight of you burns and scorches me.
What was love in me is a raging fire. If
could have coined my heart for you, to give
you joy, would have done it; and you have
made of my love only the plaything of an
idle hour, to be cast aside for the first light
fancy that crossed it. And now go your own
way. Go with my-no, will not curse you!
but go without my blessing, and never look
upon my face again."
"Wait minute, Amelia" said the slow,
sonorous voice of old Penny, who had stood
silent, with head bowed, during this fierce
outburst. His head was erect now, and Gus,
as he looked at him, could but think he had
never seen his father so much a man before.
penny, how dare you p exclaimed his
wife, almost breathless with amazement. 1t
was unprecedented for him to address her by
her Christian name.
"We dare do much, said the old man, 'as
we nivver thought we could ha' done till the
time for it come. know, Amelia, you have
allus TUX me for quiet good-natured fool;
and so 1 am most ways, most ways; but
aint sich fool as not to know that this house,
Yes, mine, every rood and every shilling of
it. You didn' have no settlements when we
married, an it all became mine 1 didn'
want it, and l didn care about it; and 1
| shouldn' never ha said nuthin about it
's long as all had gone quiet. But wont
see the boy wronged. The house is mine,
aud IS long as it's mine he's welcome to it,
and all that's in it; hearty, yes, hearty"
| 1t was another of Mrs Penny's little mis-
takes. In her scornful reputation of any
interference in her affairs she had married
without consulting any friends, and without
| taking any precautions to secure to herself
the control of her property; and so quiet and
submissive had her husband been that no
suspicion of her position had flashed upon
her till now, when indeed she realized it in
its full force. She stood as one thunder
struck, but taking in everything with such
| helpless acquiescence as that with which we
regard the wonders of a dream.
The old man approached his son, shook
him by the hand warmly and kissed his niece,
| whose eyes, dry till now, answered his kind
ness with responsive dues.
"Your mother" said he, sis tossicated
| (perplexed) like with disappointment and
the vexation of it. Thee'd better not worry
| her now. 1t 'ud be better, mayhap, if you'd
go away for week; then you come back,
and all ull be right; her'll have time to come
| round. Go round to the kitchen, and I'll
come and talk to you in mint"
'Now, Amelia, come" he went on when
he had led her into the parlor. ave both
on us loves the boy, and you'd be bitter sorry
if he was to take you at your word and go
away. Aye, an he loves us too, though he
has chosen a wife for himself, as a man
should do. And she's right good gell, new
er you doubt that; she'll m Ike him a good
wife, and he'll be happier man and better
man than if you and had had the shapin' O.
his life for 'un. He's all wen got, and we
mus n let 'un CO."
We are strange creatures, and our lives
and characters are full of contradictions.
The quiet tone of authority, which at any
time during the previous quarter of a centu-
ry she would have resented strenuously, was
now grateful to her feelings, and she allowed
| herself to rest, with q sense of comfort and
security, on the practical common sense and
right feeling of the husband she had syste-
matieally underrated. leave me alone,
Penny" she said 'for half an hour. My
head is in a whirl now, and want to be
alone. Tell Jane to bring me cup OF tea,
and come back in half an hour. Don't let
the boy go till you've seen me again"
When the allotted time had expired Penny
went back again and found her looking ten
years younger, her hair brushed and smooth
ed an old fashioned but exquisitely beautiful
lace cap on her head and box of trinkets and
whim- whams by her side.
Penny" she said at once, 81 have been
an old fool and blind TO more things than
one. don't say that if what has been done
could be undone 1 wouldn't undo it but
can't, and 1 will make the best of ii. Tell the
boy he needn't go away for week. am
not tossicated now And tell him, too, that
if ever give him occasion to remember that
mad scene outside-as so help me heaven l
never will II hope that he will never recall
it, See here" she added with a laugh, emp
tying the box OF trinkets on the table, ~ have
never worn these things since 1 was a girl,
but Alice will look gay in them"
Two years and half later the old folks sat
by a blazing winter fire, and chubby boy was