Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1881-03-11

but, sir, 1t is a terrible slavish thing to have
to DO SO, even if L could run to him every
time i wanted anything. People say am a
fortunate woman, because am rich; but
often envy the factory girls their ability
to earn and, spend their own money. And
sometimes I get so wild thinking of my
h Flplessness that ii it were not for my
children,I think | would just drop into the
riyer, and end, if, all.'' tonafs 81
'sNettie toNstth Jarvis I What are you
saying ~. cried Che startled husband at
last, for The tar 1away look in her eyes, as
If she dd,pot see him, but was looking to
some higher wer to help her, and he had
a good deal Of pride ip a selfish sort Of way.
He was proud that when his children
needed new, shoes he could tell his wife to
take them to Crispin's and get what they
needed. He did it with a flourish. He
was not one Of those stineys kind; he liked
to spend money, and when Nettie, who
was once the most spirited young lady Of
his acquaintance, came meekly to him for
dress or a cloak, he was sometimes
tempted to refuse her money, just to show
her how helpless she was without him.
Yes, he was proud of his family, and wan
ted them to feel how much they depended
upon him. He would have felt aggrava-
ted if any one had left his wife a legacy,
thus allowing her to be independent in her
purst. The idea of her earning money, as
his other folks did, never entered his
mind He supported her-that was the.
idea of their relations He never had
happened to think chat it was very good
of her to take his money and spend it for
the good of himself and family. He never
nad thought that any other woman would
have wanted big pay for doing it. He had
even thought himself very generous for
allowing her money to get things to make
he family comfortable. Things began to
lo'k differently to him just now. Could
it be that he Was not generous-not even
just TO his wife /? Had he paid her so
poorly for her fifteen years of faithful la
Dor for him, that had she been obliged to
begin the world for herself, that day, it
would have been as penniless woman,
notwithstanding the houses, the lands and
mills that he had so often told her were all
hers; for he knew, as every one else did,
hat not one dollar of all he had would the
law allow her to call her own.
How fast he thought, standing there at
the Office window, looking down at the
little houses where tine mill hands lived
Guild it b. possible that his wife enyied
them anything? He had 1t deeply the
wrongs of the slaves; whose abors had
been appr ,priattd by their masters, and
when negro, who had worked twenty
years for his master, before the emancipa-
ton freed him. came to the Jarvis mills,
friendless and penniless, the heart of the
proprietor swelled with Indignation at such
injustice. He was eloquent on the subj ct
at home and abroad, and wondered how
any one could be so cruel as to commit
such..an outrage against justice. He had
called him rubber many a time, but now,
Donald Jarvis looked to himself very much |
like the old shareholders! Massa Brown |
had taken the proceeds of Cuffee's labor |
for his own, without even a thank you for
1t. True, when Cuffee ate he had given
him the food, when he was sick he had |
given him medicine, and he had clothed
him. too, just as he himself thought best.
Mr.. Jarvis had married lovely, conscien-
tious woman, and for fifteen years had APP
propriated her labors Her recompense
had been food and clothes, such as he
thought best for her; a little better than
Cuffee's perhaps, but the similarity did |
not please him. Heshad expected his wife
to be very grateful for what he had done
for her, but now he wondered that she I
had not rebelled long ago Had his life
been mistake? Had his wife no more
money or liberty tan Cnffee had in bond
age? Was Donald Jarvis no better than
Massa Brown? 1
His brain seemed to be in a mnddle, and |
be looked so strangely that his wife, anx-
ioas to break the spell, took his arm say I
ing:
''Let US 90 home, dear; tea must be
waiting for u.s..
Heput on his hat in dreamy way, and
then walked home in silence. The chill
iren ran joyously to meet him. The yard
was so fresh and green, and the flowers
so many and bright, that he wondered he
had never thanked Nettie for them all. /
Hitherto he had looked upon them as his,
but now he felt that his interest in them
vas only few dollars that would not
have amounted to anything without his |
wife's care. His children were tidy and
sweet, and everything around and in the
house had that CHEEKY look that rested him
30, at er the hard. dull day at the MILL
They sat again at the table, which had
been source of comfort and pleasure to /
him for so many years. and he wondered /
how be could have enjoyed it so long with
out ever thanking the woman who had
provided it. True, she had used his money
in bringing 1t all about, but how else
could his money be of use to him? Who, /
else could have turned it into just what
lie needed day after day for yearsa And
he began to have an underlined fee ling that
it took more than money to make home.
He glanced at his wife's face as he but
ter ed his last slice of bread.
1t was not that of the fair, rosy bride
whom he had brought to the mills years
before, but, at that moment, he realized
it was far more dear to him, for he knew
that she had given the bloom and fresh
ness of her youth to make his home what
IL Hio n lurbt0rc bod INV yoaf
cheeks, his sons her youthful vivacity, all
had her cheerful, winsome ways, and com
fOrted him now, as she had in those days
when, hardly knowing what care meant,
she had lived for him alone.
And a new thought came to him: ''Who