Democratic messenger. [volume] (Snow Hill, Md.) 1869-1973, 1882-02-11
TIE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.


"Are we almost there, Charles ?"
"Do you see that cid moss grown
reef, With the huge brick chimney
peeping Up among The apple-blossoms
That is the house"
Laura's heart gave an involuntary
throb. Would they welcome her as
new daughter? Would they love her ?
Charles Page smiled as he read the
thoughts passing through her mind.
''Do hot fear, Laura | do not know
who could help loving you y
Laura smiled little doubtfully she
could hardly expect the whole world to
look at her with her young husbands
eyes.
Old Mrs. Page stood at the farm.
house door in her best black silk, with
her company cap" and white ribbons,
as the stage-coach rolled up-a hard
featured old lady. With silver-streaked
hsic brushed away from Ler wrinkled
forehead. and hands on which the net
work Of veins stood up like knotted
cord. Her welcoming kiss was like the
peck Of bird of prey-so cold and hard
did it seem against Lauras cheek.
"Mother - whispered Laura, softly
al am very glad to see you Mrs
Charles, said the old lady.
so you are Charles new wife, hey?"
said Farmer Page from the sitting room;
land tail, well grown girl, too. Come
in, come in Teas most ready, and |
dare say you'll be glad of cup"
There was something that passed like
the chilled breath Of an iceberg across
Laura's heart as she entered, leaning
on her husbands arm. 1t was not the
welcome she had expected and hoped
for; and involuntarily she felt that her
mother in-law's cold, criticising eye was
upon her, and with no favorable
glance.
"I s'pose you've been brought mp to
work.. said Mrs. Page, senior.
No; Laura could notsay that she had.
Can you wash and iron your hus-
bands shirts q
"No."
Can you make bread ?"
81 have never tried.
Cannot cook at all q
''I am afraid not, ma'am."
"Humph y
At this stage Charles, who had been
watching the deept ming color on Laura S
cheek with some annoyance, broke in
"But she can speak two or three dif.
ferent languages, mother, and paint
beautifully, and / wish you could read
some of the poetry she has written
"Humphi' again enunciated 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 seminary
mother" " the young husband interposed
"where she has had no opportunity tc
learn the useful things you speak of
All in good time. Rome wasn't built il
a day."
but Mrs. Page, with her thin lips SCI
closetogether, was busying herself about
the tea-table. She need not have taken
the trouble Laura's appetite was pretty
effectuaily destroyed.
Come, darling" said Charles, 81
want to show YOU the path to the spring
in the woods"
Old Mrs. Page looked contemptuous.
ly after them.
"That's all she's WORTH" she mnt
tered, "to look at pretty things and
listen to honeyed speeches. L wonder
where Hiram Page would be now if ]
had been cut out after that pattern 2"
In short, it was an infinite relief all
round when the short visit came to al
end, and Charles took his young wife
back TO his home. Laura wa. depressed
and melancholy, and Charles, though
he would not have confessed it even ta
himself, was a little prejndiced by the
strong opinions expressed by both father
and mother on the subject Of his matri
monial choice.
Scarcely six months had passed over
the horizon Of their married life. how
ever. when clouds came TO darken it.
Charles Page was only clerk in q
bank, but his humble salary had proved
sufficient for himself and Laura. Con
sequently, one night returning late from
business, he slipped and broke his right
ankle so badly that severe illness fol.
lowed it brought the grim phantom,
poverty nearer to them than was at al
pleasant.
"We won't let the old folks at home
know of it, Laura" said the young
clerk. trying to speak cheerfully 'I'n
afraid they're III trouble themselve:
about that note my father indorsed foi
old Millman. aud | dare say we shat
get elong nicely with little economy.
Laura was sitting 10y her husband,
bedside one dreary November twilight
when there was a. unwonted hustle a
/ the door bclow-a throwing down o
trunks and shrill articulation of voices
She hastened to the head of the stairs
1t was Farmer Page and his wife
We've no home of our own now,
said Mrs. Page, senior, speaking bitterl,
and loud, land we've come TO stay witt
you and your wife, son Charles"
"No home of your own, moiher?'
No-thanks to your father, VIII
would indorse that note for old Millman
and he's lost every cent-just what h
might have expected, think and we'r
as good as beggars in our old age But
dear me, what's the matter, Charles ?"