The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1886-10-16

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she put in her time after her bit of
homework was done up, for che never
went visiting, she wasn't much of hand
to run about-my wife ISN'T either.
After two or three months they saw
her more often--for hours she'd stand at
the gate with book she never looked at
staring over at the sea. It was just
about the time that they began to feel
little bit worried about the ship that Mrs.
Jones died, and the old man wanted Nan
ny the worst way to come and live to
home. But she wouldn't-Ned'd be 80
worried, she said, if he came home unex-
pected, to find the little cottage empty.
After bit they began to talk great
deal about the ship, and old Squire
Jones would go down to the postoffice
every day and then over to the tavern to
see if there was any newe. He told folks
that asked that Nanny Dawson never said
one word with her lips when he stopped
at her door, but that her eyes, looking out
of the face that had lost all its pretty
color, would ask him the same questions
day after day, with an awful hungriness
that made him sick.
1t was two years after she had hung
around Ned's neck and babe him good
by that Nanny shut up the little home
and went back to her fathers house, a
grave, almost hard looking woman. She
wasn't much over twenty then, and you
would have said she was thirty-five.
mot the boldest man or woman ever
dared speak to her of her husband, and
in some way the folk that called her by
her first name got to saying Hannah"
perhaps because it suited the silent mis-.
tress of the farm, in her black dress, better
than the pet name that had sounded 80
loving from the young husbands lips.
Only a month or so after, the Squire
died and Hannah took an old cousin to
live with her. They might have lived on
forever : the two lonely women if it
hadn't been that Deacon Willis had lost
his wife quite spell back. He was a
good man and kind husband, but he
conldn't go on mourning forever and his
six children running wild. So up to the
farm he went and asked Mrs. Dawson if
she would come and be mother to his
children.
1t was cute in him to put it in that way;
he must have known she couldn't bear to
hear the word "wife." At first she was
almost angry, but he said: "We've both
got our dead: there amt no call for us to
forget them; but you can do sight of
good in this world if you'll take hold of
my children, and I'll always be kind to
you"
Then she consented to marry him, and
after the old farm was rented, there was
a quiet wedding and she and the old
cousin moved down to the deacon's.
Now, I don't hold much with step-moth-
ers, but will say she must have been a
good one. The children we're all well
looked after, and happy, too, but if there
ever was grave and quiet woman it was
the deacon's wife-the widow Dawson
that was.
In little while, her child was born,
and by hard begging, the father got leave
to call her Nanny. AS time went on the
Willis children grew up-two had died
got married and moved off, till only
Nanny was left in the old home, the
veriest live sunbeam you ever saw, and
the joy of her fathers heart.
met her first here in Peabody on
visit, and what with her sweet voice, her
pretty face and her laugh like silver
bell, why in a week I didn't know if 1
was on my head or heels. She didn't
catch the fever quite as quick as did;
and when she went back I couldn't get
any kind of an answer, and l just tell
you I felt bad. However, sent her a
few papers, and then some novels and a
book of poems, and at last got up my
courage and went over myself. Well, il
thought her sweet before, 1 don't know
what to call her in her own home, and
the deacon was nice old man; but I will
own to you that her mother gave me a
shock the first time [ saw her.
She was a handsome woman, but all
the time I talked to her I had a sort of
feeling that she was dead; her eyes the
same blue that Nanny's we're - were the
stillest, most unchanging that I ever saw
in a living face. She was always kind.
There was a little child-th deacon's
grandchildren was always holding her
skirts or climbing on her lap. She would
pat it gently, kind of smooth it down in
tender way and then sigh softly, not an
noyingly, and turn away.
1 never saw man that set more store
by his wife, and Nanny thought there
was no one like her mother-but not
even her merry ways and sayings ever
brought a smile TO those grave, quiet
lips.
After I'd won my wife and brought her
home here 1 used sometimes to ask her if
she had ever seen her mother look any
Differentiated say, no, never in her life
and one day she told me what have
told you.
We'd been married over year, and our
little Charley was beginning to crow and
jump when he saw me coming, when the