Elsie's Widowhood Part 31

Edward and his chum returned from their walk, made themselves neat, and were waiting on the piazza before the open door, as Mary and Violet came down at the call to tea.

The dining-room was furnished with small tables each accommodating eight persons. Our four young friends found seats together. The other four places at their table were occupied by two couples--a tall, gaunt, sour-visaged elderly man in green spectacles, and his meek little wife, and a small, thin, invalid old gentleman, who wore a look of patient resignation, and his wife, taller than himself by half a head.

A fine head of beautiful grey hair was the only attractive thing about her, her features were coa.r.s.e and her countenance was fretful. She occupied herself in filling and emptying her plate with astonishing rapidity, and paid little or no attention to her husband, who was so crippled by rheumatism as to be almost helpless, having entirely lost the use of one hand, and so nearly that of his lower limbs that he could not walk without a.s.sistance.

He had a nurse, a young German, who was with him constantly day and night, helped him about and waited upon him, but in a very awkward fashion. The man's clumsiness was, however, borne with patience by the sufferer, and did not seem to trouble the wife.

She eyed Violet curiously between her immense mouthfuls, and whispered to her husband, loud enough for the child to hear, "Isn't that a pretty girl, William? such a handsome complexion! I reckon she paints."

The sudden crimsoning of Vi's cheek contradicted that suspicion instantly, and the woman corrected herself. "No, she don't, I see. I wonder who she is?"

"Hush, hush, Maria!" whispered her husband, "don't you see she hears you?" and he gave the young girl such a fatherly look, gentle and tender, that quick tears sprang to her eyes: it was so strong a reminder of one whose look of parental love she should never meet again on earth.

People at other tables were noticing her too, remarking upon her beauty and grace, and asking each other who she was.

"We'll soon find out, mamma; don't you see she is with Miss Keith? and she will be sure to introduce her to us," said a nice looking girl about Vi's age, addressing a sweet faced lady by whose side she sat.

They all met in the parlor shortly afterward, and Vi, Mrs. Perkins, her daughter Susie, and her son Fred, a lad of nineteen or twenty, were formally presented to each other.

"I don't want to get into a crowd; I don't care to make acquaintances,"

Vi had said, half tearfully.

Mary understood and respected the feeling, but answered, "Yes, dear cousin, I know: but do let me introduce Mrs. Perkins and her children.

She is so sweet and lovely, a real Christian lady; and her son and daughter are very nice. We have been together a great deal, and I feel as if they were old friends."

Vi did not wonder at it after talking a little with Mrs. Perkins, who had made room for her on the sofa by her side; her thought was, "She is a little like mamma; not quite so sweet nor half so beautiful; though she is very pretty."

Several other ladies had come in by this time, the invalid gentleman's wife among the rest. "Mrs. Moses," Vi heard some one call her.

"How do you do, Miss?" she said, drawing forward an arm chair and seating herself directly in front of Violet. "You're a new-comer, ain't you?"

"I came this afternoon," Vi answered, and turned to Mrs. Perkins with a remark about the changing beauty of the sea and clouds; for they were near an open window that gave them a view of old ocean.

"Where are you from?" asked Mrs. Moses.

"The South, Madame."

"Ah! I should hardly have suspected it: you've such a lovely complexion, and how beautiful your hair is! like spun gold."

The German servant-man appeared in the doorway.

"Mrs. Moshes, Herr wants to see you."

"Yes, I hear." Turning to Vi again, "Well, you must have had a long, tiresome journey; and I suppose you didn't come all alone?"

Vi let the inquiry pa.s.s unnoticed, but the woman went on, "I've never been South, but I'd like to go; perhaps I shall next winter. It might help William's rheumatism."

"Your husband wants you, Mrs. Moses," remarked Mary Keith.

"Oh yes; he's always wanting me. I'll go presently."

"Cousin," said Mary, "shall we take a stroll on the beach?"

Violet caught at the suggestion with alacrity, and they went at once, the rest of their party, and Mrs. Perkins and hers, accompanying them.

"That poor man!" sighed Mary. "I thought if we all left her, perhaps she would go to him."

"Isn't it strange?" said Susie, "he seems to love her dearly, and she to care nothing about him. And he is so nice and good and patient, and she so disagreeable."

"A very poor sort of wife, I think," pursued Mary. "She will not even sleep on the same floor with him, for fear of being disturbed when pain keeps him awake. Day and night he is left to the care of that awkward, blundering German. But there! I ought to be ashamed of myself for talking about an absent neighbor."

"I don't think you are doing any harm, Cousin Mary," said Charlie, "for we can all see how utterly selfish the woman is."

"What! are you two cousins?" asked Edward in surprise.

"First cousins, sir," returned Charlie, laughing, "sisters' children.

Can't you and I claim kin, seeing she's cousin to both of us?"

A sudden dash of rain prevented Edward's reply, and sent them all scurrying into the house.

CHAPTER XX.

"A little more than kin and a little less than kind."

--_Shakespeare._

Our little party had scarcely seated themselves in the parlor, where a number of the guests of the house were already gathered, when the invalid gentleman was a.s.sisted in by his servant and took possession of an easy chair which Mrs. Perkins hastened to offer him.

He thanked her courteously as he sank back in it with a slight sigh as of one in pain.

Violet, close at his side, regarded him with pitying eyes. "I fear you suffer a great deal, sir," she said, low and feelingly, when Mary, her next neighbor, had introduced them.

"Yes, a good deal, but less than when I came."

"Then the sea air is doing you good, I hope."

"I'm thankful to say I think it is. There's an increase of pain to-night, but that is always to be expected in rainy weather."

"You are very patient, Mr. Moses," Mary remarked.

"And why shouldn't I be patient?" he returned; "didn't Christ suffer far more than I do?"

"And he comforts you in the midst of it all, does he not?" asked Mrs.

Perkins.