Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/214

JENNY

AND

MR. CLEAVES.

201

was let down a little. I saw and heard through the thin muslin curtain. A quick flash it was; it was over, he was laughing in a minute; but if I had a husband who would always be angry. like that, whenever harness, or horse, or child, or anything went wrong on his hands, I fear I would often look back on these calin days of my single blessedness, which, if they are sultry” sometimes, have no quick, uncertain lighting in. them, or rumbling, or explosive thunder. Welln- day! I remember what poor Southey said, “My notions about life are much the same as they are about traveling—there is a good deal of amusement on the road; but, after all, one wants to be at rest.” Perhaps the poorest creature feels this want no oftener, or more deeply, than the prosperous, so-called, the famous, so-called.

Thursday, the 3rd.

I ran upstairs the moment we reached home, to lay off “the dust of travel.” When I went down, George was standing close to Robert and Harriet, and they were all talking eagerly.

“Mum!” said George, to the others, the moment he saw me at the foot of the stairs. “Remember, Harriet, mum is the word! remember now!”

They assented with quick nods, and then we went in to dinner. When we epoke of Mr. Cleaves, Robert praised him, saying, “He’s one of your whole men. He sees all sides and knows what he is doing.”

“And his wife?” inquired I.

“Mrs. Clenves is a fine woman. Have some butter, Harriet? You'll like her. We see them very often; oftener than we do any other neighbors. I'll go and bring them in this very evening.”

But they came before we left the table. Robert and Harriet both went to meet them, and brought them in to sit with us “at the walnuts and the wine.”

Mr. Cleaves sat by me. I believe he sat by me nearly all the evening; for Mrs. Cleaves and Harriet hunted up the magazines in quest of certain fashion-plates, that they might know better how to make a sack for one of the children, an apron for another, a bib for another; and George and Robert, both of whom are connected with the railroads, Robert as president of one, George as agent of another, talked over “managements,” as they always are interested in doing; and Robert got out some of his papers and accounts. I think we all had a comfortable, contented evening. As for me, it seemed to me as Mr. Cleaves talked, that be opened new and Pleasant paths for me into life, on all sides. I saw what beauties and delights were in them, and longed so to walk in thew! I believe that I will walk in them some day, when I am fit to enter, and that then I will know how divinely fair and serviceable an author's, anybody's days may be here on earth, if, here on earth, in the midst of the din and the dust, one will diligently and with a religious, resolute conscience, take oneself away from what is sordid and low, and keep oneself close by what is ennobling and high.

The 8th.

The next morning, while I sat writing in my chamber, I saw him coming up the walk with a basket in his hand. If it had been any other in the world whom I had met twice only, I should have sat silently behind my curtain to see with what energy and grace he approached. As it was, the old mirth of the day before, caught me, and I said, just loud enough to be heard through the slightly raised window, “Bon jour!”

“Ha!” starting, lifting his head; “bon jour! come down.”

He brought books, one from Mrs. Cleaves for Harriet, one from himself for me; brought hot- house flowers, a big bunch for Harriet, ‘from Mrs. Cleaves,” said he, presenting them; “and here are some for you,” presenting me a little bunch, very beautiful, very beautifully arranged. “Keep them,” said he, as I held them. “Carry them away with you when you go, and keep them till they are all dried up, and afterward. Remember.”

I laughingly promised; and, breaking a little flowering spray out of a bouquet on the mantle- piece, I bade him keep that after it had all dried up.

“Yes,” he said.

He came with plans from Mrs. Cleaves, he said, speaking to Harriet and Robert. He comes every day with plans, or to hear what our plans are; and so every day.

Wednesday, the 9th.

“Jen,”’ I heard George calling out at the foot of the stairs. “Jenny, come down here, I want to tell you something.”

He turned into the parlor when he saw me coming. When he saw me at the door, he met me with his large, friendly hand outstretched. He was alone. “I thought 1 would ride out this morning. JI want to tell you something. Harriet and I both think you ought to know. I'm almost afraid to tell you. We've been as wicked as possible; we're afraid you won't like it.”

“Perhaps I shall. I fear I am not a little wicked myself. What is it?”

“Mr. Cleaves isn’t married; he’s no more married than I am.”