GEORGE CLEMENTS WIFE.

Clutha Leader, Volume I, Issue 24, 24 December 1874, Page 7

GEORGE CLEMENTS WIFE.

-S -ST**. — — " Of all the things, this is the worst ! If I evar in all my life expected to hear such news ! Why, our George has gone and got married ! D'ye hear 1 Good Mrs Clements pushed her stee.-» bowed spectacles off her bright eye, and dropped her letter in her lap, as she turned round to her husband, the stout, clever old farmer, who was contentedly stroking the old white cat.

" Deacon, d'ye hear ?"

This time when she asked the question there was a touch of sharpness in her voice.

" Yes, what if he is married ? _ I'm sure it's natural enough. It kirid o' runs in the family, 'pears to me."

But Mrs Clements would take no notice of the little pleasantry.

" Well, if you like it, I can tell you I doii't. He needn't think he's eomirg here, with his fine citybred lady, ail airs and graces, and flounces and fluted ruffles. There's plenty of good girls hereabout that wanted him. Right in the middle of work, too ! to talk of bringing a lady here in hog-killin' time ! Ido declare, I think George is a fool !"

A graceful, dainty little lady, in a garnet poplin and ruffled apron, with a small, proudly poised head, covered with short, dusky curls, and a pair of dark blue eyes, so wistful and tender, a tiny rose-bud of a mouth, and a dimple in one pink cheek. That was Mrs Marion Clements. Was it any wonder that George had fallen in love with her ? She sat in the bright little parlor, close beside the lace-curtained window, watching for the loved husband's return ; and then, when she heard the click of the latch-key in the hall, flew for the welcome kiss. - " Havn't you the letter this time, George. I've felt sure of it all day. Indeed, I've quite decided what dresses to take with me." He smiled and shook his head. A cloud passed over her pretty face. "Oh, George, isn't it too bad? And I do believe, oh, I do believe they won't write because they are sorry you married me." He put his arm round her neck. " And supposing such be the case; do you thin^: it would make any difference to me ?" " Oh, f no ! no ! only it would grieve, me so if I knew I -had alienated your own parents from you." "And a one-sided alienation it would

be, too ! They have never seen you! And when they know you, they can't help loving you." "0 George!" » And the exclamation was caused by the kiss accompanying his loving flattery. ---..- --" That's true as preaching. By the by, my dear, what would you say if the firm sent me off on a travelling tour of six weeks?" A little dismayed cry answered him. " You won't stay here alone, eh ? But Marion, it would be five hundred dollars clear gain to us." " What need we care for money 1 I'd rather have you." A mischievous smile played on the young man's lips ; he was more matter-of-fact than this romantic, tender little wife of his. " I think the addition to our balance at the banker's would be very consoling for the absence. But never mind, little pet. Let's go down to dinner. I hope we'll get a letter from home soon !" And soon it was ; for M arion snatched it from his coat pocket the very next night. But her husband's face looked very grave and stern, and his c} r es looked angry when she looked gleefully over the envelope. "My dear, you must remember I care very little for what the letter contains. Remember I did not write it ; that you fire dearer to me than ever before. Kiss me, first, while I watch you." A little pang of misdoubt troubled her when she glanced over the note ; then tears stole from under her lashes, and George saw her tender mouth quiver and tremble ; then when she had finished it, she laid her head down on his shoulder and cried. "It was cruel to let you see it my wounded birdie. Let me burn it. And don't forget, darling, what our Bible says, ' that a man shall leave father and mother, and cleave to his wife.' You are my precious wife, Marion, and to you I turn for all the happiness my life will ever hold." He dried her tears and then they talked it over. "Just because I. am city -bred, she thinks I am lazy, and hauty, and dainty, and " —^ " Never mind, Marion. She will find out some day. My father " *> " Yes, bless the dear old man ! He has added : *My love to. my daughter Marion.' Oh, I know I should love him, and your mother, too, if she would let me." " We will invite them down, when I come home. By the way, Marion, I will stop at the farm on my way home and invite them down, and bring them home with me." " George, dear, I have been thinking about that trip west. I think you had better go and leave me at home. It won't be so very long." Marion was eating her egg while she spoke across the cosy little tete-a-tete •breakfast-taW.fi. " Spoken like roy trae little Marion, and when I come back I'll bring, a present. What shall it be V..Your mother, and father from the farm. It shall be that hope that will bear me. company when you are gone ■' A fortnight after that Marion Cle- ' ments ate her brekfast alone, the traces of a tear or so on her pink cheek ; then she dashed them away with a merry, joyous little laugh. " This will never do, and now that George has gone for six weeks, to prepare for his return * and I pray heaven it shall be such a coming as shall delight his very soul." " I'm sure I don't know what fo say. The Lord knows I need help bad enough, but it 'pears to me such a slender little midget as you couldn't earn your salt. What did you say your name was ?" "Mary Smith. And indeed- if you will try me for a week, I am sure you will keep me till the season's over." Mrs Clements looked out of the window at the great clouds that were piling gloomily up; and then the wind geve a great wailing shriek around the corners of the house. " You can cook, can you. ? or shake up feather beds — goad big ones, forty pounders ?". A gleeful little laugh came from Mary's lips. " Indeed I can. I may not cook to suit you, but I can learn.'" Mrs. Clements walked out to the huge open fire-place in the kitchen, where the deacon was. shelling corn. " What d'ye say, deacon; keep her or not ? I kind o' like her looks, and the dear knows it 'ud be a good lift while we're killin', if she couldn't do rnore'n set the table, or make the mush for the bread." " Take her of course Hannah. You are hard driv' I know. Let her stop a week or so anyhow," So Mrs Clements came slowly back and sat down again. "You can't get away to-night, any how, there's a snow storm been blow in' these three days, and it's on us now, sure enough. See them 'ere flakes, fine and thick. You may as well take your things up stairs to the west garret, and then come down and help me to get supper." Then followed directions to the west garret, and when she was gone, Mrs Clements turned to -tho deacon : I never saw a girl before I'd trust upstairs alone. But such as her don't steal ; I can teU you that, if nothing else."*

Directly she came down in a purple print dress and white apron ;., her hair brushed off from her face-- into- a net ; a narrow linen collar, fastened < with a sailor's loop ot narrow black* ribbon. It seemed as if she had life, .* too, so handily she flitted iri and out •of the big pantry, and then down the"ce.fcir. Then, after the meal, she gathered, the dishes in a, neat, silent way, that 'wasperfect bliss to xMrs Clement's ears.""

"She's, determined to earn her bread,.) anyhow ; and I lik her turn, too." And the deacon had " taken a shine"' to Mary Smith. One by one the days wore on ; the hog-killing was over and ■; >', done; long strings of sausages hung v in fantastic rings arranged by -Mary's deft fingers; sweet hums and shoulders were piled away iii true housewifely manuer, and now Mary and Mrs. Clements were sitting in the s^nny dining-room, darning, patching, and; mending.

" I don't know what I am going ta» do without you, Mary ; I dread to see. you pack up your clothes." A blush of pleasure overspread; Mary's face,

" I am so glad you have been suited* with my work, indeed I have tried." " It ain't the work altogether, though goodness knows, you're the smartest gal I've seen this many a day. As If say, it ain't the work, it's you, Mary. I've got to thinking a heap of you— me and the deacon."

Mary's voice trembled at the kindness of the old lady's voice, but she sewed rapidly on.

"It's so uncommon lonesome since the boy left th 6 farm ; but it's worsesince he got married. Ib- seems like deserting us altogether."

" Have you a son ? You never riusDtioned him," v

" No, George has gone his way and, we must go ours. Yes, he^ tnai^icdj. one of those crack-headed boardingschool people, who can't tell the difference between a rolling-pin and a milking pan."

But despite her scorn, Mrs Clements dashed off the tears with her brown' fist.

"Is his wife pretty 1 I suppose you love her dearly."

" I don't know anything about her, and never want to know. He's left us. for her, and us old folks will leave him. for her to. Mary just turn theni cakes , round ; see if they're burning." When Mary had turned the cakes, Mrs. Clements was leaning on the arm of her chair.

" Mary, supposin' you stbp with us another month yet, anyhow. The deacon will make it all right." "It isn't the money I care_ for, Mrs ■. Clements, I only wish I might stay - always. You don't know how much I . love you." r •

" Love us !do yon 1 Bless your - heart. If poor George had only pickcfd you out, what a comfort it would be to us all ! But it can't be helped now."

She sighed wearily, then glanced out of the window, looked a moment, and then threw down her work.

" Bless my soul, if there ain't our son George coming up the lane ! Deacon, deacon, George is coming ! And all her mother-love rushing to her heart, she hurried out to meet him. Oh, the welcoming, the reproaches, the caresses, the determination to love him still, despite poor innoj.en£littfe M^rion^^ Then when the table had been set in the next room "by Mary's deft fingers, • ' and she had returned to her '-' west garret,"' Mrs Clements opened herheart.

" There's no use talki.n' George, this, fine, fancy lady o' yours '11 never suit me. Give me a smart girl lika Mary Smith, and I'll ask no more. Come.iv to supper now. ' Mary, Mary."

She raised her voice to call the girl, when a low voice near surprised her. ". Oh, you dressed up in honor o' my boy. Well, I must confess I never; ./ knew you had such a handsome dress,, and you look like a picture with .your net off, and them short, bobbin' curls ! .-• George, this is Mary Smith, my"* — rr-

George came through the door, and glanced carelessly at the corner where the young woman stood. Then, with a cry, sprang with outstretched arms, :to meet the little, figure that sprang. into them. The deacon and Mrs Clements stood in speechless, amazement. Then Marion, all blushes and tearful smiles went over to the old pair, and took their hands. :| " I am George's. wife. I was so afraid you would never love.me, so I, came determined to win you if I" ■*— could. Mother, father, may Ibe your 'daughter l." And a happier family, when they had exhausted their powers of surprise, amazement, and pride in the beautiful ' Marion, never gave thanks over a supper table.