GEORGE CLEMENT'S WIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume X, Issue 2901, 16 May 1873, Page 2 (Supplement)

GEORGE CLEMENT'S WIFE.

"Op all the things this is the jyorst! If I ever in all my life expected to hear such news ! Why, our George has gone and got married! J) ye hear. Good Mrs. Clements pushed her steelbowed spectacles off her bright eyes, 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. •' Deacou, d'ye hear ?" This time when she asked the question, there was a touch of sharpness in her

V °"Yes; what if he is married ? I'm sure it's natural enough. _ It kind o' runs in the familyi 'pears tome. But Mis. Clements would take no notice of the little pleasantry. " Well, if you like it, I cm tell j'ou 1 don't. He needn't thinkhe's coming here, with his line city-bred lady, all airs and graces, and flounces and fluted ruillcs. There's plenty of good girls hereabout that wanted him. liifiht in the middle of work, too ! to talk of bringing a lady here in hog-kil'in' time! Ido declare, I think George is a tool! # * * * * A graceful, dainty little lady, in a garnet poplin and milled apron, with a small, proudlv 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. M anon Clements. Was it any wonder that Ueorge has fallen in love with her ? She sat in the bright little parlor, close beside the lace curtained window, watchin" 1 for the loved husband's return; and then when she heard the click of the latchkey 'in the hall, flew for the welcome " 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 facc. " O George, isn't it too bad ? And I do believe, oh. I do believe, tliey wont write because they are sorry you married m He put his arm around her neck. " And supposing such be the case, do you think it would make any difference to me?" . „ . " Oh, no ! no ! only it would grieve me so if I knew I had alienated your own parents from you." . "And a onesided alienation it would be, too! They have never you ! And when they know you they can t help loving you." " O George !" And the exclamation was caused by tlie 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 mm. " 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 i id rather have you." A mischievous smile played on tlie 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 Marion snatched it from his coat-pocket the very next night. But her husband's face looked very grave and stern, and his eyes looked angry when she looked gleefully over the envelope. " My dear, you must remember I care very little for what the letter contains. Kemember I did not write it; that you are 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. .cLud 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 tarn for all the happiness my life will over hold." He dried her tears and then they talked it over. "Just because I am city-bred, she thinks I am lazy, and haughty, 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 cozy little tete-a-tete breakfast table. " Spoken like xny true little Marion, and when I come back I'll bring you a present. What shall it be ?" " 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 Clements ate her breakfast 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." # # «■****

'1 I'm sure I don't know what to 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 gave a great walling shriek around the corners of the house. " You can cook, ken you ? or shake up feather beds—good big ones, forty pounders ?" A gleeful little laugh came from Mary's lips. " Indeed I can. I may not cook to suit yoo, but lean learn." Mrs. Clements walked out to the huge open fireplace in the kitchen, where the dcacon was shelling corn.

" What d'ye say, deacon, keep lier or no ? I kind o' like her looks, and the dear knows it 'ud be a good lift while we re kil'in', if she couldn't do more n set tlie table, or make the mush for the bread. " Take her of course, Hannah, lou are hard driv'l know. Let her stop a week or so anyhow. So Mrs. Clements came slowly back and sat down again. " You can'l; get away to-night, any how, there's a snow storm been blowin' theso three days, and it's on us now sure enough. See them 'ere flakes, fine and thick. You may as well take your things upstairs 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 the deacon : " I never saw a girl before I'd trust upstairs alone. But such as her don't steal ; lean tell you that if nothing else." Directly she came down in a purp 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 of narrow black ribbon. It seemed as if she had life, too, so handily she flitted in and out of the big pantry and then down the cellar. Then after the meal, she gathered the dishes in a neat, silent way, that was perfect bliss to Mrs. Clement's ears. " She's determined to earn licr bread, anyhow ; and I like her turn too." And the deacon had " taken a shine" to Mary Smith. One by one the days wore oil"; the hog-killing was over and done ; long strings of sausages hung in fantastic rings, arranged by Mary's deft fingers ; sweet hams and shoulders were piled away in true housewifely manner, and now Mary and Mrs. Clements were sitting in the sunny dining-room, darning, patching and mending. " I don't know what I am going to do without you, Mary ; I dread to see you pack up your clothes." A blush of pleasure overspread Mary s

"lam so glnd .V ou aTO keen s , u i te| i with my work. Indeed I bare tried." " It ain't the work altogether, though goodness knows, you're the smartest gal I've seen this many a day. As I say, it ain't the work, it's you, Mary. I've got to thinking a heap of you —me and the 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 the farm ; but it's worse since he got married. It seems like deserting us altogether." "Have you a son? "iou never mentioned him," " No. George has gone his way and we must go ours. Yes, he married one of those crack-headed boarding-school people, who can't tell the difference between a roll-ing-piu and a milking-pau." But despite her scorn, Mrs. Clements dashed off the tears with her brown fist.

"Is his wife pretty ? I suppose you lore 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 too. Ma:y just turn them cakes around ; see if they're burning." When Mary had turned the cakes, Mrs. Clements was leaning on the arm of her

chair. " Mary, supposin 1 you stop with us another month vet, 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." " Love us !do you ? Bless your heart. If poor George had only picked 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 innocent little Marion. Then when the table had been set in the nest room by Mary's deft fingers, and she had returned to her " west garret," Mrs. Clements opened her heart. '• There's no use talkin', George, this fine, fancy lady o' yours '11 never suit me. Give me a smart girl like Mary Smith, and I'll ask no more. Come in 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 witli your net off, and them short, bobbin' curls ! George, this is Mary Smith, my"— 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, ali 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, sol camedetermiued to win you if I could. Mother, father, may I be your daughter?" And a happier family, when they had exhausted their power of surprise, amaze- • ment and pride in the beautiful Marion, never gave thanks over the supper i table—lFbman's Journal.