The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 29 August 1912, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE LIFTING OF THE BURDEN . . * Mother Sinclair/ complained her daughter-in-law, ‘I do wish you could learn to sit properly in a —that is, a drawing-room chair/ she corrected, with a veiled sneer in her softly modulated voice. 1 Yesterday I was extremely mortified when you came in while Mrs. Van Schuyler was here and sat on the very edge of your chair and plaited your apron like a bashful school girl.’ ' Mrs. Sinclair’s withered cheeks flushed and a hurt look crept into her eyes, but she smiled bravely. ‘ I wouldn’t a’ went in, Grace,’ she began apologetically, ‘but I didn’t hear any talkin’, and I’d left the doll hood I was makin’ for Genevieve on the window sill. Then, when you motioned me to that little pink satin chair, I remembered that I’d been rummagain’ in the attic for Archibald’s,’ she corrected hastily, with a furtive glance at her daughter-in-law, * Archibald’s roller skates, and I was afraid I was the least mite dusty.’ ‘ How many times must I tell you to let Tompkins do such things?’ asked the other coldly. ‘ I know; but Archibald wanted me to help him,’ returned Mrs. Sinclair, a note of gratification in her voice. ‘ I was some flustered right at the start,’ she continued; * but when she turned them magnify in’ glasses with a handle to ’em on me, I got plump rattled and ’spose I looked as silly and out of place as we young ones used to when they let us into the parlor for Thanksgivin’s and Christmases.’ - ‘ You certainly did,’ agreed her daughter-in-law. But, really, Grace,’ Mrs. Sinclair explained, as she turned to go, ‘ I will practise settin’ in them spindle-legged gilt things in there till everybody’ll think I was raised on ’em instead,of them old splint-bottomed hickories back home.’ I wish you would/ returned the other. ‘ And there is something else I wish to speak to you about, ' mother, now that we are on the subject.’ ■f The elder woman repressed a sigh of weariness as she turned back, but her face cdhtained no hint of impatience. * All right,’ she agreed. ‘You know, Grace, I want to be as near as I can what you and Robbie want.’ ‘Well, then, I wish you would not say, “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am,” quite so abjectly, just as • though you felt you were inferior to my guests.’

Do you know what makes me feel that way, Grace?’ asked the elder woman, eagerly. ‘lt’s their fine clothes that I was always just crazy to have and didn’t,’ she added regretfully, ‘But, my! you just get that Mrs. Van Schuyler into a faded old wrapper and set her to scrubbin’ the back porch, or put overalls onto the Reverend Nathaniel . Calderwood and put him to sawin’ wood, and I’d likely say, ‘ Uh huh!” and “Nope!” as nifty as you please.’ (( Suppose you compromise on plain “Yes” and No, mother,’ returned her daughter-in-law, smiling in spite of her vexation as she imagined her two distinguished guests in the garb pictured; but the smile was quickly replaced by a frown. ‘ You speak as though you still longed for nice things and couldn’t have them';’ she objected. You know, I told you last fall, when you hist came, to go to Carswell’s and get everything you needed, and even made out a list of things I thought you ought to have, though I suppose I should have attended to it myself. But I have too much to do,’ she concluded fretfully. The unwonted color faded from Mrs. Sinclair’s face and she sat down in a nearby chair as though suddenly grown very tired. ‘I did pick ’em out, Grace,’ she said wearily. ‘ I’m ashamed to think of the hours I spent thinkin’ of ’em and lookin’ through that big store, decidin’ what I was goin’ to have. Why, I used to look into my closet and laugh at that shabby old dolma and the alpacky that Miss Simms made the summer she had the yeller janders, and I could just see all the pretty, stylish things hangin’ there instead. I d picked out some beautiful furs and a bunnit 9 Sim paused, as though overcome by the remembrance of its grandeur, and her thin shoulders dropped dejectedly. r .. . . daughter-in-law methodically sealed a dinner invitation in its square, white envelope and laid it on the pile already completed. ‘ What was the matter with it. Why didn t you take it?’ she asked impatiently. _ Oh, there wasn’t nothin’ the matter with it,’ Mrs. Sinclair hastily interposed, ‘lt was the sweetest old woman’s bunnit I ever saw—all sort -of ruffly and hiked up in front, with a little bunch of forget-me-nots right next to my hair. I wish you'and Robbie could have seen me in it,’ she said regretfully. ‘ But I give em all up that night he lost that money in a trade— ’ ‘Board of Trade?’ questioned Grace. Yes, that was it. He was awful ..blue said his expenses weie fearful, andwell, I give ’em up, thinkin that it wouldn’t make any difference to the De Schuylers and the Van Quinceys what I wore if I didn’t give ’em a chance to turn their magnifyin’ glasses on me.’ . ... J ■ ■

I don t see why Robert should complain to you about our expenses,’ returned her daughter-in-law % stifly. ‘ I know they are considerable, but so is our income. Anyway, I want you to have clothes and—and manners,’ she interpolated, with sudden anger befitting my husband’s mother!’ ‘ I’ll do the very best I can, Grace,’ Mrs. Sinclair promised, and wearily mounted the stairs to her room. ■ .. . Her face bad been calm during the ordeal, the crimson spot that burned in each cheek was the only evidence of the shrinking agony within, but once in her own room, she wrung her trembling, work-worn hands, and her thin shoulders shook with convulsive sobbing It was .all so different from what she had expected. For a long time Robbie had urged her to come and make her home with them, and at last she had consented, believing that she would be a loved and useful member of the household. How earnestly, while making her meagre preparations for the change, she had wished that Silas might have lived to share the happiness with her; but how fervently -she had thanked the Lord, when she found that she was looked upon as a burden and a care, that he had not. Robbie was still the same loving boy he had- always been—a little .more abstracted and forgetful—but he was the member of the family of whom she saw the least. She felt sure she had won the interest, of those poor, stiffly starched little puppets, Genevieve . and Archibald ;• but even they caused her many heartaches. ■: Should she resume her admiring, .covetous tours of the big store, this time to some purpose? Her

frugal soul quailed at the total at the bottom of the her daughter-in-law had furnished her. Why, it ' was a small fortune! Had she any right No! she thought decidedly. She would live within her income from the rocky, wornout old farm. And, too, if she got all those fine things, she would have no excuse to offer Giace for not appearing whenever Robbie’s friends asked for her, which they often did. She knew her limitations even better than Grace did, and realised that fine raiment would only accentuate her lack of manners and education. No, she must efface herself as much as possible till—‘Oh, Lord,’ she whispered, not for long !’ • , ’ • It seemed that it was to be not for long ’ when, a few days later, they found her lying, cold and still, in front of her bed; but the wonderful vitality, engendered by years of plain living triumphed, and she reluctantly came back to life—though not to strength —and realised more strongly than before that she was a. burden. hey had been very tendersomewhat remorseful, she imagined—during those first days of her illness but that had passed, and with a shrinking dread she saw the anxious frown reappear on her daughter-in-law’s forehead as she ushered in a mildly interested or possibly, curious guest. Even that haven of refuge, the attic, was denied her now, she thought with a whimsical smile, though there was some compensation in the thought that there could" be no possibility of her sitting awkwardly on the edge of her chair and playing nervously with her apron; but all these were mere vexations compared with a very real trouble that began to obtrude itself. It was bad enough in all conscience, she thought grimly, to be the cause of embarrassment to her loved ones; but to become an object of great expense as well was unendurable. Of late Robbiethe dear, patient boy—-had looked worried and anxious, and by careful questioning she had learned from him that times were very hard. ■ hen he had pinched her cheek and had asked her sternly what possible concern she could have with the money market. He told her she was a miserly old woman and that when she got round again, which would be very soon, he must watch her or she’d be dabbling in Wall Street. His teasing did not fool her. Oh, why couldn’t she be sick here in the good old-fashioned, economical way? But, no! she must have an elegant, whitecapped lady to wait on her night and day that they paid it made her sick to think what Robbie had to pay her each week! Poor Robbie ! Poor Grace ! If that snippy hired girl had only talked to Tompkins a little longer the morning she was taken sick, distend of coming nosing around and finding her unconscious on the floor, she would be safely at home with Silas to-day, instead of being a burden. Of course, if she had found things here at Robbie’s as she had expected to, she wouldn’t want to go-no-sir-ree! She liked life as well as the next one and had always got a sight of enjoyment out of everything but this being a burden and having them ashamed of her—- ■ How long do yon think I’ll last?’ she asked the doctor bluntly one day. ~ ‘ Not very long, if you don’t give me more help than you are doing,’ he answered with equal candor. But, doctor, I’m such a care and expense!’ she complained. ‘I nursed Robbie’s pa for a year, and buried him, and got mournin’ for myself, on what it’s costing him a month for me. I ain’t worth it, doctor.’ You d be worth it to me. Mother Sinclair,’ he said soberly; and stooping, kissed her on the forehead.' ■ ... Y ° I f. are are nice boy to say so,’ she returned, patting his arm affectionately. ‘But, don’t veil see, the way things are goin’ with them, they can’t afford

~They shouldn’t have told you that!’ he muttered ngrily, a, cork between his teeth. I’ve suspected all the time it was worry over their affairs that was keeping you down.’ l . She turned wide, startled eyes toward him, but he was busy counting drops into a glass, the cork still gripped between his teeth. You mean—*— ’ she began craftily, ,

Bob’s failure,’ he answered promptly. ‘Of course it’s a serious thing to be. wiped out slick and clean at his age; but he’ll get on to his feet again, never fear. . Now, take this ’—he raised the spoon to hex lips- and then, at least, try to feel a little, better. Why, what have you got all those stones on the bed for? To throw at us when we don’t do things to suit you V he demanded laughingly, as he laid her down. I wouldn t waste ’em on ye!’ she retorted, in pretended disdain; then . added eagerly, as she saw him _ examining one with great interest, ‘ they’re our specimens. I took a notion I’d like to look at ’em this morning. Silas and I used to be mighty ;nterested in specimens. That white one with the little black streaks on it come from Pike’s Peak, and this spotted one ’ ‘And these?’ he said, extending a handful. ‘Where did these come from?’ ‘Those? Oh, Robbie picked those up back on the Ridge, she answered indifferently. ‘And this one other Simons brought from Jerusalem when —— ’ ■ ‘You don’t happen to own the Ridge, do you, Mis. Sinclair ? he interrupted, in an odd voice. iii 5 es " a * n ’ fc g°od for nothin’ much except blackberries and rattlers!’ she returned, with a little chuckle. ‘ Silas bought it off old man Benson when jus wife died, an’- Goin?’ she broke off to ask as he abruptly extended one hand, while- dropping the’ specimens’ into his pocket with the other. " ‘Yes,’ he returned hurriedly; ‘but I’ll probably run in this evening.’ ‘ ' . J . So Robbie had lost everything! "She couldn’t understand it at all just yet, though she supposed it would mean that they would have to get along without that polite Mr. Tompkins and all the rest, and leave this beautiful house. There was the ; farm left to them, it it came to a pinch. Robbie would' love it, but Grace —She had to laugh, bad as she felt, when she thought of Grace sleeping in the little attic chamber and sitting on „ 6 old splint-bottomed hickories, And the children » Well, she d like to see those pert little wax dolls making mud pies and splashing round in the duck pond. But Grace would never go to the farm—she knew . that. She would never be satisfied with anything less than she had now; and likely, if she was beautiful and smart like Grace, instead of being an old-fashioned noaccount, she d feel the same way, she admitted loyally. The doctor-, did not come back that night;' as he had promised, but. Robbie, strangely excited and unstrung, spent an hour with her, talking about the old place He even spoke of the Ridge, -and she told him how the doctor had run off with the specimens he had picked up when he was a little boy. Later Grace had come in, and, though she was very pale and silent, she had kissed her good night—something so unusual that it brought the tears to the older woman’s eyes. Neither Robbie nor Grace mentioned what bad happened’ however, and when she remembered how Hie had gotten the truth out of the doctor, she decided to say nothing herself. During the next few days she felt a subdued excitement among those about her, even the e t to a acted more like a big happy boy than anything else, racing up and down stairs to see her half a dozen times a day, instead of his customary one visit. She ' wondered wearily if he charged Robbie for all of (hem. uiirely not, when lots of times he didn’t' give her a speck of medicine, but just sat and -visited and - asked her questions about the farm. Dear, dear ! She wished ° Y ou^ dn i t » i for the ' brought back memories that neariy broke her old heart—her weary old heart “she o d herself, that longed inexpressibly for rest. . W * n ,^ obble went away on business, they told hours ahSh ’, to H S “ r P rise and joy Gr “e y spent missed‘her boy Sribly M “ W ° f ° re - she larlv°hh,P however, when she was feeling particuy *i e ’ the three of them came trooping into her heTsed to bbl blssed ber and ff ave her a bear hug as ne used to call it when he was a boy but Grace who the d been crying, just sat , down 011 the farther side of bnv he { and patted her hand. Then the big doctor y, who had been Standing looking down beside, her

and with his fingers on her wrist, leaned over and kissed her, too. How do you feel?’ he asked. 4 Strong enough to box your ears for takin’ liberties!’ she retortedbut she didn’t slap very hard —oh, no! for she liked it. But what was the matter with them,• they acted so strange? Maybe they’d come to. get her ready to move. But the doctor was speaking, ‘Mrs. Sinclair, I’ve done my best to get you out of bed in a professional way, but I’ve failed,’ he said sternly, though his eyes were twinkling. ‘Now, I.propose to jar. you out.’ ‘ Go on!’ Robbie said eagerly, when he paused. ' ‘You know those specimens of yours I took away the other day?’ he asked. She nodded wonderingly. . Well,-they, were coal—anthracite coal!’ ‘ldon’t understand!’ she faltered. explained , excitedly, ‘Tons of it! I’ve just been down there with an expert, and if what he says is true, you are a very rich woman.’ n ‘Me richwoman?’ she repeated. ‘Me?’ : ‘ Yes, you,’ Robbie affirmed. ‘ Then I’ll not be a bur—that is, I guess I won’t be sick any more,’ she added decidedly ; then added, ‘Land! how. I wish Silas was here to enjoy it!’

The elder Mrs. Sinclair had just returned from an afternoon’s shopping when her daughter-in-law called her into the drawing-room. Brother Calderwood wishes to see you about that orphanage entertainment,- dear,’ she explained, as she drew an easy chair near her guest. 1 Just let Cecile take your wraps and Ah, Mrs. Van Schuyler!’ she broke off to exclaim, advancing to meet her friend, ‘T am so glad you came ! We were just about to speak of the concert. Will you sit here? And you, mother dear—— ’ Again she indicated the easy chair ; but the elder Mrs. Sinclair, laying aside her costly furs, seated herself squarely on a little gilt chair and, inclining her head, allowed the obsequious Cecile to remove a beautiful ‘ old woman’s bunnit,’ trimmed with forget-me-nots, from her soft, white hair. Are you entirely recovered, ray dear Mrs, Sinclair?’ asked Rev. Nathaniel Calderwood sonorously. ‘Uh huh!’ she returned brightly. ‘ Never felt more pert in my life!’ Mrs. Van Schuyler placed her lorgnette to her eye and regarded her.intently. And you have no recurrence of those alarming fainting spells?’ she asked with interest. ‘‘None!’ returned the older woman, with a little bird-like toss of her head. ‘Been too busy shoppin’ and runnin’ round seein’ things to have ’em, I guess. Now let’s talk about the concert, for I’m goin’ ridin’ with the big doctor boy at,four.’