_ CHAPTER V
Take up the threads of life at home,
Let not the stitches drop;
The busy world will know 'tis done
Though ne'er it pause nor stop.
"Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles."--
Emerson. A year passed away, and Mrs. Hayden grew no better. She was not as cheerful as she had been at first, and instead of growing into the brave, patient woman she longed to become, she had grown fretful and irritable, and was in many ways different from the Mrs. Hayden Kate and Grace had talked about so enthusiastically. None knew better than she, how miserably she had failed to live the life that was soul satisfying--the life that brought forth fruits. In all the years of her prosperity, in the midst of the gayeties and luxuries, she had secretly longed for something she never found, and in one sense it had not been hard for her to give up the life of ease and idleness, because she had hoped to find in the new duties a new peace and satisfaction, had hoped to live up to her ideal of a noble woman, and it was with her whole heart she had promised her husband her help and sympathy, but in all the eighteen months, she had been but a burden; even calm forbearance and cheerfulness had ceased to be virtues. The children, not having a nursery, must needs be anywhere and everywhere, and in spite of her efforts to the contrary, their noise annoyed her.
To-night she sat thinking it all over, in one of her most despondent moods, for be it said to her credit, things did not always appear as gloomy as she represented them to herself.
The ruddy firelight flickered over her in fitful gleams of light and shadow. The children were out romping in the twilight, enjoying the first snow of the season. Her husband had not yet returned from the store.
What was the use, anyway, pursued the relentless conscience--even the wish to be good was always choked by a complete forgetfulness; and before she could catch her breath the words were out, so, although she had believed nearly all her life that one might grow into goodness, she was quite rebellious to-night with the thought of its impossibility, and she felt bitter, too, to think of the long years of uselessness stretching out before her. Scarcely thirty-five and yet she felt like a cross, crabbed old woman, and shuddered to think of all the years to come, if they were to be like the past, and there seemed no help for it unless she could conquer herself. The doctor had done what he could to cure her dyspepsia but she was a veritable slave to her capricious stomach. She felt one of her oft-recurring sick headaches coming on and every thought grew blacker and more disconsolate. Oh! she wished supper were over and the children safe in bed, so she could be free from their noise, and here they come! she thought, as a great stamping and laughing was heard in the hall.
"Oh, mamma! such lovely snowflakes, just like a fairy's quilt, and they have been falling all over us till we're like people in frost land. Just look, mamma!" cried Mabel, who liked a romp as well as the boys, although she was thirteen. Three-year-old Jamie and five-year-old Fred came trooping in behind.
"Well, mamma, God has turned on the snow faucets," announced Fred, with characteristic importance.
"An' all 'e fevvers is tummin' down fum 'e 'ky," shouted Jamie at the top of his voice.
"And mamma,
can't we have a sled and go coasting this winter?" queried Mabel, not noticing in her eagerness that her mamma was very sick.
"Oh,
don't make so much noise. Take them away and keep quiet, Mabel. I can not endure so much confusion."
They went out clanging the door behind them in spite of their efforts to keep quiet, and as their voices grew fainter, she thought with another remorseful pang: "I have sent them away again. Why must I yield always to self instead of overcoming?" Presently, however, all attempts at thinking were lost in the efforts to get the camphor, bathe her head and find some comforting spot whereon to rest her aching temples.
A subdued family gathered around the table that evening and everyone felt the necessity of being quiet as possible. Even Fred and Jamie understood that they
must keep still, and managed to keep their voices down to something less than a shrill whisper.
Mrs. Hayden partook only of a small cup of tea and was then assisted to her room, where she expected to remain for at least two days--the usual time. Her husband spent the evening rubbing her head, bathing it with camphor and keeping the house quiet as possible.
The next day dawned cloudy and grey, with a faint mildness in the air, indicating a thaw. Mabel went to school, Fred and Jamie amused themselves in the back parlor until they were tired and then flattened their noses against the window, trying to see how many drops of melted snow fell from the porch roof.
"I want a snow man," wailed Jamie, suddenly remembering what papa said about the snow long ago.
"Well, you can't have it," said Fred, with great decision, who generally opposed anything on principle.
"Yes, we can. We can go out and make one," persisted Jamie.
"Jack Frost'll bite your fingers."
"No he won't."
"He will--"
"He won't eever--"
"He will, 'cos mamma said so," said naughty Fred.
Jamie's little face clouded and the lip began to quiver; then a sudden thought striking him, he jumped up, beaming with delight, and cried, as he ran towards the hall:
"Mamma said Jack Frost couldn't find me when I had my overcoat and wed mittens on, and my wed cap."
"You can't reach your coat an' you've lost your mittens," insisted Fred, with perseverance worthy a better cause.
"O, yes I can. I can 'tep on my high chair," dragging it after him.
"I can get my things on first," said Fred who suddenly decided in favor of the snow man, and hurriedly suiting the action to the word, rushed to get his coat which hung under Jamie's, just as Jamie reached his little hands up to get his. Fred gave a tremendous flirt and pull at his coat which overbalanced his little brother and down came the high chair and Jamie plump upon the luckless Fred, whose angry squeals and kicks, mingled with Jamie's loud shrieks of terror made a commotion that brought Anna, the housekeeper, to the rescue.
"What
is the matter?" as she plucked Jamie from the general
debris.
"Fred pulled me down--"
"Jamie jumped on me," said both at once as soon as they could get their breath.
"An', I aint lost my wed mittens, an' my little white leg is broke off," cried Jamie suddenly, spying the oft-mended leg of the high-chair, which in this
melee, had completely severed company with the rest of the chair, and now mutely appealed for help to be put on again.
"There, there, papa can mend it all right again. Don't cry, little man. Now Fred, you must stop crying and play nice with Jamie and not quarrel so much. There! I hear mamma's bell; I must go see what she wants. Run away and be quiet, for mamma can't stand a
bit of noise to-day," and Anna left them again to their own devices. Jamie carefully laid the little white leg away in his box of playthings, and then both children went back to the window to watch the drops again.
"I see one, two, three, seven, four, ten--" slowly counted Jamie as the crystal drops fell.
"Oh, I see a ice berg, an' I'm goin' to get it for candy," shouted Fred as he ran out on the porch and seized an icicle. It seemed so nice out there that he stayed and called Jamie to come, too. They were delighted with the new plaything and new sights, and any thought of being cold or needing their coats never entered their minds, so the icicle, the beautiful drops, and finally the snow claimed their attention until they were at last happily engaged in the much-desired occupation of making a snow man.
It was near noon and the sun had finally rifted the grayest clouds, and was sending such warm smiles on the snow-laden earth that trees and fences, roofs and ridges burst into tears of joy. So, often does the sun-shiny smile melt the ice-bound prison of discontent or misunderstanding.
Fred and Jamie were in the midst of their interesting creation when Mr. Hayden came home to dinner.
"Boys! boys!" he called from the gate as soon as he saw them. "You'll catch your death of cold; run into the house, quick! Why haven't you something on your heads and rubbers on your feet?" and without waiting to hear their vociferous reply, he hurried them into the house.
"Oh, but it was such fun, papa, an' we was goin' to put two coals in his head, cos' his eyes was black, you know, an' your old mashed hat for his head, an'--"
"An' me foun' a 'tick for his arm," interrupted Jamie, who must be sure papa knew all about this wonderful man.
"Yes, he looks very promising, and I guess I'll have to finish him for you; but you must not go out again to-day. Just think what would we do if you should be sick while mamma must be in bed. Poor mamma, she would feel bad and cry because she couldn't help you, and it would make her feel very sorry indeed to know her little boys went out without somebody saying they might."
"Well, papa, we didn't mean to go 'thout our things on, but two of the
beautifullest icebergs hunged down an' we played they was candy an' all the pretty drops said stop, stop, stop, an'--"
"Yes, an' the 'no was full of 'tars 'at shined right up at us an' laughed an' played hide an' seek wiv each other."
"An' Jamie wanted to make a snow man," suddenly remembered Fred.
"Cos papa did when he was a little boy, an' he telled me sometimes so could I--"
"Oh, you little rogues, it is well you can trace it back," laughed papa, catching each small man, and placing upon his knees.
"Why, look here, your shoes are all wet, and your fingers red, and your clothes sprinkled with water. This will never do. Take off your shoes, Fred. Here, Anna," he called, as he heard her in the dining room, "bring some dry stockings and aprons. These boys have been out in the wet snow, and must be changed right away. Put a flannel round their necks, too. I'm afraid they'll have the croup to-night." With as much haste as possible, he stripped off their wet clothes, chafed their hands and feet, and with an anxious look left them, to go and speak to his wife who, when suffering from headache could allow no one to enter the room except her husband or Anna.
That night the whole household were aroused by the hoarse and unmistakable cough of croup. Jamie had taken cold, as his father feared he would. The doctor was sent for in wild haste, and after several hours of watchful care and frequent taking of hive syrup or ipecac, Jamie was at last sleeping quietly, and every one felt that after this, at least, those children should be so well guarded that escape would be impossible, and the dreaded enemy kept out. This was always a result of exposure, and Mr. and Mrs. Hayden had often wished for the time when Jamie would outgrow the attacks as that really seemed the only thing in which lay any hope. _