Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it
wasn’t in good taste, but Laurie liked her better
for it, and found himself both admiring and respecting
the brave patience that made the most of opportunity,
and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty with
flowers. Amy did not know why he looked at her
so kindly, nor why he filled up her book with his
own name, and devoted himself to her for the rest
of the evening in the most delightful manner; but
the impulse that wrought this agreeable change was
the result of one of the new impressions which both
of them were unconsciously giving and receiving.
ON THE SHELF
In France the young girls have a dull time of it till
they are married, when ‘Vive la liberte!’
becomes their motto. In America, as everyone
knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence,
and enjoy their freedom with republican zest, but the
young matrons usually abdicate with the first heir
to the throne and go into a seclusion almost as close
as a French nunnery, though by no means as quiet.
Whether they like it or not, they are virtually put
upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement is
over, and most of them might exclaim, as did a very
pretty woman the other day, “I’m as handsome
as ever, but no one takes any notice of me because
I’m married.”
Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg
did not experience this affliction till her babies
were a year old, for in her little world primitive
customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired
and beloved than ever.
As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct
was very strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her
children, to the utter exclusion of everything and
everybody else. Day and night she brooded over
them with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John
to the tender mercies of the help, for an Irish lady
now presided over the kitchen department. Being
a domestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely attentions
he had been accustomed to receive, but as he adored
his babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort
for a time, supposing with masculine ignorance that
peace would soon be restored. But three months
passed, and there was no return of repose. Meg
looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed every
minute of her time, the house was neglected, and Kitty,
the cook, who took life ‘aisy’, kept him
on short commons. When he went out in the morning
he was bewildered by small commissions for the captive
mamma, if he came gaily in at night, eager to embrace
his family, he was quenched by a “Hush!
They are just asleep after worrying all day.”
If he proposed a little amusement at home, “No,
it would disturb the babies.” If he hinted
at a lecture or a concert, he was answered with a
reproachful look, and a decided — “Leave
my children for pleasure, never!” His sleep
was broken by infant wails and visions of a phantom
