Hills of the Shatemuc | Page 9

hands gone; and for a few moments she stood absolutely still, feeling and putting away the idea that made her heart ache. She had a battle to fight before she was mistress of herself and could speak Winthrop's name. Nobody answered; and scolding herself for the tone of her voice, Mrs. Landholm spoke again. A little rustling let her know that she was heard; and presently Winthrop made his appearance from below or from some distant corner behind the hay, and came to meet her. He could not command his face to his mother's eyes, and sorrow for Will for a moment was half forgotten in sorrow for him. As they met she put both hands upon his shoulders, and said wistfully, "My son?" -- But that little word silenced them both. It was only to throw their arms about each other and hide their faces in each other's neck, and cry strange tears; tears that are drawn from the heart's deepest well. Slight griefs flow over the surface, with fury perhaps; but the purest and the sweetest waters are drawn silently.
Winthrop was the first to recover himself, and was kissing his mother with manly quietness before she could raise her head at all. When she did, it was to return his kisses, first on one cheek and then on the other and then on his forehead, parting the hair from it with both hands for the purpose. It seemed as if she would have spoken, but she did not, then, not in words.
"My boy," she said at last, "you have too hard measure laid on you!"
"No, mother -- I don't think it so; -- there is nothing to make me sorry in that."
"Will has got his wish," she observed presently.
"Don't you approve of it mother?"
"Yes --" she said, but as if there were many a thought before and behind.
"_Don't_ you approve of it, mother?" Winthrop asked quickly.
"Yes, yes -- I do, -- in itself; but you know there is one wish before all others in my mind, for him and for you, Winthrop."
He said nothing.
"Come," she said a moment after more cheerfully, "we must go in and see how cosy and sociable we can make ourselves alone. We must practise," -- for next winter, she was going to say, but something warned her to stop. Winthrop turned away his face, though he answered manfully.
"Yes mother -- I must just go over to the bank field and see what Sam Doolittle has been at; and I've got to cut some wood; then I'll be in."
"Will you be back by sundown?"
"I'll not be long after."
The mother gave a look towards the sun, already very near the high western horizon, and another after Winthrop who was moving off at a good pace; and then slowly walked back to the house, one hand clasping its fellow in significant expression.
Karen was sitting in her clean kitchen with little Winifred on her knees, and singing to her in a very sweet Methodist tune,
"There fairer flowers than Eden's bloom, Nor sin nor sorrow know. Blest seats! -- through rude and stormy seas, I onward press to you."
The mother stooped to take up the child.
"What put that into your head, Karen?"
"Everything puts it in my head, missus," said the old woman with a smiling look at her; "sometimes when I see the sun go down, I think by'm-by I won't see him get up again; and times when I lose something, I think by'm-by I won't want it; and sometimes when somebody goes away, I think by'm-by we'll be all gone, and then we'll be all together again; only I'd like sometimes to be all together without going first."
"Will you get down, Winnie?" said her mother, "and let mamma make a cake for brother Winthrop?"
"A cake? -- for Governor?"
"Yes; get down, and I'll make one of Governor's hoe-cakes."
The spirit of love and cheerfulness had got the upper hand when the little family party gathered again; at least that spirit had rule of all that either eyes or ears could take note of. They gathered in the 'keeping-room,' as it was called; the room used as a common sitting room by the family, though it served also the purpose of a sleeping chamber, and a bed accordingly in one corner formed part of the furniture. Their eyes were accustomed to that. It did not hurt the general effect of comfort. There the supper-table was set this evening; the paper window-curtains were let down, and a blazing fire sparkled and crackled; while before it, on the approved oaken barrel-head set up against the andirons, the delicate rye and indian hoe-cake was toasting into sweetness and brownness. Asahel keeping watch on one side of the fire, and Winifred at the other burning her little fair cheek in premature endeavours to