Huberts Wife | Page 9

and cats had gone madly wailing and howling
through the streets, a miniature world flaming with fire attached by
means of wires to each caudal appendage--even that was too much
decidedly. But this tampering with the meeting-house! Mrs. Selby
consulted first her husband, as in duty bound; that is, she called him
aside, told him the latest pranks of their protégé, and emphatically
added that there should be an end of them.
"But wife, I cannot turn the boy out of my house."
"You need not, my dear; that is my privilege, particularly since he is my
relative, not yours. Forbearance now would cease to be a virtue; there is
a limit to human endurance; there shall at once be an end to this boy's
mad pranks. He is on the piazza, perhaps studying some new mischief;
send him in to me, please."
"But are you not too hasty, wife?" urged the soft-hearted ex-Governor,

who remembered his own follies and frolics of long ago.
"Too hasty, when we have all borne so much? Gov. Selby"--with a
smile--"allow your wife to command you; send that naughty boy
hither."
An hour later, Philip having sought her in house and garden, stood in
presence of Mary Selby, at last discovered in her attic studio.
"Your mother has banished me; she has already spoken the fatal words;
I must leave Newberg, this garden spot of God's glorious earth--most of
all, I must leave you, cousin Mary, and I shall be lost, forever lost,"
exclaimed this strange youth, in tones melodramatic.
Mary laid aside her palette and brushes.
"Why then, cousin Phil, haven't you done better, after so many repeated
warnings?"
"It is easy for you to ask that question, and you can answer it better than
can I. Why do you not ask the wind why and whence it blows? Why do
the waters overflow their banks, why ocean waves engulf life-freighted
ships?"
"No, Philip, there is no analogy. Be reasonable; you are a being of will;
you can do or not do. He is only a child who exercises no self-control,
who is governed only by caprice, whim, or whatever passion of the
moment. These follies, of which my mother makes account, and rightly,
are beneath one of your age. There is in them nothing ennobling,
charming; nothing that should gratify a mind that has the faintest
conception of the good, the beautiful, and the true."
"I suppose so, cousin. But I have so long indulged in this fun-loving
propensity"--
"That it has grown into an inveterate habit. Is this, then, a part of your
better nature? Is there no depth beneath this evanescent surface--froth
and foam? I believe there is. But in order that it may be discovered to

the light and made fit for cultivation, this trivial surface-crust must be
turned under, kept down, lest light and heat nourish its weeds into
luxuriance."
"Why have you not talked to me thus before? You could do anything
with me, cousin Mary."
"I will tell you the truth, Philip, because I think I owe it you. I went not
with you to ride or walk, I have kept myself aloof from you, because
my parents thought you too wild for my association."
"I am not a bear, and I might be better than I seem," said the proud boy,
humbly.
"Yes, Philip, I believe you. And I have often thought I might do you
good. Had you been my brother I should not have hesitated; but I had a
suspicion that you might regard any persuasions or lectures from me as
a piece of self-righteousness, for which you might have, as do I,
supreme contempt."
"O, no, cousin. You are the best woman in the world. I would do
anything for you."
"Leave off all of those mischievous pranks which are the cause of your
present disgrace?"
"Yes, even that--and more. But it is too late now. I go to-morrow."
The result of this and still further conversation to the same effect
produced a conviction upon the mind of Mary that the spoiled child
was not beyond hope of redemption. She laid the case before her
parents, and, with the aid of her father, obtained a reluctant consent
from her mother that one more trial might be given the recreant Philip.
Even without this Mary would have gained her point, for on the next
morning Philip, burning with fever, was unable to leave his bed.
A severe attack of typhoid ensued.

When Philip St. Leger, after a dangerous illness of many weeks,
became convalescent, he was a changed person. Not alone through the
influence of Mary, but Colonel Selby, and especially his wife, were
brought to realize how prone they had been to reproach and condemn
without having made the slightest efforts to reform. A neglected,