Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby and Other Stories | Page 7

Then she slaves day and night, goes right into the
kitchen herself and watches things; and she has such a way with the
help--she knows how to manage them. And the result is that we've got
the house packed for next winter, and we'll have as many as thirty
people here all summer long. I feel like another person, "the tears
suddenly brimmed her weak, kind eyes, and she fumbled with her
handkerchief. "You'll think I'm crazy running on this way!" said little
Mrs. Kippam, "but everything has gone so good. My Lesty is much
better, and as things are now I can get him into the country next year;
and I feel like I owed it all to Margaret Kirby!"
John tried to speak, but the room was wheeling about him. As he raised
his trembling hand to his eyes, a shadow fell across the doorway, and
Margaret came in. Tired, shabby, laden with bundles, she stood
blinking at him a moment; and then, with a sudden cry of tenderness
and pity, she was on her knees by his side.
"Margaret! Margaret!" he whispered. "What have you done?"
She did not answer, but gathered him close in her strong arms, and they
kissed each other with wet eyes.

III
A few weeks later John came to the boarding-house, nervous,
discouraged, still weak. Despite Margaret's bravery, they both felt the
position a strained and uncomfortable one. As day after day proved his
utter unfitness for a fresh business start in the cruel, jarring competition
of the big city, John's spirits nagged pitifully. He hated the
boarding-house.
"It's only the bridge that takes us over the river," his wife reminded
him.
But when a little factory in a little town, half a day's journey away,
offered John a manager's position, at a salary that made them both
smile, she let him accept it without a murmur.
Her courage lasted until he was on the train, travelling toward the new
town and the new position. But as she walked back to her own business,
a sort of nausea seized her. The big, heroic fight was over; John's life

was saved, and the debt reduced to a reasonable burden. But the deadly
monotony was ahead, the drudgery of days and days of hateful labor,
the struggle--for what? When could they ever take their place again in
the world that they knew? Who could ever work up again from debts
like these? Would John always be the weak, helpless convalescent, or
would he go back to the old type, the bored, silent man of clubs and
business?
Margaret turned a grimy corner, and was joined by one of her boarders,
a cheerful little army wife.
"Well, we'll miss Mr. Kirby, I'm sure," said little Mrs. Camp, as they
mounted the steps. "And by the way, Mrs. Kirby, you won't mind if I
ask if we mayn't just now and then have some of the new towels on our
floor--will you? We never get anything but the old, thin towels. Of
course, it's Alma's fault; but I think every one ought to take a turn at the
new towels as well as the old, don't you?"
"I'll speak to Alma," said Margaret, turning her key.
A lonely, busy autumn fellowed, and a winter of hard and thankless
work.
"I feel like a plumber's wife," smiled Margaret to Mrs. Kippam, when
in November John wrote her of a "raise."
But when he came down for two days at Christmastime, she noticed
that he was brown, cheerful, and amazingly strong. They were as shy as
lovers on this little holiday, Margaret finding that her old maternal,
half-patronizing attitude toward her husband did not fit the case at all,
and John almost as much at a loss.
In April she went up to Applebridge, and they spent a whole day
roaming about in the fresh spring fields together.
"It's really a delicious little place," she confided to Mrs. Kippam when
she returned. "The sort of place where kiddies carry their lunches to
school, and their mothers put up preserves, and everybody has a surrey
and an old horse. John's quite a big man up there."
After the April visit came a long break, for John went to Chicago in the
July fortnight they had planned to spend together; and when he at last
came to New York for another Christmas, Margaret was in bed with a
bad throat, and could only whisper her questions. So another winter
struggled by, and another spring, and when summer came Margaret
found that it was almost impossible to break away from her increasing

responsibilities.
But on a fragrant, soft October day she found herself getting off the
early train in the little station; and as a big man waved his hat to her,