The Melting of Molly

The Melting of Molly

The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Melting of Molly, by Maria
Thompson Daviess
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Title: The Melting of Molly
Author: Maria Thompson Daviess
Release Date: May 12, 2005 [eBook #15818]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Note: This version of The Melting of Molly is a British magazine
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THE MELTING OF MOLLY
by
MARIA THOMPSON DAVIESS

Leaf I.
The Bachelor's-Buttons.
I don't know how all this is going to end, and I wish my mind wasn't in
a kind of tingle. However, I'll do the best I can and not hold myself at

all responsible for myself, and then who will there be to blame?
There are a great many kinds of good-feeling in this world, from
radiant joy down to perfect bliss; but this spring I have got an attack of
just old-fashioned happiness that looks as if it might become chronic.
I am so happy that I planted my garden all crooked, my eyes upon the
clouds with the birds sailing against them, and when I became
conscious I found wicked flaunting poppies sprouted right up against
the sweet modest clove-pinks, while the whole paper of
bachelor's-buttons was sowed over everything--which I immediately
began to dig right up again, blushing furiously to myself over the
trowel, and glad that I had caught myself before they grew up to laugh
in my face. However, I got that laugh anyway, and I might just as well
have left them, for Billy ran to the gate and called Dr. John to come in
and make Molly stop digging up his buttons. Billy claims everything in
this garden, and he thought they would grow up into the kind of buttons
you pop out of a gun.
"So you're digging up the bachelor-buttons, Mrs. Molly?" the doctor
asked as he leaned over the gate. I went on digging without looking up
at him. I couldn't look up because I was blushing still worse.
Sometimes I hate that man, and if he wasn't Billy's father I wouldn't be
as friendly with him as I am. But somebody has to look after Billy.
I believe it will be a real relief to write down how I feel about him in
his old book, and I shall do it whenever I can't stand him any longer;
and if he gave the horrid, red leather thing to me to make me miserable
he can't do it; not this spring! I wish I dare burn it up and forget about it,
but I daren't! This record on the first page is enough to reduce me--to
tears, and I wonder why it doesn't.
I weigh one hundred and sixty pounds, set down in black and white,
and it is a tragedy! I don't believe that man at the weighing machine is
so very reliable in his weights, though he had a very pleasant smile
while he was weighing me. Still, I had better get some scales of my
own, smiles are so deceptive.
I am five feet three inches tall or short, whichever way one looks at me.
I thought I was taller, but I suppose I shall have to believe my own
yardstick.
But as to my waist measure, I positively refuse to write that down, even
if I have half promised Dr. John a dozen times over to do it, while I

only really left him to suppose I would. It is bad enough to know that
your belt has to be reduced to twenty-three inches without putting
down how much it measures now in figures to insult yourself with. No,
I intend to have this for my happy spring.
Yes, I suppose it would have been lots better for my happiness if I had
kept quiet about it all, but at the time I thought I had better consult him
over the matter. Now I'm sorry I did. That is one thing about being a
widow, you are accustomed to consulting a man, whether you want to
or not, and you can't get over the habit immediately. Poor Mr. Carter,
my husband, hasn't been dead much over six years, and I must be
missing him most awfully, though just lately I can't remember not to
forget about him a great deal of the time.
Still,