University of Virginia Library

27. CHAPTER XXVII.
MORE OF MARRIAGE.

THE homestead where Dora's childhood had been
passed “could not be bought for love nor
money;” so Robert, the negotiator, had reported
to his brother on the morning following the latter's
marriage, and so Richard reported to Dora, as he
sat with her at Mattie Randall's, up in the chamber
which Dora called hers, and where Anna had died.
Mattie had wished to give the bridal pair another room,
but Dora would take no other; and as Richard was satisfied,
they occupied the one whose walls had witnessed
so much sorrow in the days gone by. But there was no
grief there now, nothing but perfect bliss, as Richard
held his darling to his heart and told her for the thousandth
time how dear she was to him, and how he
thanked the Father of all good for giving her to him at
last. In all his joy he never forgot his God, or placed Him
second to Dora, who listened and smiled and returned
his fond caresses until he told her of his plan to buy the
homestead, and how that plan had been defeated by the
refusal of the present proprietor. Then Dora hid her

face in his bosom and wept softly to the memory of her
old home, which Richard had tried so hard to buy back
for her.

“You are so good, so kind,” she said, as he asked her
why she cried, and pitied what he thought was her disappointment.
“It is not that,” she continued, as she
dried her tears. “It is your thoughtful love for me. I
should be very happy at the old place, but, Richard, I am
not sure that I should not be happier in Beechwood,
where I have lived so long, and where you have so
many friends. There John's children would be nearer
me, and I must care for them.”

And so it was arranged that Richard should buy the
fine building spot to the right of Squire Russell's, and
that until the house he would erect should be completed,
Dora should remain at home and care for the children.

This plan, when submitted to the Squire, met his
hearty approval, and made the future look less dreary
than before. He should not be left alone entirely, for
Dora would be near to counsel and advise, and his face
was very bright and cheerful as he welcomed the travellers
back from their long trip, which lasted until February.

Towards the latter part of April, Jessie accepted of
Dora's cordial invitation to visit them again, and came
to Beechwood, the same bright, laughing, gleeful creature
as ever, the sunshiny being in whom, the moment he saw

her seated again by his fireside, Squire Russell recognized
the want he had felt ever since she left him the winter
previous. He was so glad to have her back,—his eldest
child he called her,—and treated her much as if he had
been her father, notwithstanding that she made ludicrous
attempts at dignity, on the strength of being twenty her
next birthday, which was in June. Jessie was very
pretty this spring, Squire Russell thought when he
thought of her at all, and so thought the Rector of St.
Luke's, Mr. Kelly, who came nearly every day, ostensibly
to talk with Mrs. Dr. West about some new plan for
advancing the interests of the Sunday-school, but really
to catch a glimpse of Jessie's sparkling beauty, or hear
some of her saucy sayings. But always, when he left the
house and went back to his bachelor rooms, he said to
himself, “It would never do. She is a frolicsome, pretty
little plaything, who would amuse and rest me vastly, but
she would shock my parishioners out of all the good
I could ever instill into their minds. No, it won't
do.”

Robert West, too, whose pulse had beaten a little
faster at the sight of Jessie Verner, had given himself to
his country, so there was no one to contest the prize with
Squire Russell, into whose brain the idea that he could
win it never entered until Johnnie put it there. To
Johnnie it came suddenly, making him start quickly from
the book he was reading, and hurry off to Dr. West,

asking if Deacon Bowles was not a great deal older than
Mrs. Bowles, whom the villagers still called Amy, making
her seem so youthful. The doctor thought he was,
but could not tell just how many years, and as this was
the point about which Johnnie was anxious, he conceived
the bold plan of calling on Mrs. Amy to ascertain, if
possible, her exact age, and also that of her husband.
He found her rocking her baby to sleep and looking very
pretty and girlish in her short hair, which she had taken
a fancy to have cut off. Amy was fond of Johnnie, and
she smiled pleasantly upon him, speaking in a whisper
and keeping up a constant “sh-sh-sh” as she moved the
cradle back and forth.

“What a nice baby,” Johnnie began, as if he had never
seen it before; “but it seems funny to see you with a
baby, when you look so like a girl. You can't be very
old.”

“Turned thirty. Sh-sh—” was the reply.

A gratified blush mounting Amy's cheek, while Johnnie
continued:

“Mother was thirty-two, and father was thirty-nine.
He is most forty-one now. Is the deacon older than
that?”

“Going on fifty-one. Sh-sh—” Amy replied, her
“sh-sh's” being more decided as baby showed signs of
waking.

Johnnie had learned what he wished to know, and bidding

Mrs. Bowles good morning, he ran home, repeating
to himself:

“Turned thirty,—going on fifty-one. Ought from one
is one, three from five is two. That makes twenty-one.
Most twenty,—most forty-one. Ought from one is one,
two from four is two. That makes twenty-one. Jemima!
It'll do, it'll do!” and Johnnie ran on with all
his might till he reached home, where he found Jessie,
whom he astonished with a hug which almost strangled her.

“It will do! it will do!” he exclaimed, as he kissed
her, and when she asked what would do, he answered, “I
know, I know, but I shan't tell!” and he darted off, big
with the important thing which he knew and should not
tell.

That night, as Squire Russell sat in his library, Johnnie
came in and startled him with the question:

“Father, who will take care of us when Aunt Dora is
gone? Her new house will be done in September.”

“I don't know, my son;” and the Squire laid down his
paper, for the question which Johnnie asked had also been
troubling him.

There was silence a moment, during which Johnnie almost
twisted a button from his jacket, and then he broke
out abruptly:

“Why don't you get married?”

“Married! To whom?” the Squire exclaimed; and
Johnnie replied:

“You know. The nicest girl in all creation after Aunt
Dora. She isn't too young, neither. Amy Bowles is
twenty-one years younger than the deacon, and Jessie
ain't any more.”

“Jessie! Jessie Verner!” the squire gasped, and
Johnnie continued:

“Yes, Jessie Verner; I most know she'll have you.
Any way, I'll make her. You break the ice, and I'll
pitch in! Will you, father? Will you have Jessie?”

“It would be better to ask first if she'll have me,” the
father replied, rubbing his head, which seemed a little
numb with the sudden shock.

“I hear her. I'll send her in! You ask her, father!”
Johnnie exclaimed, darting to the door, as he heard Jessie
in the upper hall whistling “three hundred thousand
more.”

As he reached the threshold he paused, while he
added:

“I guess Jessie will stand a huggin' better than Aunt
Dora, so you might come that game on her!” and Johnnie
rushed after Jessie ere his father had time to recover
his breath.

Jessie could not at once be found, and as Johnnie
would not tell her what his father wanted of her, she
was in no particular hurry to answer the summons, so
that Squire Russell had time to collect his thoughts, and
to discover that little Jessie Verner was very dear to him,

and that though he had never entertained an idea of
making her his wife till Johnnie suggested it, the idea
was by no means distasteful, and if she were willing, why
of course he was. But would she come? Yes, she was
coming, for he heard her in the hall calling back to
Johnnie:

“Mind, now, if you have played me a trick you will
be sorry. I don't believe he wants me.”

“Yes he does; you ask him,” was Johnnie's reply,
and advancing into the library, Jessie began innocently:

“Johnnie said you wanted me. Do you, Squire Russell!”

“Yes, Jessie, I do want you very much. Sit down
while I tell you.”

He drew her chair near to himself, and wholly unsuspicious,
Jessie sat down to listen, while he told her
how he wanted her.