University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
A BREATH OF FRESH AIR.

The elements of which this world is made up are,
happily, very different; and as our healthy priest, with
every reason to feel thankful and happy over his work,
left the field and took the road, the musing stillness
of nature was broken only by his own quick and springing
footsteps; while before him was the broad waste
of the sun's abandoned gold which the clouds were
decking themselves with.

Before long, there came up from some turn below
a very clear voice from a girl, as separate and free as
steam in cooler air, —

Mr. Manson quickened his pace; and soon, turning
into a cross-road, came upon a bevy of young people,
of whom one was our friend Kate Ryan, and three
others he addressed, in returning their salutations, by
three different Christian names with the one surname
of Bemis.

He complimented Kate cheerily on her song, and,
failing to draw from her a second stanza (for, as she
said, “she knew no more of it”), applied a little moral

of his own, that “peering after `golden suns' was dangerous
business,” he gave his voice decidedly with those
of the Misses Bemis, that no one could so well as Kate
represent, at Mrs. Wadham's party, some character,
whatever it was (from which, as it would appear, she
wished to escape), and received sudden thanks from a
voice which had not before spoken for itself, and to
which he returned some pleasant compliment to “Mrs.
Ryan.”

Then taking leave of them, after this momentary
encounter, which must have given a pleasant waft to
his spirits, he went on; gladdened with the present of
nuts little Billy Carnes, the cripple, who was sitting at
a window, watching the not very abundant life upon
the road; and ended by finding Mrs. Rainor waiting,
and a little impatient, for Philip's coming home. Very
naturally, as soon as a footstep was heard near the door,
a weak and rather peevish voice called “Philip!” But
she was glad to see her visitor.

Her room showed many little contrivances in carpentering,
— as shelves for flowers, and book-shelves, and
the like.

Poor Mrs. Rainor was not alone as the clergyman
entered; for a pleasant-faced neighborly-looking woman,
to whom Mr. Manson's coming in seemed to give much
satisfaction, was sitting in a corner.

Mrs. Rainor had already set in motion her intelligent
consciousness and appreciation of her forlorn condition,
and they were expressing themselves in words. Mr.
Manson's strong, healthy nature could not only meet
and neutralize a great deal of this, but also give back
far more of cheerful and hopeful feeling. He listened
attentively and respectfully, with well-timed monosyllables

of sympathy, while Mrs. Rainor, in a sharp, plaintive
voice, was giving a faithful account of “that
old trouble she took in the spine of her back the
February that father died; and then this one, that
come on her at the pit of her stomach, and from that
straight to her right side.” Then, as the thought of
supper (perhaps a little later than usual) grew strong
to her, she explained that “the way with her was, she
would have a good appetite, and think she could eat
hearty, and enjoy any thing; and when it come to the
scratch, 'twa'n't there, and every thing went against
her;” and, as she added plaintively, “she was a woman
that did set a great store by her victuals.” This appeal
to a character which, if nowhere else recorded to her
credit, was doubtless cherished in the memories of her
friends, seemed to bring some relief, — comfort, perhaps,
could not be expected.

Mr. Manson got the conversation turned to her son,
of whom the mother seemed to have formed a pretty
impartial opinion: that “he was thoughtless, like
boys, and yet for all he was pooty thoughtful, and,
no doubt, he had considerable to try him; but he
meant to be good to her. There was a time when he
and the St. Bart's boys didn't seem to get along very
well together for a spell; but she didn't hear no complaints
now. Poor old `mother,' she expected, was a
burden; but it was about as bad for her as anybody
else to be layin' there; for, you know, Mrs. Weatherbee”
(to the neighbor in the corner, and in a high,
wailing tone, which contrasted strongly with the energetic
vigor of the words which it faltered forth), “when
I was any ways myself, I used to flax round lively, —
I tell you.”

The Parson was just showing, to Mrs. Weatherbee's
admiration, as well as to the quiet gratification of Mrs.
Rainor, his gathering of ferns, taken up with little
clumps of earth. They were very insignificant-looking
in their winter state; but he was setting forth the
beauties of a green forest under glass, for which Philip
should make the frame-work, with Mr. Manson's superintendence.

The son came in while he was speaking; and he
considerately interrupted himself at once, and took his
leave, after giving Philip notice of the job in store for
him.