Chapter 2

He was not handsome or young or graceful; he had remarkably long
legs—so long that he had to keep them coiled up under the seat to
dispose of them—and he was stoop-shouldered. His hands were big and his
hair wanted barbering and his beard was rather unkempt. But I liked his
face; it was kindly and honest and tender; there was something else in
it, too—I couldn’t decide just what, and it was this that interested
me. I was in pursuit of that elusive quality all through prayer-meeting.
Finally I concluded that this man’s ancestors had suffered and been
strong and it was made manifest in his face; there was a sort of
patient, humorous endurance in his expression that indicated he would go
to the stake if need be but would keep on looking pleasant until he
really had to begin squirming. I rather wondered what he went to
prayer-meeting for when it was so plainly unfashionable for his sex; but
I found out later on. He went for the same reason that Hester put on her
pansy-dress—a motive as old as Eden.

When we went out it was a bright moonlight night. As Hester and I walked
down the road this one solitary man came up to us and said:

“May I see you home, Hester?”

Hester took his arm as prim and shy as if she were only sixteen.

“Miss Jordan, permit me to introduce Mr. Douglas,” she said with awesome
politeness.

Mr. Douglas was lovely. He nodded and said:

“I was looking at you in prayer-meeting, miss, and thinking what a nice
little girl you were.”

I like to be told I’m a nice little girl because I’m really too tall;
and I was so much obliged to Mr. Douglas that I dropped discreetly
behind soon after and left him and Hester as much alone as I could,
considering that there were cows on the road.

I was delighted to find that Hester had a beau. I had been sincerely
pitying the man who had missed marrying her. Hester would have made a
paragon of a wife—cheery, economical, tolerant, and a very queen of
cooks—and it was flagrant waste on Nature’s part not to have arranged
matters better. I was glad to see that they were coming out all right
after all.

The next day Hester told me that John Douglas had asked her to take me
up to see his mother.

“She’s bed-rid most of the time and never goes out of the house,” Hester
explained, “but she’s powerful fond of company and always wants to see
my boarders. I told him we would run up some evening, soon.”

We thought of going up that evening, but later in the day Mr. Douglas
called on his mother’s behalf to ask us to tea at “Uplands” the next
afternoon. Accordingly, we sallied forth the following day at a good
early country-hour. It was a hot day, and Hester, between excitement and
a black cashmere dress, looked as if she were being broiled alive. I had
entreated her to wear her lawn, but she was firm in her refusal.

“Old Mrs. Douglas would think it terrible unbecoming and frivolous,” she
explained. “John likes that pansy-dress, though,” she added wistfully.

Dear Hester! I could have hugged her; she was so much of a woman.

* * * * *

“Uplands,” the old Douglas homestead, was about half a mile from
Wayside, cresting a windy hill. The house itself was a picturesque,
comfortable farmhouse, old enough to be dignified, and girdled with
maple groves and orchards. There were big trim barns behind it and
everything fairly screamed snugness and prosperity at us as we went up
the lane. Whatever the patient endurance in Mr. Douglas’ face meant it
didn’t mean debts and duns.

John Douglas met us at the door. He squeezed Hester’s hand—I saw him do
it although I pretended I didn’t. Then he towed us into the
sitting-room. There his mother was enthroned in an armchair.

I had expected old Mrs. Douglas to be tall because John was so leggy.
She wasn’t; she was the tiniest mite of a woman I ever saw and might
have posed as a grandmother-doll. She was dressed in an old-fashioned
black silk, with a fluffy white shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was
wavy snow-white, surmounted by a love-of-a-lace cap. She had soft pink
cheeks and mild blue eyes and a mouth like a baby’s. This all sounds
attractive; but I simply didn’t like old Mrs. Douglas one bit, although
I could only give a Doctor Fell reason. The minute I saw her she made me
think of a fat white kitten I once had that would purr on your lap by
the hour and then, when you weren’t looking, dig her claws into you.

“How do you do, Hester?” purred Mrs. Douglas. “I’m so glad to see you
again, dear,” and she put her face up to be kissed.

Hester gave her a hearty smack and introduced me.

“I am very glad to meet you, Miss Jordan,” said the white kitten. “My
son has been singing your praises until I’m half-jealous. It is very
kind of you to come and see an old woman like me.”

I said something polite, and then we all sat down and talked.

Mrs. Douglas made Hester sit by her and patted her hand all the time.
She certainly seemed very fond of her, and I was glad, for Hester’s
sake. We had a pleasant time. John Douglas was a good talker, and the
old woman kept up her end of it valiantly. Hester didn’t say much but
sat and smiled, looking horribly uncomfortable in that black cashmere.
She reminded me of a peony that was being slowly choked to death.

Mrs. Douglas asked Hester to pour the tea and Hester turned redder than
ever and did it. After tea Mrs. Douglas smiled benevolently and told
John to take “dear Hester” out into the garden and get her some roses.

“Miss Jordan will keep me company while you are gone, won’t you?” she
said, so sweetly that if I had been a proper sort of girl I would have
kissed her on the spot and been delighted. But I felt grumpy, someway,
so I just said “Certainly,” as stiff as I knew how.

Mrs. Douglas settled into her armchair with a sigh.

“I’m a very frail old woman, Miss Jordan. For over twenty years I have
been a great sufferer. For twenty long weary years I’ve been dying by
inches, Miss Jordan.”

“And enjoying it,” I thought uncharitably.

“There have been scores of nights when they’ve never thought I’d live to
see the dawn,” Mrs. Douglas went on solemnly. “Nobody knows what I have
gone through, nobody but myself. Well it can’t last very much longer
now. My weary pilgrimage will soon be over. It is a great comfort to me
to think that John will have such a good wife to look after him when his
mother is gone—a great comfort.”

I did thaw out a little then.

“Hester is a lovely woman,” I said warmly.

“Lovely! A beautiful character,” assented Mrs. Douglas. “And a perfect
housekeeper—something I never was. My health would not permit it. I am
indeed thankful that John has made such a wise choice. I hope he will be
happy. He is my only son, Miss Jordan, and his happiness lies very near
my heart.”