CHAPTER IX.

MIXED HAPPINESS.

They had gone away, Clinton and Norine, on their simple, inexpensive wedding tour. A very simple little trip of two weeks it was to be, for although Clinton would gladly have extended it in the pride he felt for his girl-wife, and the desire he had to exhibit his happiness, he had been obliged to limit it out of deference to Norine’s wishes.

This was the first time that the brother and sister had ever been separated, and Jim found the little cottage amazingly dull without her.

Doctor Conway drove over every day, and it was touching to see the affectionate consideration that these two men showed for each other.

The object of Conway’s affection had never been mentioned between them, yet Jim fully understood it, and tried in his quiet way to console his friend for his loss; not that the matter was ever spoken of openly between them.

Sympathy can be shown without words, and Lester Conway felt it in every hand-clasp and every kindly look his friend gave him.

Still, it was a dull, weary life at the farm, lightened somewhat, however, by Norine’s happy letters that Conway brought over almost daily, but rendered gloomy again by the deserted look of the little rooms, and still more to Jim by his dark forebodings of the future.

Jim berated himself sadly during this time for what he considered his moral cowardice. Norine had always been his idol; he would gladly have sacrificed his own happiness if he could thereby promote hers. And now that she was away from him, he felt that he had done wrong in consenting to this hasty wedding.

True, he had done so only after Norine had protested that it was her one chance for happiness in the future, and he knew that she would have been very unhappy had he withheld his consent.

But Jim was too honest to exonerate himself for that reason. He had done something wrong and he knew it, and was very miserable in consequence.

And then, Mrs. Higgins, not the most cheerful companion at the best of times, was particularly depressing during Norine’s absence, and made life galling to good-natured Jim.

Still, two weeks is not a very long time, and it did pass away, though very slowly; and promptly upon the day set, Norine and her husband returned to the cottage.

“Are you glad to see me, Jim?” she cried, between a sob and a laugh, as she threw herself into her brother’s arms.

“Very glad, Norry,” he said. “I never passed such a dismal time in all my life.”

“Was not Mrs. Higgins good to you, dear?” she laughed, kissing him. “Well, I will make it all up to you. And, Jim, do you know I have made a discovery?”

“What is it?” inquired Jim, getting a hand free to offer Clinton. “What is it, dear?”

“Why, it is that there is no place in the world like the little farm, and that no girl was ever blessed with such a good brother and husband as I am.”

And she danced off and saluted Mrs. Higgins with a hug and a kiss, and then donning one of those immense gingham aprons, that seemed to infold her in a most coquettish manner, she bustled around, intent on her household duties, with such a charming assumption of matronliness that she most certainly would have won the heart of any man who could have seen it.

As for the hearts of those two, why, she already owned them.

And then to see her when the supper work was all done, and the room straightened up again! To see her then perched on the arm of her brother’s chair, detailing to him all the adventures of that marvelous two weeks!

How happy she was, and how fondly Clinton would look at her! No wonder Jim thought less of the future. Forebodings would have to be very dark indeed that Norine’s bright face could not banish. And, in fact, Jim’s doubts for the future very soon disappeared.

Clinton proved himself such a wonderful fellow around the farm; there was scarcely a tool or an appliance about the place that he did not improve in some respect. Not that he was at all energetic; he spent far more time in lounging around the house than Jim did, and would very often laugh at himself for a lazy fellow that was always pottering around. Yet, he pottered around effectively, Jim thought.

And when he, with certain pulleys and a rope, arranged a complicated affair in the loft of the big red barn that would actually unload and store away the hay almost automatically, Jim thought he was a wonderful fellow indeed, and began to feel quite proud of his talented brother-in-law.

So the summer and fall passed, and the storms of winter were raging around the little cottage before Clinton showed any signs of dissatisfaction with his life on the farm. Then, indeed, he did get a little gloomy, and at times uncertain as to his temper.

He had not entirely recovered his strength, and the farm life in winter was very dull to one accustomed, as he had been, to the roar and excitement of a large city.

And thinking thus, they bore with him patiently, and only Jim began to think his old fears were well-founded.

But the winter passed without any outbreak to mar their happiness, and with the summer came Norine’s baby. Such a baby, Mrs. Higgins testified, there never had been before!

And Doctor Conway vowed that he was proud to be professionally connected with such a child. Of course Norine believed them. It was not necessary that they should tell _her_ so; she _knew_ that there never was such a baby before. And she devoted herself to it, showing all the loveliest grace of maternity, and looking so beautiful in her young dignity that the men folks thought her almost as wonderful as the baby.

The coming of the baby had its effect on Clinton; but not in the way Norine hoped for. He was very proud of both the baby and her, and very fond of both; but latterly he talked a great deal about money.

The little capital he had had on his arrival at Bright Farm had remained untouched. But now he said that there was a necessity for increasing it.

Norine laughed when he spoke of making provision for the child.

“He will have the farm,” she said; “and we will be able to give him a good education. What more will he need?”

“My love,” said Clinton, “you do not expect to keep the child cooped up on this little farm all his life?”

“Why not?” inquired Norine, raising her eyebrows. “I have been here all my life, and have been very happy.”

“Ah! you are a woman,” said Clinton, with something very like a sneer. “Girls naturally prefer to stay at home; but he is a boy, and you will find him different. He will want to get out into the world, and be something. All boys do,” he added inconsequentially.

“Jim has been here all his life, and I am sure he would not care to change.”

“Jim is the best fellow in the world,” replied Clinton, “but I do not expect my child will be like him; besides, we will have to respect the child’s inclinations when they become formed. You would not care to keep him on this little farm if he should prove talented?”

Norine could not answer this. She had no doubt whatever of the child’s talent.

“What will you do?” she asked meekly.

“I think I will go to Altoona,” said Clinton, “and see if I can not get into something there.”

“I am sure, dear,” said Norine, raising her wet eyes from the child to his father, “that little Clinton would rather stay on the farm all his life than to be the means of separating you and me.”

“Why, who thought of separating?” cried Clinton impatiently. “I shall not be gone longer than a week at a time; and if I am successful, it will not take long to make as much money as we shall need. It is like a woman,” he added in an injured tone. “You would risk your child’s future rather than make a little sacrifice for him now.”

“Very well, dear,” said Norine, drying her eyes. “Do as you think best, and I will try and not be selfish.”

“Now that is my own dear little wife again,” said Clinton, kissing her gayly. “Remember, dear, how proud you will be to have your son, perhaps, famous.”

Norine said nothing, but she smiled at him through her tears, and assisted in his preparations for departure as cheerfully as possible. After he had really gone, she locked herself into her own room with the baby, and wept the first bitter tears of her life.

So the summer passed away, and autumn came with its beautiful changes, and they all prospered, and little Clinton grew daily in strength and beauty. His father came home at irregular intervals; sometimes only coming to stay over Sunday, sometimes staying contentedly at the farm for over a week at a time.

Norine asked no questions as to his business. She would not seek his confidence, but was always pleased whenever he would volunteer any information.

If he was successful while away from the farm, he was not improved thereby, for his temper became more uncertain with every visit.

But Norine never spoke of it, and so Jim, whose blood very often boiled over some passionate word, was disarmed. He had a great dread of interfering between man and wife, had Jim, and so he held himself in check, only waiting until Norine should seek his help.

“Jim,” said Norine, one evening, when they were sitting before the kitchen fire, with little Clinton asleep in his crib between them, “is it not strange that we have never heard from Aunt Darling?”

“I suppose if she wanted us to hear she would have written,” replied Jim a little gruffly.

“Do you think we had better write again, Jim?”

“No,” said Jim, rising, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, “I don’t. If she wants to see us, let her come here.”

“I should like so much to have her see my baby,” said Norine musingly; “but I don’t suppose she ever will.”

“He will probably live just as long if she doesn’t,” replied Jim testily. “I think we have done our share, and rather more. Now it is her turn.”

“Perhaps she never received our letter,” hazarded Norine.

“Received it? Of course she received it,” asserted Jim scornfully. “If she had not received it, it would have been returned to us. It is easy enough to see that she wants to have nothing to do with us, and you had better forget her as quickly as possible.”

And he stamped out of the little kitchen, feeling very indignant and determined, while Norine, busied with her household cares, took his advice and forgot for a time, at least, all about their unfriendly relative.