"IT'S nearly a year, now, since I was home," said Lucy Gray to herhusband, "and so you must let me go for a few weeks."
They had been married some four or five years, and never had beenseparated, during that time, for twenty-four hours at a time.
"I thought you called this your home," remarked Gray, looking up,with a mock-serious air.
"I mean my old home," replied Lucy, in a half-affected tone ofanger. "Or, to make it plain, I want to go and see father andmother."
"Can't you wait three or four months, until I can go with you?"asked the young husband.
"I want to go now. You said all along that I should go in May."
"I know I did. But I thought I would be able to go with you."
"Well, why can't you go? I am sure you might, if you would."
"No, Lucy, I cannot possibly leave home now. But if you are veryanxious to see the old folks, I can put you into the stage, and youwill go safe enough. Ellen and I can take care of little Lucy, nodoubt. How long a time do you wish to spend with them?"
"About three weeks, or so."
"Very well, Lucy; if you are not afraid to go alone, I will not saya word."
"I am not afraid, dear," said the wife, in a voice changed andsoftened in its expression. "But are you perfectly willing to let mego, Henry?"
"Oh, certainly," was the reply, although the tone in which the wordswere uttered had something of reluctance in it. "It would be selfishin me to say, no. Your father and mother will be delighted toreceive a visit just now."
"And you think that you and Ellen can get along with little Lucy?"
"Oh yes, very well."
"I should like to go, so much!"
"Go, then, by all means."
"But won't you be very lonesome without me?" suggested Lucy, inwhose own bosom a feeling of loneliness was already beginning to befelt at the bare idea of a separation from her husband.
"I can stand it as long as you," was Gray's laughing reply to this."And then I shall have our dear little girl."
Lucy laughed in return, but did not feel as happy at the idea of"going home" as she thought she would be, before her husband'sconsent had been gained. The desire to go, however, remainingstrong, it was finally settled that the visit should be paid. So allthe preparations were entered upon, and in the course of a weekHenry Gray saw his wife take her seat in the stage, with a feelingof regret at parting, which required all his efforts to conceal. Asfor Lucy, when the moment of separation came, she regretted everhaving thought of going without her husband and child; but she wasashamed to let her real feelings be known. So she kept up a show ofindifference, all the while that her heart was fluttering. The"good-bye" was finally said, the driver cracked his whip, and offrolled the stage. Gray turned homewards with a dull, lonely feeling,and Lucy drew her veil over her face to conceal the unbidden tearsfrom her fellow-passengers.
That night, poor Mr. Gray slept but little. How could he? His Lucywas absent, and, for the first time, from his side. On the nextmorning, as he could think of nothing but his wife, he sat down andwrote to her, telling her how lost and lonely he felt, and how muchlittle Lucy missed her, but still to try and enjoy herself, and byall means to write him a letter by return mail.
As for Mrs. Gray, during her journey of two whole days, she criedfully half of the time, and when she got "home" at last, that is, ather father's, she looked the picture of distress, rather than thedaughter full of joy at meeting her parents.
Right glad were the old people to see their dear child, but grieved,at the same time, and a little hurt, too, at her weakness andevident regret at having left her husband, to make them a briefvisit. The real pleasure that Lucy felt at once more seeing the acesof her parents, whom she tenderly loved, was lot strong enough tosubdue and keep in concealment, except for a very short period at atime, her earning desire again to be with her husband, for whom shenever before experienced a feeling of such deep and earnestaffection. Several times, during the first day of her visit, did hermother find her in tears, which she would quickly dash aside, andthen endeavour to smile and seem cheerful.
The day after her arrival brought her a letter--the first she hadever received from her husband. How precious was every word! Howoften and often did she read it over, until every line was engravenon her memory! Then she sat down, and spent some two or three hoursin replying to it. As she sealed this first epistle to her husband,full of tender expressions, she sighed, as the wish arose in hermind, involuntarily, that she could only go with it its journey tothe village of----.
Long were the hours, and wearily passed, to Henry Gray. It was thesixth day of trial before Lucy's answer came. How dear to his heartwas every word of her affectionate epistle! Like her, he went overit so often, that every sentiment was fixed in his mind.
"Two weeks longer! How can I bear it?" he said, rising up, andpacing the floor backwards and forwards, after reading her letterfor the tenth time. On the next day, the seventh of his lonelystate, Mr. Gray sat down to write again to Lucy. Several times hewrote the words, as he proceeded in the letter--"Come homesoon,"--but as often obliterated them. He did not wish to appearover-anxious for her return, on her father's and mother's account,who were much attached to her. But, forgetting this reason for noturging her early return, he had commenced again writing the words,"Come home soon," when a pair of soft hands were suddenly placedover his eyes, by some one who had stolen softly up behind him.
"Guess my name!" said a voice, in feigned tones.
Gray had no need to guess whose were the hands, for a sudden cry ofjoy from a little toddling thing, told that "Mamma" had come.
How "Mamma" was hugged and kissed all round, need not here be told.That scene was well enough in its place, but would lose its interestin telling. It may be imagined, however, without suffering anyparticular detriment, by all who have a fancy for such things.
"And father, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Gray, after he had almostsmothered his wife with kisses, looking up, with an expression ofpleasure and surprise, at an old man who stood looking on, with hisgood-humoured face covered with smiles.
"Yes. I had to bring the good-for-nothing jade home," replied theold man, advancing and grasping his son-in-law's hand, with a heartygrip. "She did nothing but mope and cry all the while, and I don'tcare if she never comes to see us again, unless she brings you alongto keep her in good-humour."
"And I never intend going alone again," Mrs. Gray said, holding alittle chubby girl to her bosom, while she kissed it over and overagain, at the same time that she pressed close up to her husband'sside.
The old man understood it all. He was not jealous of Lucy'saffection, for he knew that she loved him as tenderly as ever. Hewas too glad to know that she was happy with a husband to whom shewas as the apple of his eye. In about three months Lucy made anothervisit "home." But husband and child were along, this time, and thevisit proved a happy one all around. Of course, "father and mother"had their jest and their laugh, and their affectation of jealousyand anger at Lucy for her "childishness," as they termed it, whenhome in May; but Lucy, though half-vexed at herself for what shecalled a weakness, nevertheless persevered in saying that she nevermeant to go anywhere again without Henry. "That was settled."
THE END.
* * * * * * * * * * * *