Molly thought the matter over when she was alone. Was she really in danger of spoiling Harry? She certainly had known husbands who took all the comfort of their homes just as their right, and never seemed to think they need do anything toward the family pleasure beyond paying the bills. Molly was devoted to her husband; but she was not so blinded by her love as not to see that Harry was in no way a perfect man. He was pleasure-loving only in the sense of seizing life’s enjoyments,—even his generous impulses were part of them,—and he was too fastidious for a poor man; and Molly could quite realize that he might not be a loving husband to some women just as good as she was, and yet she knew his faults were faults of temperament. How could he help it, if he liked brightness and gaiety and rather shirked the dreary side of life? She sympathized so much with him that she had no dread of the future; she had no wish to make him over to her standard. (Herein lies the secret of half the “incompatibility” in marriage, if Molly had but known it; but she was not, consciously, a social philosopher.)
“Well, I can’t help it; I don’t believe Harry will be more spoiled by being made happy in his own way than if I try to make him make me happy in mine; and if he does I can’t help it. It all depends, I suppose, whether one loves a man well enough to enjoy his pleasure and find one’s own in it; and I can’t help thinking Mrs. Carlyle was just as happy as those who pity her, until she got ill and morbid; the sacrifices she seemed to make of her own comfort were not so, for her pleasure was in promoting that of her great husband.”
On the whole, Mrs. Framley’s warning had done no good or harm. While boarding, although Molly had been as reserved as politeness permitted, and limited her intercourse with the ladies to formal acquaintance, it had been impossible for her to escape many such warnings, uttered good-naturedly, often by the way of joking a young wife; but she knew then, as now, she could lay no deliberate plans to secure her husband’s love and attention; if she gave more than she received, she could not help it—she loved to give. “If it is really necessary to measure one’s devotion in order to secure happy married life, then those women who love least have most chance of happiness; but it cannot be.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
A VERY PLAIN PUDDING—HOW TO COOK ODDS AND ENDS—BILLS OF FARE FOR A WEEK.
Molly’s enlarged circle of acquaintances enabled her to ask aid for poor Mrs. Gibbs; and several had subscribed small sums, which, put together, bought the poor soul fuel for a couple of months; and others who regretted inability to give money—having so many calls already—gladly sent to Molly odds and ends of food, fag ends of steak, the tops of mutton chops, etc., which, long and softly stewed and left till cold,—when the fat came off in a cake which made nice dripping for Mrs. Gibbs to fry mush or potatoes in,—then stewed again with onions and potatoes at some times, vegetables and barley at others, made a very appetizing dish; thus with a very little of Molly’s time and what would have been thrown away by one or two families, savory, nourishing food was provided for the destitute woman and children. Had the meat and vegetables been sent to Mrs. Gibbs herself, they would have done comparatively little good; they would have been fried, and the fat probably thrown away, and the tough meat eaten without relish. A large bread pudding, too, was made once a week; and, as it cost so little and was so good, Mrs. Lennox asked Molly for the recipe:—
Plain Bread Pudding.—Soak stale bread, crust and crumbs, in skimmed milk till soft; press out the milk, and beat the bread fine; add a table-spoonful of molasses, a tea-spoonful of ginger, and the third of a nutmeg to each quart of beaten bread; sweeten to taste; pare the yellow rind of an orange or lemon, or both, chop them fine, and add them with one or two cups of currants, according to the size of the pudding; put the whole into a pan, smooth it over the top, and strew it thickly with nice beef dripping or butter. Bake a three-quart pudding slowly four hours. Better cold than hot.
This pudding, if care is taken with the flavoring, will by no means taste poor. It is especially nice cut in slices and fried, or—in hot weather—eaten cold with milk or cream and sugar.
Mrs. Gibbs was getting now strong enough to do sewing, and one lady lent her a sewing-machine she was not using; Molly felt there was now some hope of her getting work enough to partly support her family.