Clover and Blue Grass

by Eliza Calvert Hall

"I'd go back to Millville to-morrow, if I could," said David, with an emphasis that swept away all doubt of his sincerity.

Sarah fell back on her pillows with a long, sobbing breath of relief. Her tears flowed again, but they were tears of happiness, and an ecstatic smile shone through them.

"Oh! Then it's all right, Dave! It's all right!" She reached for David's hand and laid it against her wet cheek. "You see, it was just the thought that you and I didn't think alike—that was what I couldn't stand. But if you feel as I do, why, I can stand anything. You know what I mean, don't you, Dave?"

"Of course I know what you mean, honey," said David soothingly, as if he were talking to a child in distress. "I've felt exactly the same way, ever since we left our little Millville home and come to this two-story brick house. I thought you liked it,—women always like fine houses and fine furniture,—and I wanted to please you, but I hated it from the start; and we'd always thought the same about everything, and to have this big pile of brick and mortar comin' between us at our time of life—"

At this point words failed him. He was not in the habit of analyzing and describing his own feelings, but Sarah's eyes met his, and a look of perfect understanding passed between husband and wife. They had been living a divided life, but now they were one.

"It was my fault," said Sarah. "I ought to have stopped you in the beginning; but I knew you were trying to please me, and I didn't want to seem ungrateful—"

"Yes, honey, yes," interrupted David, "I know just how it was, and it was my fault, not yours. I ought to have asked you what you wanted, instead of takin' things for granted. Yes, if it's anybody's fault, it's mine. But what's the use in blamin' anybody? My doctrine is that when a thing has happened, instead of blamin' ourselves or anybody else, we just ought to conclude that it had to happen, and then make the best of it. This house is built; it's ours; we're in it; we don't like it; and now what are we going to do about it?"

Sarah's face clouded at once. She and David were of one mind, but things were not "all right", for still the burden of unaccustomed wealth and luxury weighed upon her, and David's question brought her face to face with the old troubles.

"Oh! I don't know," she said wearily. "If we just hadn't left our little cottage!"

"It was that architect fellow's fault, my buildin' this house," said David ruefully. "He was a young man just startin' out in the world, and I thought I'd give him a helpin' hand. And then it didn't look right for people with the income we've got to live in a four-room cottage in Millville."