You are a nice good-hearted jolly old man, Peter Bond, and your merry happy face and amiable temper will compensate for any deficiency in intellectual attainment; but Nannie Bates has a craving mind, and it must have nourishment. You don't know how early she is out of her bed, stowed away in Mrs. Minturn's attic with a book in her hand, nor how many pages she devours while nursing Dora. She does not neglect her little charge, but invents a thousand ways to keep her pleased and contented, while she gleans a little more knowledge every day. It's astonishing how much the girl has gained already, and she has a double motive in it, too; there's another mind waiting to have it imparted, and the two expand, night after night, as they give their gathered ideas to each other in the one short hour. It's not much time, but it accumulates, in one year, thirty days! think of it! Supposing it were spent in foolish talking and jesting, or in parading the walks with the other boys and girl! there would be thirty days wasted, and two minds robbed, and two intelligent faces despoiled of their chief attractions. Pat has grown quite fine-looking since the obtuse look has given place to such a sensible inquiring expression, and a soul speaks out from Nannie's eyes now that she bestows more culture upon the mental part.
You're right, Mr. Bond. It is not necessary for Nannie Bates to go to school! she will come out quite as bright as thousands who are kept at their books by a rod over their backs. She can not help acquiring, wherever she is! She appears very modest and very attentive to the child as she stands in the drawing-room of her mistress while Dora is exhibiting to the many guests; but her ear is becoming accustomed to a pure language, and her imitative powers soon adopt it. She will make a very lady-like little wife for somebody! Pat sees it, and does what he can to keep up with her. There'll be a struggle for her, though. Mike Dugan goes to Mrs. Minturn's very often, and whenever Nannie is sent to the kitchen on any mission there's a paper of candy for her, or a kind pleasant word, or a fond look, and she begins to think Mike a very nice sort of lad; when Pat finds how things are going, "he doesn't think he would put himself in Mike Dugan's way if he were Nannie! He's a great rough, red-headed, ugly fellow, and wouldn't make much of a husband for any girl!"
Nannie isn't thinking of husbands, and only wonders why Pat dislikes Mike so much when he is as kind to her as a brother would be. She doesn't think him ugly at all. She remembers that he has red hair. It doesn't strike her that Pat's is, if possible, a shade more fiery. She has never thought of comparing them, Mike is a clever fellow, and all the girls like him; but Pat, is Pat, and she would not have him like anybody else for all the world!
CHAPTER XXXI.
Mrs. Kinalden's face has grown long again, and the sour look has returned. It is strange what a gutta-percha capacity it has! Not so very strange though since she has not attended to the direction to purge herself from all internal sources of disquiet.
There isn't a person in the world that could maintain an equable temperament and expression, if every little outward vexation were suffered to penetrate him. Mrs. Kinalden has never learned to look within for her chief pleasure and enjoyment. Poor soul! it is little she would find to attract her in its present aspect, and that is the reason she does not care to enter the recesses of her heart; but depends upon the things that surround her for her delight; and they can not but fail to bring her any peace. If she would only consent to sweep and garnish the hidden chambers, and adorn them with the beauteous and goodly things which all may possess, she would find it very comforting to withdraw from other things, and spend her sweetest moments there, and the bright cheerful expression would be permanent then.
It is not easy to take this advice, however, and we give the landlady up as a hopeless case. Mr. Bond is the only person whose arguments weigh any thing with her, and he, indifferent man, does not even perceive his influence; but goes about his own business, as if there were no disconsolate widow pining away her desolate being for him. The boarders recognize the fact, and they enjoy the fun, and flatter her into the belief that the bachelor is willin', but too diffident to propose, and they tell her that she must not be shy—that she can reveal the state of her feelings in a delicate way—and, when they have every thing in a right train, they withdraw from the little parlor, as Mr. Bond comes in for a moment's conversation with the old lady. She is terribly perturbed now that the moment has really come, and the innocent man seeing her distress, and fearing that some serious evil has happened to occasion it, begs her to tell him what troubles her, assuring her of his sympathy and aid. He even places a chair near her, and seats himself so close to her that his hand rests upon the arm of the sofa where she is sitting.
She loses her fear then, and says, in a tremulous tone, she has been thinking of Mr. Kinalden. Mr. Bond appreciates that. Is not there a kindred spirit in his own thoughts every moment of his life? Mrs. Kinalden begins to rise in his estimation, and he chides himself for ever imagining her untrue to her husband's memory; so he sighs, and listens as she goes on to say that she used to have scruples about throwing off her widowhood; but her days are very lonely, and she might be induced "to change her mind". Mr. Bond puts her down a peg again; but feeling that he must congratulate her if she has really determined to marry, he tells her he is really very happy! and this encourages her to speak openly of him as the object of her affectionate designs.
There is a suppressed giggle in an adjoining room as the quick tread of the bachelor is heard upon the stairs; but he does not feel like laughing. He is shocked! he is indignant, that any one should ever dream of his being faithless to his early love!