"Well, I'm sure, he's a man, and I really think by this time, that he is quite reconciled to it. At any rate, he'll get over it before long," said Olive complacently.
"God bless my soul!" cried Mr. Congreve, pausing before her, with a puzzled wonder in his shrewd eyes. "Do you honestly so little realize what Roger's nature is, or how much the boy loves you, and how he is waiting to hear what word I bring!"
"He ought to know by this time that it is the same I gave to him. I told you, no, the day after you gave me the letter; surely, you told him so when you wrote."
"But I didn't, though. I thought, like as not, with the prospect of travel, you might change your mind after you'd thought about it more, and I told him that I was giving you time."
"You must think I am very weak and uncertain," said Olive with some impatience. "If he really is anxious for an answer, it is unkind to keep him waiting."
"Well, well, that's so, I know, but I must confess that I thought the masters and travel would bring you 'round," and Mr. Congreve shook his head, as if in dire perplexity.
"I had rather work day and night, and win my own success, be it ever so little, than to owe the widest fame to another. Besides, I don't want to be married, I wouldn't be for anything; I want to belong to myself, and do as I please!" cried Olive, vehemently; then slipped her arm through his, with a little coaxing gesture, such as she sometime used with the crusty old man, and said:
"There, Uncle Ridley, it is all settled, so let's not speak of it any more. There come Walter and Bea; we'll walk down to the gate and meet them."
This was all a month after the wedding, and it was the loveliest June Sunday, imaginable. Mr. Congreve had dreaded so to go back to Virginia without Jean, that he had yielded to their entreaties, and spent that length of time with them; but now he was going on the next day; and the old gentleman's feelings were so deeply stirred with the thought that he was obliged to resort to his crusty manners to hide them. He had most fervently hoped that Olive would change her mind, though possessed with an inward conviction that she would not; yet even while he so deeply regretted her decision, he could not but admire the independence, that refused to sit with idle hands, and receive every advantage and advancement from another. Surely, if Olive ever did marry, she would bring something to her husband besides her dependent self, and he might know, above all doubts, that indeed, he was truly loved in her heart of hearts.
Every member of the family had grown to dearly love the crusty, abrupt, peculiar old man, who wore the goodness of his heart like a mantle about him, yet so modest with it. They never knew, until after he had left them, how much good he had quietly done in his morning walks about Canfield. How he had bought poor little lame Katie Gregg a great wax doll, that could speak and cry; filled the pantry of the hard-working widow mother with packages unnumbered, pretending to be so innocent of the deed, when she found who was the giver, and tried to thank him. There came to them, for many days after he had gone, reports, here and there, of the little deeds of kindness and acts of thoughtful generosity, the need of which, he had discovered at odd times and said nothing about, with the modesty which is characteristic of the true giver.