“Aunt Hulda, don’t interrupt, please,” said Mrs. Sleeper; “let’s hear what the captain has to say.”
“Then let him talk sense. The idea of Cyrus Sleeper’s ever treating anybody shabby! It’s ridikerlous!” growled Aunt Hulda, as she returned to her neuralgic nursing.
“The young ones want a strict hand over ’em,” continued the captain, when quiet was restored again. “I’m willing to take part charge of them, if you’ll let me. They must be sent to school.”
“I can’t afford it, captain. I couldn’t send ’em last year. You know the money’s most gone,” said Mrs. Sleeper.
“I know its all gone, Delia. What you’ve been drawing the last year is from my own pocket. But no matter for that. Drinkwater opens the school Monday. I’ll send the children there, and pay the bills. It’s time something was done for their education; and I’ll be a father to them, as they’re not likely to have another very soon.”
“Don’t say that, don’t say that! Cyrus will come back—I know he will.”
“If he’s alive. But don’t be too hopeful. There’s been a heap of mortality among the miners; and if he’s alive, we should have heard from him afore this. Chances are agin him. So you’d better be resigned. Yes, you’d better give him up, put on mourning for a year, and then look round, for the money’s gone.”
“Give up my husband!” cried Mrs. Sleeper, with energy. “No, no. He will come back; I feel, I know he will. He would never desert me; and if he died,—O, Heaven, no, no!—if he died, he would find some way to send his last words to me. No, no, don’t say give him up. I cannot, I cannot!” and the poor woman burst into tears.
“Wal, I never!” cried Aunt Hulda. “Look round, indeed! Why, it’s bigamy, rank bigamy!”