“How was that?” said Mrs. Draper.
“Why, when the sap was going down the trees in the autumn; but now it is going up.”
But whether the sap had already gone up, or for some other reason, which was as clear to human perception, Francis did not shake off her wearing cough. Mr. Draper was not alarmed at it; it was very unobtruding, and he
had become used to it. It was not one of those vulgar, hoarse coughs, that, till we connect danger with it, often excites indignation in those who are listening to an interesting narrative, or to a reader, who is obliged to wait till the impertinent paroxysm is over. Mrs. Draper’s was quite a lady-like cough, low and gentle, and seemed rather like impeded respiration.
Visiters would sometimes observe, when they went away, “Mrs. Draper is still a handsome woman, though she has lost her bloom. What a pity she has that affected little cough! it really spoils her; it is nothing but a habit; she could easily break herself of it, if any body would be honest enough to tell her.” This task rested with Lucy alone; but it was all in vain. Frances took the cough-drops morning and evening, and still the disagreeable habit remained. Mr. Draper was very little at home; and when he was, his mind was engaged by new projects. Anxiety, however, did not rob him of sleep: he was too successful; he seemed to have the Midas-like art of turning every thing to gold:—his thousands were rapidly accumulating, and half a million was now the
point at which he determined to stop. Mrs. Draper’s slight cough did not attract his attention; but if her appetite failed, he grew anxious, and feared she was not well.
Week after week passed, and still it was impossible for Mr. Draper to leave the city. At length, a letter arrived from Charlotte, claiming the visit; and he substituted one of his clerks to conduct his family to his brother’s residence. Here, though not more than forty miles from the city, Mrs. Draper found the freshness and novelty of country life. The family were farmers, children and all. Charlotte was acquainted with all the little details belonging to a farm, and took as much interest as her husband did in the growth of grain, the raising of pigs and poultry, and feeding cattle in the best and most economical manner. She displayed her dairy with its cheese arranged on shelves, her white pans of milk, and her newly-churned butter, which impregnated the air with its sweetness.
It was with long-forgotten feelings of health that Frances breathed the atmosphere around her; she perceived that her respiration was
more free. “How ignorant I was,” said she to Howard, “to compare my city garden to the country! There is music in every accidental sound. How fresh is the air! how unlike the mornings to which I have been accustomed, where the voice of the teamster urging on his over-loaded horse, or the monotonous cry of the fishmonger, disturbed my slumbers!”
Her heart beat with pleasure as she saw her children go forth with their cousins to rural enjoyments: her tender bud, which she had often feared would never live to unfold its beauty, her little Charlotte, she saw here as joyous and as active as her sister. New hopes and anticipations brightened the future. How does returning health change the prospect of external circumstances! The cough was much less constant, and Charlotte, who professed to have wonderful skill in curing diseases, had undertaken to eradicate it. She did not approve of late slumbers, and every morning she brought her patient a tumbler of new milk, and challenged her to come out and breathe the fresh air. “Do not wait,” said she, “till its wings are clogged by the smoke of the city;