CHAPTER XXVII.
DONNA MARIA DE LOS DOLORES.
The weeks and the months gliding along with their exasperating illustration of the festina lente principle brought a morning of early spring, chill but bright, with a merry sun contending in the sky against some unseen adversary who continually pelted him with great white snowballs of cloud, which he either evaded or melted with the fervor of his breath. In the farmhouse built by the Elder for himself and Love, but not passing into the possession of Love and Love’s wife, a great fire of cedar logs burned fragrantly upon the hearth of the sitting-room, and flashed its light upon the silver tankard and cup burnished to their utmost brightness, and modestly boasting themselves upon the little mahogany elbow-table in the nook beside the fire, conveniently at hand to the leathern easy-chair, so inharmonious with our ideas of ease, which with a footstool in front was the Elder’s seat of an evening, or in the brief repose he in these latter days allowed himself after dinner, or when in the short and stormy winter days he could do nothing but sit beside the fire and delight his soul with study.
In this blithe March morning, however, the old man was out with his son and the oxen breaking up fallow ground, and chanting half aloud brave verses of Holy Writ as he guided the team while Love’s mighty arms held down the ploughshare.
“‘O let the earth bless the Lord; yea, let it praise Him, and magnify Him forever!
“‘O all ye green things upon the earth, bless ye the Lord; praise Him, and magnify Him forever!
“‘O ye seas and floods, bless ye the Lord; praise Him, and magnify Him forever!