The Cameron pride; or, purified by suffering

by Mary Jane Holmes

And truly they were snug quarters, Wilford thought, as he surveyed the dimensions of the room; but there was no alternative, and a few moments found him in the centre of the two feather beds, neither Helen nor Katy having discovered the addition made by Aunt Betsy, and which came near being the death of the New York guest. To sleep was impossible, and never for a moment did Wilford lose his consciousness or forget to accuse himself of being an idiot for coming into that heathenish neighborhood after a wife when in New York there were so many girls ready and waiting for him.

“I’ll go back to-morrow morning,” he said, striking a match he consulted his Railway Guide to find when the first train passed Silverton, feeling comforted to know that only a few hours intervened between him and freedom.

But alas for Wilford! He was but a man, subject to man’s caprices, and when next morning he met Katy Lennox, looking in her light muslin as pure and fair as the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his resolution began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel in Silverton; he would inquire of Dr. Grant; at all events he would not take the first train, though he might the next; and so he stayed, eating fried apples and beefsteak, but forgetting to criticise, in his appreciation of the rich thick cream poured into his coffee, and the sweet, golden butter, which melted in soft waves upon the flaky rolls. Again Uncle Ephraim was absent, having gone to mill before Wilford left his room, nor was he visible to the young man until after dinner, for Wilford did not go home, but drove instead with Katy in the carriage which Morris sent round, excusing himself from coming on the plea of being too busy, but saying he would join them at tea, if possible. Wilford’s mind was not yet fully made up, so he concluded to remain another day and see more of Katy’s family. Accordingly, after dinner, he bent his energies to cultivating them all, from Helen down to Aunt Betsy, who proved the most transparent of the four. Arrayed again in the pongee, but this time without the hoop, she came into the parlor, bringing her calico patch-work, which she informed him was pieced in the “herrin’ bone pattern” and intended for Katy; telling him further, that the feather bed on which he slept was also a part of “Catherine’s setting out,” and was made from feathers she picked herself, showing him as proof a mark upon her arm, left there by the gray goose, which had proved a little refractory when she tried to draw a stocking over its head.

Wilford groaned and Katy’s chance for being Mrs. Cameron was growing constantly less and less as he saw more and more how vast was the difference between the Barlows and himself. Helen, he acknowledged, was passable, though she was not one whom he could ever introduce into New York society; and he was wondering how Katy chanced to be so unlike the rest, when Uncle Ephraim came up from the meadow, and announced himself as ready now to visit, apologizing for his apparent neglect, and seeming so absolutely to believe that his company was desirable, that Wilford felt amused, wondering again what Juno, or even Mark Ray, would think of the rough old man, sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, and going occasionally to the door to relieve himself of his tobacco juice, for chewing was one of the deacon’s weaknesses. His pants were faultlessly clean, and his vest was buttoned nearly up to his throat, but his coat was hanging on a nail out by the kitchen door, and, to Katy’s distress and Wilford’s horror, he sat among them in his shirt sleeves, all unconscious of harm or of the disquiet awakened in the bosom of the young man, who on that point was foolishly fastidious, and who showed by his face how much he was annoyed. Not even the presence of Morris, who came about tea time, was of any avail to lift the cloud from his brow, and he seemed moody and silent until supper was announced. This was the first opportunity Morris had had of trying his powers of persuasion upon the deacon, and now, at a hint from Katy, he said to him in an aside, as they were passing into the dining-room: “Suppose, Uncle Ephraim, you put on your coat for once. It is better than coming to the table so.”

“Pooh,” was Uncle Ephraim’s innocent rejoinder, spoken loudly enough for Wilford to hear, “I shan’t catch cold, for I am used to it; besides that, I never could stand the racket this hot weather.”

In his simplicity he did not even suspect Morris’s motive, but imputed it wholly to concern for his health. And so Wilford Cameron found himself seated next to a man who wilfully trampled upon all rules of etiquette, shocking him in his most sensitive points, and making him thoroughly disgusted with the country and country people generally. All but Morris and Katy—he did make an exception in their favor, leaning most to Morris, whom he admired more and more, as he became better acquainted with him, wondering how he could content himself to settle down quietly in Silverton, when he would surely die if compelled to live there for a week. Something like this he said to Dr. Grant, when that evening they sat together in the handsome parlor at Linwood, for Morris kindly invited him to spend the night with him.

“I stay in Silverton, first, because I think I can do more good here than elsewhere, and secondly, because I really like the country and the country people; for, strange and uncouth as they may seem to you, who never lived among them, they have kinder, truer hearts beating beneath their rough exteriors, than are often in the city.”

This was Morris’s reply, and in the conversation which ensued Wilford Cameron caught glimpses of a nobler, higher phase of manhood than he had thought existed, feeling an unbounded respect for one who, because he believed it to be his duty, was, as it seemed to him, wasting his life among people who could not appreciate his character, though they might idolize the man. But this did not reconcile Wilford one whit the more to Silverton. Uncle Ephraim had completed the work commenced by the two feather beds, and at breakfast, next morning, he announced his intention of returning to New York that day. To this Morris offered no objection, but asked to be remembered to the mother and sisters, and then invited Wilford to stop altogether at Linwood when he came again to Silverton.

“Thank you; but it is hardly probable that I shall be here very soon,” Wilford replied, adding, as he met the peculiar glance of Morris’s eye, “I found Miss Katy a delightful traveling acquaintance, and on my way from Newport thought I would renew it and see a little of rustic life.”

Poor Katy! how her heart would have ached could she have heard those words and understood their meaning, just as Morris did, feeling a rising indignation for the man with whom he could not be absolutely angry, he was so self-possessed, so pleasant and gentlemanly, while better than all, was he not virtually giving Katy up? and if he did might she not turn at last to him?