"I cannot tell, Mary. Uncle Edward's stories are too frequent for me to know which of them you are alluding to. Go on. I see by your face that the moral of it will be an argument for marrying upon next to nothing a year."
Truly, the rippling smile that crossed the young face was suggestive enough, and Mary lost no time in telling her story.
"He was not quite an old bachelor at the time, but verging on it, and had been very careful and saving. I do not know how much the man had a year, but it was enough to set him considering as to whether what was enough for a single man would suffice for a married one. He tested the matter in this wise. He had a large pie made, and when it was placed on the table, he divided it equally, and surveying one half, said, 'Yes; there would be enough.' Then he cut the halves into quarters, having made the calculation that there might in time be more than two to provide for."
"Very prudent, my dear. What was the result of the second calculation?"
"That it would still do very well; but not contented, he divided the pieces again. Ah, mamma. How shall I tell you? He decided that such a division would not do at all. Placing his arms round the dish, he said, 'Come all to myself,' and from that time relinquished every thought of matrimony."
"Do you call that an argument in favour of your marriage, Mary?" asked the mother, with a hearty laugh.
"Yes, mother; because you have not yet heard the sequel. The man lived a lonely, loveless life; ever adding to his means, saving for those who were but far-away kinsfolk at the best, and whose chief thought was, 'How will the old man's money be divided at last? Into whose lap will the largest share fall, when he can hold it no longer?'"
"He is dead now. He had no kind hand to minister to him in his last days; only paid nurses. No son or daughter to bring their little ones to make his home ring with childish laughter; no wife to mourn for him, or look forward to a meeting in the Better Land. But there are plenty to put on the semblance of grief, and first to squabble over, and then to scatter the money amassed in sheer selfishness, by the man who could not bear the prospect of sharing with others the good things that God had already given him, and determine to work and trust Him for more."
Mrs. Manning's heart was that of a true mother, and she could not look on the sweet girl-face without longing to make the path smooth for her child. But she had set her mind on seeing her girls do well and marry well. She could not endure the thought of all the petty calculations and the incessant contrivances that would be needed by the wife of a poor rector in a country parish. She enumerated, one after another, the probable difficulties which would beset her, and bade her think well before coming to a decision.
When did true love fail to discern a rift in the clouds, or to find at least a promise of sunshine, however heavy the sky might look at the time? The mother's prophecy had no terrors for Mary.