Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/126

HOW I BECAME A BENEDICT. 181 dollars. How should I ever manage to get it? I made known my desires and intentions to mother on my return home. She looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, then she arose, and going to the corner cupboard, took down the blue china-bowl, in which abe always kept the proceeds of her butter-pats. I can see her now, with her slight figure, and pate, worn face, as she stood in the glow of the firelight, counting over the heaps of silver pieces she had poured upon the table,

“Only twenty-seven dollars,” she said, with a suppressed sigh, as she returned the surplus two dollars to the bowl; “but take it, my boy, and welcome!”

I took it, and bought the brooch for Jessie.

“Isn't it splendid, mother?" I said, a few evenings after, us I was gising the finishing touches to my toilet, preparatory to the all-im- portant visit, “She'll be sure to take it, won't she?”

“To be sure she will, my boy,” she replied, fondly, fluttering round me, polishing the bright brass buttons on my blue cloth coat with the corner of her apron, and twisting my well-oiled locks over her thin, labor-worn fingers; “and she'll take you, too, if she’s not devoid of appreciation.”

My heart swelled with gratified vanity as I put the glittering toy in my pocket, and started. She followed me oat, and down to the garden-gate.

“Good-by, my boy,” she called, as I hurried through. Something in her voice made me look back, and I noticed that her face had a strange, white look, and her eyes were running over with tears.

“What is it, mother?” I asked, turning and taking her hand,

“Nothing, nothing at all, my dear. Only this new joy won't make you quite forget me, will it, Chaney?”

“Oh! mother, no!” I cried, throwing my arms round her neck, and kissing her white cheeks. “I shall never love any one else as I love you.”

“My darling, my pride,” she murmured. “No other mother ever had such a son--you never caused me a moment's sorrow, Chancy.”

“I'm glad of it, mother. Good-by!”

“Good-by, my boy!”

I left her standing there in the autumn dusk, and went up to Squire Weaver's. The fates were propitious; I found Jessie alone in the parlor singing to her guitar.

“ 'Tis you, Chaney” she said, carelessly, as I entered. “There, sit down while I sing to you.”

I obeyed reluctantly enough, for I was in a fever of impatience. To this day I have no idea of what she sang; but the instant she finished I was at her side.

“Jessie,” I said, unfolding the scented paper that contained the brooch, "here's a present I've brought you, and——”

But she cut short my declaration, which I had “out and dried” weeks beforehand, with a scream of delight.

“For me, Chaney?" she cried, as the glittering toy flashed on her sight; ‘tis the very thing I wanted. You dear, darling boy—bow shall I ever thank you?” and seizing me round the neck, she gave me a hearty kiss.

The touch of her red lips fired my blood like wine, and set my brain whirl of excitement, In a breath I was on my knees before her, pouring out my love, and the hopes I had cherished, in frenzied accents. At first she stood amazed; then, as the full sense of what I was saying dawned upon her, she broke into a gay laugh.

“Oh, Chaney! you silly, silly boy!” she cried, “you are too amusing. I gave you credit for more sense than this. Get up, chill, and stop this foolish nonsense. I’m to be married in two weeks to Mr. Dunbar.”

What I said or did, how I got out of the house, I never knew. I found myself in the meadows, making my way down to the river. A dull pain throbbed through both heart and brain, and one strong, irresistible impulse impelled me on. My mother’s loving watchfulness had hitherto kept my life from all care and sorrow; and I shrank from pain, and only thought of ridding myself of it. The great, autumn moon was just up as I reached the brink, pouring down her silver splendor on the turbid, foaming waters. I sat down beneath the shadow of a drooping willow, listening to the multitudinous gurgle of the waves, and the moaning rustle of the branches overhead. Mother's cattle-bells tinkled softly just below, and a solitary bird, a nightingale, perhaps, sang mournfully from a neighboring thicket. All these sights and sounds were as familiar as my own identity; and I felt an infinite pity for myself, looking upon and listening to them for the last time—for the last time it surely was; after the cruel blow I had received life was out of the question. One plunge into those dark waters would end all! And then, when Jessie heard of my sad fate, she would repent of what she had done, and love me when it was too late. I even fancied how my funeral would be conducted, after my body was found; and actually suffered a good deal from fear that there would not be an appropriate epitaph written for my tombstone. If I had only have had a scrap of paper and a pencil, I should have �