<p class="h2"><SPAN name="XXXVIII" id="XXXVIII"></SPAN>XXXVIII.</p>
<p class="h2a">ON THE SHELF.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="smcap">In</span> France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married,
when "<i>Vive la libert�</i>" becomes their motto. In America, as every
one knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy
their freedom with republican zest; but the young matrons usually
abdicate with the first heir to the throne, and go into a seclusion almost
as close as a French nunnery, though by no means as quiet. Whether
they like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf as soon as the
wedding excitement is over, and most of them might exclaim, as did a
very pretty woman the other day, "I'm as handsome as ever, but no
one takes any notice of me because I'm married."</p>
<p class="indent">Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experience
this affliction till her babies were a year old, for in her little world
primitive customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired and
beloved than ever.</p>
<p class="indent">As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very
strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 467]</span>
exclusion of everything and everybody else. Day and night she
brooded over them with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to
the tender mercies of the help, for an Irish lady now presided over
the kitchen department. Being a domestic man, John decidedly
missed the wifely attentions he had been accustomed to receive; but,
as he adored his babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a
time, supposing, with masculine ignorance, that peace would soon be
restored. But three months passed, and there was no return of repose;
Meg looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed every
minute of her time, the house was neglected, and Kitty, the cook,
who took life "aisy," kept him on short commons. When he went
out in the morning he was bewildered by small commissions for the
captive mamma; if he came gayly in at night, eager to embrace his
family, he was quenched by a "Hush! they are just asleep after worrying
all day." If he proposed a little amusement at home, "No, it
would disturb the babies." If he hinted at a lecture or concert, he
was answered with a reproachful look, and a decided "Leave my
children for pleasure, never!" His sleep was broken by infant wails
and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and fro in the
watches of the night; his meals were interrupted by the frequent flight
of the presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffled
chirp sounded from the nest above; and when he read his paper of
an evening, Demi's colic got into the shipping-list, and Daisy's fall
affected the price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in
domestic news.</p>
<p class="indent">The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft
him of his wife; home was merely a nursery, and the perpetual
"hushing" made him feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered
the sacred precincts of Babyland. He bore it very patiently for six
months, and, when no signs of amendment appeared, he did what
other paternal exiles do,—tried to get a little comfort elsewhere.
Scott had married and gone to housekeeping not far off, and John fell
into the way of running over for an hour or two of an evening, when
his own parlor was empty, and his own wife singing lullabies that
seemed to have no end. Mrs. Scott was a lively, pretty girl, with
nothing to do but be agreeable, and she performed her mission most
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 468]</span>
successfully. The parlor was always bright and attractive, the chessboard
ready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a nice little
supper set forth in tempting style.</p>
<p class="indent">John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so
lonely; but as it was, he gratefully took the next best thing, and enjoyed
his neighbor's society.</p>
<p class="indent">Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it
a relief to know that John was having a good time instead of dozing
in the parlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children.
But by and by, when the teething worry was over, and the idols went
to sleep at proper hours, leaving mamma time to rest, she began to
miss John, and find her work-basket dull company, when he was not
sitting opposite in his old dressing-gown, comfortably scorching his
slippers on the fender. She would not ask him to stay at home, but
felt injured because he did not know that she wanted him without
being told, entirely forgetting the many evenings he had waited for
her in vain. She was nervous and worn out with watching and worry,
and in that unreasonable frame of mind which the best of mothers
occasionally experience when domestic cares oppress them. Want of
exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much devotion to that
idol of American women, the teapot, makes them feel as if they were
all nerve and no muscle.</p>
<p class="indent">"Yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "I'm getting old and
ugly; John doesn't find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his
faded wife and goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances.
Well, the babies love me; they don't care if I am thin and
pale, and haven't time to crimp my hair; they are my comfort, and
some day John will see what I've gladly sacrificed for them, won't he,
my precious?"</p>
<p class="indent">To which pathetic appeal Daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi
with a crow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal
revel, which soothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain
increased as politics absorbed John, who was always running over to
discuss interesting points with Scott, quite unconscious that Meg
missed him. Not a word did she say, however, till her mother found
her in tears one day, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for
Meg's drooping spirits had not escaped her observation.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 469]</span>
"I wouldn't tell any one except you, mother; but I really do need
advice, for, if John goes on so much longer I might as well be widowed,"
replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy's bib, with an
injured air.</p>
<p class="indent">"Goes on how, my dear?" asked her mother anxiously.</p>
<p class="indent">"He's away all day, and at night, when I want to see him, he is
continually going over to the Scotts'. It isn't fair that I should have
the hardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish,
even the best of them."</p>
<p class="indent">"So are women; don't blame John till you see where you are
wrong yourself."</p>
<p class="indent">"But it can't be right for him to neglect me."</p>
<p class="indent">"Don't you neglect him?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Why, mother, I thought you'd take my part!"</p>
<p class="indent">"So I do, as far as sympathizing goes; but I think the fault is
yours, Meg."</p>
<p class="indent">"I don't see how."</p>
<p class="indent">"Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it,
while you made it a point to give him your society of an evening, his
only leisure time?"</p>
<p class="indent">"No; but I can't do it now, with two babies to tend."</p>
<p class="indent">"I think you could, dear; and I think you ought. May I speak
quite freely, and will you remember that it's mother who blames as
well as mother who sympathizes?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I often
feel as if I needed teaching more than ever since these babies look to
me for everything."</p>
<p class="indent">Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and, with a little interruption
in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovingly together,
feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than
ever.</p>
<p class="indent">"You have only made the mistake that most young wives make,—forgotten
your duty to your husband in your love for your children. A
very natural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be
remedied before you take to different ways; for children should draw
you nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 470]</span>
John had nothing to do but support them. I've seen it for some
weeks, but have not spoken, feeling sure it would come right in time."</p>
<p class="indent">"I'm afraid it won't. If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm jealous;
and I wouldn't insult him by such an idea. He doesn't see that I
want him, and I don't know how to tell him without words."</p>
<p class="indent">"Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away. My dear, he's
longing for his little home; but it isn't home without you, and you are
always in the nursery."</p>
<p class="indent">"Oughtn't I to be there?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Not all the time; too much confinement makes you nervous, and
then you are unfitted for everything. Besides, you owe something to
John as well as to the babies; don't neglect husband for children,
don't shut him out of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it.
His place is there as well as yours, and the children need him; let
him feel that he has his part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully,
and it will be better for you all."</p>
<p class="indent">"You really think so, mother?"</p>
<p class="indent">"I know it, Meg, for I've tried it; and I seldom give advice unless
I've proved its practicability. When you and Jo were little, I went
on just as you are, feeling as if I didn't do my duty unless I devoted
myself wholly to you. Poor father took to his books, after I had refused
all offers of help, and left me to try my experiment alone. I
struggled along as well as I could, but Jo was too much for me. I
nearly spoilt her by indulgence. You were poorly, and I worried
about you till I fell sick myself. Then father came to the rescue, quietly
managed everything, and made himself so helpful that I saw my
mistake, and never have been able to get on without him since. That
is the secret of our home happiness: he does not let business wean
him from the little cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to
let domestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits. Each do our
part alone in many things, but at home we work together, always."</p>
<p class="indent">"It is so, mother; and my great wish is to be to my husband and
children what you have been to yours. Show me how; I'll do anything
you say."</p>
<p class="indent">"You always were my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were you,
I'd let John have more to do with the management of Demi, for the
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 471]</span>
boy needs training, and it's none too soon to begin. Then I'd do what
I have often proposed, let Hannah come and help you; she is a capital
nurse, and you may trust the precious babies to her while you do more
housework. You need the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, and
John would find his wife again. Go out more; keep cheerful as well
as busy, for you are the sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get
dismal there is no fair weather. Then I'd try to take an interest in
whatever John likes,—talk with him, let him read to you, exchange
ideas, and help each other in that way. Don't shut yourself up in a
bandbox because you are a woman, but understand what is going on,
and educate yourself to take your part in the world's work, for it
all affects you and yours."</p>
<p class="indent">"John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if I ask
questions about politics and things."</p>
<p class="indent">"I don't believe he would; love covers a multitude of sins, and of
whom could you ask more freely than of him? Try it, and see if
he doesn't find your society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott's
suppers."</p>
<p class="indent">"I will. Poor John! I'm afraid I <i>have</i> neglected him sadly, but I
thought I was right, and he never said anything."</p>
<p class="indent">"He tried not to be selfish, but he <i>has</i> felt rather forlorn, I fancy.
This is just the time, Meg, when young married people are apt to
grow apart, and the very time when they ought to be most together;
for the first tenderness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve
it; and no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the first
years of the little lives given them to train. Don't let John be a
stranger to the babies, for they will do more to keep him safe and
happy in this world of trial and temptation than anything else, and
through them you will learn to know and love one another as you
should. Now, dear, good-by; think over mother's preachment, act
upon it if it seems good, and God bless you all!"</p>
<p class="indent">Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the
first attempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it. Of
course the children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as so on
as they found out that kicking and squalling brought them whatever
they wanted. Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but papa
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 472]</span>
was not so easily subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse
by an attempt at paternal discipline with his obstreperous son. For
Demi inherited a trifle of his sire's firmness of character,—we won't call
it obstinacy,—and when he made up his little mind to have or to do
anything, all the king's horses and all the king's men could not change
that pertinacious little mind. Mamma thought the dear too young to
be taught to conquer his prejudices, but papa believed that it never
was too soon to learn obedience; so Master Demi early discovered
that when he undertook to "wrastle" with "parpar," he always got the
worst of it; yet, like the Englishman, Baby respected the man who
conquered him, and loved the father whose grave "No, no," was
more impressive than all mamma's love-pats.</p>
<p class="indent">A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved to try a
social evening with John; so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor
in order, dressed herself prettily, and put the children to bed early,
that nothing should interfere with her experiment. But, unfortunately,
Demi's most unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed,
and that night he decided to go on a rampage; so poor Meg sung and
rocked, told stories and tried every sleep-provoking wile she could
devise, but all in vain, the big eyes wouldn't shut; and long after
Daisy had gone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch of good-nature
she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly
wide-awake expression of countenance.</p>
<p class="indent">"Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while mamma runs down and
gives poor papa his tea?" asked Meg, as the hall-door softly closed,
and the well-known step went tiptoeing into the dining-room.</p>
<p class="indent">"Me has tea!" said Demi, preparing to join in the revel.</p>
<p class="indent">"No; but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go
bye-by like Daisy. Will you, lovey?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Iss!" and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry
the desired day.</p>
<p class="indent">Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away, and
ran down to greet her husband with a smiling face, and the little blue
bow in her hair which was his especial admiration. He saw it at once,
and said, with pleased surprise,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Why, little mother, how gay we are to-night. Do you expect
company?"</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 473]</span>
"Only you, dear."</p>
<p class="indent">"Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?"</p>
<p class="indent">"No; I'm tired of being a dowdy, so I dressed up as a change.
You always make yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are;
so why shouldn't I when I have the time?"</p>
<p class="indent">"I do it out of respect to you, my dear," said old-fashioned John.</p>
<p class="indent">"Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke," laughed Meg, looking young and pretty
again, as she nodded to him over the teapot.</p>
<p class="indent">"Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times. This tastes
right. I drink your health, dear." And John sipped his tea with an air
of reposeful rapture, which was of very
short duration, however; for, as he put
down his cup, the door-handle rattled mysteriously,
and a little voice was heard, saying
impatiently,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Opy doy; me's tummin!"</p>
<p class="indent">"It's that naughty boy. I told him to
go to sleep alone, and here he is, downstairs,
getting his death a-cold pattering
over that canvas," said Meg, answering the
call.</p>
<div class="figright"> <SPAN name="b168.png" id="b168.png"></SPAN>
<ANTIMG src="images/b168.png" width-obs="255" height-obs="500" alt="Mornin' now" title="Mornin' now" /></div>
<p class="indent">"Mornin' now," announced Demi, in a
joyful tone, as he entered, with his long
night-gown gracefully festooned over his
arm, and every curl bobbing gayly as
he pranced about the table, eying the
"cakies" with loving glances.</p>
<p class="indent">"No, it isn't morning yet. You must
go to bed, and not trouble poor mamma;
then you can have the little cake with sugar on it."</p>
<p class="indent">"Me loves parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternal
knee, and revel in forbidden joys. But John shook his head,
and said to Meg,—</p>
<p class="indent">"If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him
do it, or he will never learn to mind you."</p>
<p class="indent">"Yes, of course. Come, Demi;" and Meg led her son away, feeling
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 474]</span>
a strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her,
laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as
soon as they reached the nursery.</p>
<p class="indent">Nor was he disappointed; for that short-sighted woman actually
gave him a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any
more promenades till morning.</p>
<p class="indent">"Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and
regarding his first attempt as eminently successful.</p>
<p class="indent">Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly,
when the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies
by boldly demanding,—</p>
<p class="indent">"More sudar, marmar."</p>
<p class="indent">"Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against the
engaging little sinner. "We shall never know any peace till that
child learns to go to bed properly. You have made a slave of yourself
long enough; give him one lesson, and then there will be an end
of it. Put him in his bed and leave him, Meg."</p>
<p class="indent">"He won't stay there; he never does, unless I sit by him."</p>
<p class="indent">"I'll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as
mamma bids you."</p>
<p class="indent">"S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted
"cakie," and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity.</p>
<p class="indent">"You must never say that to papa; I shall carry you if you don't
go yourself."</p>
<p class="indent">"Go 'way; me don't love parpar;" and Demi retired to his
mother's skirts for protection.</p>
<p class="indent">But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over
to the enemy, with a "Be gentle with him, John," which struck the
culprit with dismay; for when mamma deserted him, then the judgment-day
was at hand. Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic,
and borne away by a strong hand to that detested bed, poor Demi
could not restrain his wrath, but openly defied papa, and kicked and
screamed lustily all the way upstairs. The minute he was put into
bed on one side, he rolled out on the other, and made for the door,
only to be ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga, and
put back again, which lively performance was kept up till the young
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 475]</span>
man's strength gave out, when he devoted himself to roaring at the
top of his voice. This vocal exercise usually conquered Meg; but
John sat as unmoved as the post which is popularly believed to be
deaf. No coaxing, no sugar, no lullaby, no story; even the light was
put out, and only the red glow of the fire enlivened the "big dark"
which Demi regarded with curiosity rather than fear. This new order
of things disgusted him, and he howled dismally for "marmar," as his
angry passions subsided, and recollections of his tender bondwoman
returned to the captive autocrat. The plaintive wail which succeeded
the passionate roar went to Meg's heart, and she ran up to say
beseechingly,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Let me stay with him; he'll be good, now, John."</p>
<p class="indent">"No, my dear, I've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him;
and he must, if I stay here all night."</p>
<p class="indent">"But he'll cry himself sick," pleaded Meg, reproaching herself for
deserting her boy.</p>
<p class="indent">"No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off, and then the
matter is settled; for he will understand that he has got to mind.
Don't interfere; I'll manage him."</p>
<p class="indent">"He's my child, and I can't have his spirit broken by harshness."</p>
<p class="indent">"He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoilt by indulgence.
Go down, my dear, and leave the boy to me."</p>
<p class="indent">When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and
never regretted her docility.</p>
<p class="indent">"Please let me kiss him once, John?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Certainly. Demi, say 'good-night' to mamma, and let her go
and rest, for she is very tired with taking care of you all day."</p>
<p class="indent">Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory; for after
it was given, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottom
of the bed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind.</p>
<p class="indent">"Poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying. I'll cover
him up, and then go and set Meg's heart at rest," thought John,
creeping to the bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep.</p>
<p class="indent">But he wasn't; for the moment his father peeped at
him, Demi's
eyes opened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms,
saying, with a penitent hiccough, "Me's dood, now."</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 476]</span>
Sitting on the stairs, outside, Meg wondered at the long silence
which followed the uproar; and, after imagining all sorts of impossible
accidents, she slipped into the room, to set her fears at rest. Demi
lay fast asleep; not in his usual spread-eagle attitude, but in a subdued
bunch, cuddled close in the circle of his father's arm and
holding his father's finger, as if he felt that justice was tempered with
mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder and a wiser baby. So held,
John had waited with womanly patience till the little hand relaxed its
hold; and, while waiting, had fallen asleep, more tired by that tussle
with his son than with his whole day's work.</p>
<p class="indent">As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to
herself, and then slipped away again, saying, in a satisfied tone,—</p>
<p class="indent">"I never need fear that John will be too harsh with my babies: he
<i>does</i> know how to manage them, and will be a great help, for Demi <i>is</i>
getting too much for me."</p>
<p class="indent">When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachful
wife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg placidly trimming
a bonnet, and to be greeted with the request to read something
about the election, if he was not too tired. John saw in a minute that
a revolution of some kind was going on, but wisely asked no questions,
knowing that Meg was such a transparent little person, she
couldn't keep a secret to save her life, and therefore the clew would
soon appear. He read a long debate with the most amiable readiness,
and then explained it in his most lucid manner, while Meg tried to
look deeply interested, to ask intelligent questions, and keep her
thoughts from wandering from the state of the nation to the state of
her bonnet. In her secret soul, however, she decided that politics were
as bad as mathematics, and that the mission of politicians seemed to
be calling each other names; but she kept these feminine ideas to
herself, and when John paused, shook her head, and said with what
she thought diplomatic ambiguity,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Well, I really don't see what we are coming to."</p>
<p class="indent">John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty
little preparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded it with
the genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken.</p>
<p class="indent">"She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and like
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 477]</span>
millinery for hers, that's only fair," thought John the Just, adding
aloud,—</p>
<p class="indent">"That's very pretty; is it what you call a breakfast-cap?"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b169.png" id="b169.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b169.png" width-obs="523" height-obs="400" alt="My dear man, it's a bonnet" title="My dear man, it's a bonnet" /></div>
<p class="indent">"My dear man, it's a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-and-theatre
bonnet."</p>
<p class="indent">"I beg your pardon; it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one
of the fly-away things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?"</p>
<p class="indent">"These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud,
so;" and Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet, and regarding
him with an air of calm satisfaction that was irresistible.</p>
<p class="indent">"It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looks
young and happy again," and John kissed the smiling face, to the
great detriment of the rosebud under the chin.</p>
<p class="indent">"I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the new
concerts some night; I really need some music to put me in tune.
Will you, please?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like.
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 478]</span>
You have been shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and
I shall enjoy it, of all things. What put it into your head, little
mother?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how
nervous and cross and out of sorts I felt, and she said I needed
change and less care; so Hannah is to help me with the children,
and I'm to see to things about the house more, and now and then
have a little fun, just to keep me from getting to be a fidgety, broken-down
old woman before my time. It's only an experiment, John,
and I want to try it for your sake as much as for mine, because I've
neglected you shamefully lately, and I'm going to make home what it
used to be, if I can. You don't object, I hope?"</p>
<p class="indent">Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the little
bonnet had from utter ruin; all that we have any business to know, is
that John did <i>not</i> appear to object, judging from the changes which
gradually took place in the house and its inmates. It was not all
Paradise by any means, but every one was better for the division of
labor system; the children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate,
steadfast John brought order and obedience into Babydom, while
Meg recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of
wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation
with her sensible husband. Home grew home-like again, and
John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with him. The
Scotts came to the Brookes' now, and every one found the little house
a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love. Even gay
Sallie Moffatt liked to go there. "It is always so quiet and pleasant
here; it does me good, Meg," she used to say, looking about her
with wistful eyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use
it in her great house, full of splendid loneliness; for there were no
riotous, sunny-faced babies there, and Ned lived in a world of his own,
where there was no place for her.</p>
<p class="indent">This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and
Meg had found the key to it, and each year of married life taught
them how to use it, unlocking the treasuries of real home-love and
mutual helpfulness, which the poorest may possess, and the richest
cannot buy. This is the sort of shelf on which young wives and
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 479]</span>
mothers may consent to be laid, safe from the restless fret and fever
of the world, finding loyal lovers in the little sons and daughters who
cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age; walking side
by side, through fair and stormy weather, with a faithful friend, who is,
in the true sense of the good old Saxon word, the "house-band," and
learning, as Meg learned, that a woman's happiest kingdom is home,
her highest honor the art of ruling it, not as a queen, but a wise wife
and mother.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b170.png" id="b170.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b170.png" width-obs="400" height-obs="248" alt="Tail-piece" title="Tail-piece" /></div>
<hr class="hr2" />
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 480]</span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b171.png" id="b171.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b171.png" width-obs="589" height-obs="254" alt="Sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped" title="Sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/b171b.png" width-obs="246" height-obs="453" alt="Laurie threw himself down on the turf" title="Laurie threw himself down on the turf" /></div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />