Elsie's Widowhood Part 33

"I ought not to ask it of you: Jacob here can give me an arm."

"No," said Edward, "let Jacob take this opportunity for a bath, and we will fill his place in waiting upon you."

The invalid yielded, and found himself moved with far more ease and comfort than he had believed possible.

The ladies--his wife, perhaps, excepted, greeted him with smiles and pleasant words of welcome. They had arranged a couch with their waterproofs and shawls, far enough from the water's edge to be secure from the waves, and here the lads laid him down with gentle carefulness.

Mrs. Perkins seated herself at his head and shaded his face from the sun with her umbrella, while the others grouped themselves about, near enough to carry on a somewhat disjointed conversation in spite of the noise of the waters.

"I think a sunbath will really be good for you, Mr. Moses," said Miss Keith.

"It's worth trying anyhow," he answered, with a patient smile. "And it's a real treat to do so in such pleasant company. But don't any of you lose your bath for me. I've seen a number go in, and I suppose this is about the best time."

"Just as the ladies say," was the gallant rejoinder of the young men.

"I do not care to bathe to-day," Violet said with decision. "The rest of you may go, and I will stay and take are of Mr. Moses."

"Well, I'll go then. He'll not be wanting anything." said his wife.

"Ain't the rest of you coming, ladies and gentlemen?"

After some discussion, all went but Mrs. Perkins and Violet, and they were left alone with the invalid.

Vi had conceived a great pity for him, great disgust for the selfish, unsympathizing wife.

"How different from mamma!" she said to herself. "She never would have wearied of waiting upon papa if he had been so afflicted; she would have wanted to be beside him, comforting him every moment. And how sweetly it would have been done."

"Little lady," the old man said, with a longing look into the sweet girlish face, "will you sing me that song again? It was the most delightful, consoling thing I've heard for many a day."

"Yes, indeed, sir; I would do anything in my power to help you to forget your pain," she said, coloring with pleasure.

She sang the whole of the one he had asked for, then perceiving how greatly he enjoyed it, several others of like character.

He listened intently, sometimes with tears in his eyes, and thanking her warmly again and again.

Finding that the old gentleman felt brighter and more free from pain during the rest of the day, and thought he had received benefit from his visit to the beach, the lads helped him there again the next day.

They set him down, then wandered away, leaving him in the care of the same group of ladies who had gathered round him the day before.

Each one was anxious to do something for his relief or entertainment, and he seemed both pleased with their society and grateful for their attentions.

Mrs. Perkins suggested that the lame hand might be benefited by burying it in the sand while he sat there.

"No harm in trying it, anyhow," he said. "Just turn me round a little, Maria, if you please."

His wife complied promptly with the request, but in a way which the other ladies thought rough and unfeeling, seizing him by the collar of his coat and jerking him round to the desired position.

But he made no complaint.

"I think it does ease the pain," he said after a little. "I'm only sorry I can't try it every day for a while."

"What is there to hinder?" asked Mrs. Perkins.

"Why, we're going to-morrow," replied Mrs. Moses, shortly.

"Oh, why not stay longer? You have been here but a week, and Mr. Moses has improved quite a good deal in that time."

"Well, he can stay as long as he chooses, but I'm going to New York to-morrow to visit my sister."

The ladies urged her to stay for her poor husband's sake, but she was not to be persuaded, and he was unwilling to remain without her.

"Take some sand with you, then, to bury his hand in, won't you?" said Mrs. Perkins.

"I haven't anything to carry it in," was the ungracious reply.

"Those newspapers."

"I want to read them."

"Well, if we find something to put it in, and get it all ready for you, will you take it in your trunk?"

"Yes, I'll do that."

"I have a good sized paper box which will answer the purpose, I think,"

said Mary Keith. "I'll get it."

She hastened to the house, returned again in a few moments with the box, and they proceeded to fill it, sifting the sand carefully through their fingers to remove every pebble.

"You are taking a great deal of trouble for me, ladies," the old gentleman remarked.

"No trouble at all, sir," said Mary; "it's a real pleasure to do anything we can for you: especially remembering the Master's words, 'Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.'"

CHAPTER XXI.

"How happy they Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, Steal to look down where nought but ocean strives."

--_Byron._

Violet was alone, lying on the bed, resting after her bath, not asleep, but thinking dreamily of home and mother.

"Only one more day and my week here will be up," she was saying to herself. "I've had a delightful time, but oh I want to see mamma and the rest!"

Just then the door opened and Mary came in with a face all smiles. "O Vi, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed, seating herself on the side of the bed.

"What about, cousin?" Violet asked, rousing herself, and with a keen look of interest.

"I have just had the offer of a furnished cottage for two or three weeks--to keep house in, you understand--and I can invite several friends to stay with me, and it won't cost half so much as boarding here, beside being great fun," Mary answered, talking very fast in her excitement and delight. "Charlie will stay with me, I think, and I hope you and Edward will, and I have two girl friends at home whom I shall invite. One is an invalid, and needs the change, oh so badly; but though they are not exactly poor people, not the kind one would dare offer charity to, her father couldn't afford to give her even a week at any of these hotels or boarding-houses: and she did look so wistful and sad when I bade her good-bye. 'I can hardly help envying you, Mary,' she said, 'though I am ever so glad you are going. But I have such a longing to get away from home for a while--to go somewhere, anywhere, for a change. I'm so weak and miserable, and it seems to me that if I could only go away I should get well. I haven't been outside of this town for years.'"