"Tired of all earth's playthings,
Heartsick and ready to sleep--
Ready to bid our friends farewell,
Wondering why they weep.
"Passing out of the shadow
Into eternal day--
Why do we call it dying,
This sweet going away?"
CHAPTER XIV.
TRIBULATIONS OF A WIDOWER.
But we must descend from the sublime to the stern realities of this
workaday world. Of all the people on this earth, a lone, lorn widower
with three babies on his hands, is the most forlorn and miserable.
Take care of them himself he cannot, and if he hires the ordinary
woman to do so, she immediately sets her cap for him, and leaves
no stone unturned to secure him for a husband, especially if he is
possessed of some of this world's goods which she covets with all her
mind and soul.
Words are inadequate to describe the annoyances I endured for two
weary years from this class of women, who seemed to be the only
ones who would come to a lonely country home to assume such
responsibilities and endless labors. The world seemed full of these
anxious but not aimless women, who claimed to adore little children;
but who really cared for nothing except to capture a "widower with
means."
One nurse carelessly slipped on the stairs, and the twins went flying
from her arms through the air down the long passageway, apparently
to their death; only a miracle saved them. I picked up the little
wingless cherubs, scarcely bigger than my fist, and their blue eyes
smiled at me, as if they had really enjoyed their aerial flight.
Pages:
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116