Part 17 (2/2)

”Of course!” cried the bride, quite as innocently. ”She couldn't have married him otherwise.”

”And was Hopewell their only child?”

”Yes. He seldom saw his father, but he fairly wors.h.i.+ped him. His father was a handsome man--and he used to play his violin for Hopewell.

It was this very instrument my husband prizes so greatly now. When Mr.

Drugg died the violin was hid away for years in the garret.

”You've heard how Hopewell found it, and strung it himself, and used to play on it slyly, and so taught himself to be a fiddler, before his mother had any idea he knew one note from another. She was extremely deaf at the last and could not hear him playing at odd times, up in the attic.”

”My!” said Janice, ”he must have really loved music.”

”It was his only comfort,” said the wife softly. ”When he was twenty-one what little property his father had left came to him. But his mother did not put the violin into the inventory; so Hopewell said: 'Give me the fiddle and you can have the rest.'”

”He loved it so!” murmured Janice appreciatively:

”Yes. I guess that was almost the only time in his life that Hopewell really a.s.serted himself. With his mother, at least. She was a very stubborn woman, and very stern; more so than my own mother. But Mrs.

Drugg had to give in to him about the violin, for she needed Hopewell to run the store for her. They had little other means.

”But she made him marry 'Cinda Stone,” added 'Rill. ”Poor 'Cinda! she was never happy. Not that Hopewell did not treat her well. You know, Janice, he is the sweetest-tempered man that ever lived.

”And that is what hurts me more than anything else,” sobbed the bride, dabbling her eyes with her handkerchief. ”When they say Hopewell gets intoxicated, and is cruel to me and to Lottie, it seems as though--as though I could scratch their eyes out!”

For a moment Hopewell's wife looked so spiteful, and her eyes snapped so, that Janice wanted to laugh. Of course, she did not do so. But to see the mild and sweet-tempered 'Rill display such venom was amusing.

The store door opened with a bang. The girl and the woman both started up, Lottie remaining asleep.

”Hus.h.!.+ Never mind!” whispered Janice to 'Rill. ”I'll wait on the customer.”

When she went out into the front of the store, she saw that the figure which had entered was in a glistening slicker. It had begun to rain.

”Why, Frank Bowman! Is it you?” she asked, in surprise.

”Oh! how-do, Janice! I didn't expect to find you here.”

”Nor I you. What are you doing away up here on the hill?” Janice asked.

Frank Bowman did not look himself. The girl could not make out what the trouble with him was, and she was puzzled.

”I guess you forgot I told you I was moving,” he said hesitatingly.

”Oh, I remember! And you've moved up into this neighborhood?”

”Not exactly. I am going to lodge with the Threads, but I shall continue to eat Marm Parraday's cooking.”

”The Threads?” murmured Janice.

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