PAGE 7
A Second Spring
by
“Why, I’ve only been waiting to hear of a proper person,” said Israel Haydon, turning an innocent and aggrieved countenance upon his son. “My house is in a terrible state, now I can tell you.”
William looked away and tried to keep his face steady.
“What do you find to laugh at?” asked the poor father, in the tone of a schoolmaster.
“Don’t you know I spoke of somebody to you? I believe ‘t was the very day after the funeral,” said William persuasively. “Her name is Maria Durrant.”
“I remember the person well; an excellent, sensible woman, no flummery, and did remarkable well in case of sickness at your house,” said Mr. Haydon, with enthusiasm, stepping briskly toward the wagon after he had shut and fastened the wood-house doors and put the padlock key in his pocket. “What of her? You said there was no chance of getting her, didn’t you?”
“I was afraid so; but she’s left her brother’s folks now, and come to stop a little while with Marilla. She’s at the house this minute; came last night. You know, Marilla’s very fond of having her cousins come to stop with her,” apologized the son, in fear lest his simple plot should be discovered and resented. “You can see if she’s such a person as you want. I have been thinking all day that she might do for a time, anyway.”
“Anybody’ll do,” said Mr. Haydon suddenly. “I tell ye, William, I’m drove to the wall. I feel to covet a good supper; an’ I’m ashamed to own it, a man o’ my property! I’ll observe this Miss Durrant, an’ speak with her after tea; perhaps she’d have the sense to come right over to-morrow. You an’ Marilla can tell her how I’ve been situated. I wa’n’t going to have no such persons in my house as were recommended,” he grumbled on cheerfully. “I don’t keep a town-farm for the incapable, nor do I want an old grenadier set over me like that old maid Smith. I ain’t going to be turned out of my own house.”
They drove along the road slowly, and presently the ever-interesting subject of crops engaged their further attention. When they turned into William Haydon’s side yard a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman, in a neat black dress and a big clean white apron, sat on the piazza with Marilla and the children. Israel Haydon’s heart felt lighter than it had for many a week. He went and shook hands with Maria Durrant, with more than interest and approval; there was even a touch of something like gallantry in his manner. William Haydon glanced at his wife and gave an unconscious sigh of relief.
The next morning Miss Durrant helped with the early work, talking with William’s wife as she went to and fro busily in the large kitchen, and listening to all that could be said of the desperate state of affairs at the old farm. The two women so doubled their diligence by working together that it was still early in the day when Maria, blushing noticeably, said that she thought there was no use in waiting until afternoon, as old Mr. Haydon had directed. There must be plenty to do; and the sooner the house was put to rights and some cooking got under way the better. She had her old calico dress all on, and she deemed it best to go over and go right to work.
“There! I don’t know what to say, Maria,” said Marilla Haydon doubtfully. “Father Haydon’s such a set person.”
“So be I,” rejoined Maria. “And who knows how bad those rooms need airing! I’ve thought of twenty things that ought to be done right off, before night. Or I could work a spell in the gardin if he don’t seem to want me in the house. Now, wa’n’t it affectin’ to hear him let on that he’d gone an’ made poor Mis’ Haydon’s flower gardin same’s he’d always done? It showed real feelin’, didn’t it? I am goin’ to take holt over there as if ‘t was for her as well as for him. That time I was here so long, when you was so sick, I did just admire Mis’ Haydon. She was a beautiful-looking woman, and so pretty-behaved; quiet, but observin’. I never saw a man age as William’s father has; it made my heart ache when I first caught sight of him driving into the yard last night.”