บทที่ บทที่ 38 · ON THE SHELF

. ON THE SHELF

In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married,

when ‘Vive la liberte!’ becomes their motto. In America, as everyone

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.”

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.

As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very

strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter

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 gaily 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 a 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.

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 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.

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.

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 workbasket 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.

“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?”

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.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone except you, Mother, but I really do need

advice, for if John goes on much longer I might as well be widowed,”

replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy’s bib with an injured

air.

“Goes on how, my dear?” asked her mother anxiously.

“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.”

“So are women. Don’t blame John till you see where you are wrong

yourself.”

“But it can’t be right for him to neglect me.”

“Don’t you neglect him?”

“Why, Mother, I thought you’d take my part!”

“So I do, as far as sympathizing goes, but I think the fault is yours,

Meg.”

“I don’t see how.”

“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?”

“No, but I can’t do it now, with two babies to tend.”

“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?”

“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.”

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.

“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

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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Oughtn’t I to be there?”

“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 a

part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be

better for you all.”

“You really think so, Mother?”

“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 spoiled 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.”

“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.”

“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 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.”

“John is so sensible, I’m afraid he will think I’m stupid if I ask

questions about politics and things.”

“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.”

“I will. Poor John! I’m afraid I have neglected him sadly, but I

thought I was right, and he never said anything.”

“He tried not to be selfish, but he has 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 to 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.”

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 soon as they

found out that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted.

Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but Papa 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.

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 sang and rocked, told

stories and tried every sleep-prevoking 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.

“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 tip-toeing into the dining room.

“Me has tea!” said Demi, preparing to join in the revel.

“No, but I’ll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you’ll go

bye-bye like Daisy. Will you, lovey?”

“Iss!” and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry the

desired day.

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, “Why, little mother, how gay we are

tonight. Do you expect company?”

“Only you, dear.”

“Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?”

“No, I’m tired of being 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?”

“I do it out of respect for you, my dear,” said old-fashioned John.

“Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke,” laughed Meg, looking young and pretty

again, as she nodded to him over the teapot.

“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...

“Opy doy. Me’s tummin!”

“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.

“Mornin’ now,” announced Demi in joyful tone as he entered, with his

long nightgown gracefully festooned over his arm and every curl bobbing

gayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing the ‘cakies’ with loving

glances.

“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.”

“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...

“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.”

“Yes, of course. Come, Demi,” and Meg led her son away, feeling 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.

Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gave him

a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any more

promenades till morning.

“Iss!” said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and

regarding his first attempt as eminently successful.

Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when

the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies

by boldly demanding, “More sudar, Marmar.”

“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.”

“He won’t stay there, he never does unless I sit by him.”

“I’ll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as Mamma

bids you.”

“S’ant!” replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted

‘cakie’, and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity.

“You must never say that to Papa. I shall carry you if you don’t go

yourself.”

“Go ’way, me don’t love Parpar.” and Demi retired to his mother’s

skirts for protection.

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 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...

“Let me stay with him, he’ll be good now, John.”

“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.”

“But he’ll cry himself sick,” pleaded Meg, reproaching herself for

deserting her boy.

“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.”

“He’s my child, and I can’t have his spirit broken by harshness.”

“He’s my child, and I won’t have his temper spoiled by indulgence. Go

down, my dear, and leave the boy to me.”

When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and never

regretted her docility.

“Please let me kiss him once, John?”

“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.”

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.

“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.

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.”

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 spreadeagle 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 wiser baby. So held, John had waited

with a 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.

As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to

herself, and then slipped away again, saying in a satisfied tone, “I

never need fear that John will be too harsh with my babies. He does

know how to manage them, and will be a great help, for Demi is getting

too much for me.”

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 clue 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, “Well, I really don’t see what we are coming to.”

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.

“She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I’ll try and like

millinery for hers, that’s only fair,” thought John the Just, adding

aloud, “That’s very pretty. Is it what you call a breakfast cap?”

“My dear man, it’s a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-and-theater

bonnet.”

“I beg your pardon, it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one of

the flyaway things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?”

“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.

“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.

“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?”

“Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like. 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?”

“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?”

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 not 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 everyone 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 homelike again, and

John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with him. The Scotts

came to the Brookes’ now, and everyone found the little house a

cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love. Even

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.

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 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 as a wise wife and mother.