Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason Corner Folks Part 10

To Alice, the case seemed almost hopeless. Here was a man who, owning his past life had been self-reliant, independent, impatient as regarded advice and control--was now weaker than a child, for, in youth, Faith is triumphant.

"You must have a talk with Quincy, Uncle. Perhaps he can help you." She went down stairs with a sinking heart. She loved her uncle, but love, powerful as it is, cannot always cast out unbelief.

"Where can your husband be, Alice?" asked Mandy. "Half-past six, and supper's ready. I remember how I used to call out 'supper's ready'

when you and he were in the parlour singing. I hope you'll sing some to-night."

Mrs. Crowley rushed into the dining room. "He's coming, but he's got a woman with him."

"Who can she be?" thought Alice as they followed Mrs. Crowley to the front door.

"h.e.l.lo, Alice," cried Maude. "I've brought him back with me."

Quincy told Ambrose, Mandy's boy-of-all-work, to drive the team to the Hawkins' House and tell Mrs. Hawkins that he wished a room that night for his sister. Ambrose's hand clutched the half-dollar tightly as he repeated the message to Quincy's satisfaction. Mrs. Crowley gazed admiringly at the Governor until he disappeared from view. Alone, in the kitchen, she gave vent to her feelings.

"The foine gintleman that he is. 'How do you do, Mrs. Crowley.' sez he, and he shakes me hand as jintly as if I was a born lady. And the pretty sister that he has, an' the beautiful wife. An' he's the President of the State, an' sez he, 'Mrs. Crowley, how do you do, an' it's delighted I am to see you again.'"

Mrs. Crowley wiped her eyes with her ap.r.o.n and resumed her household duties, occasionally repeating, "'How do you do, Mrs. Crowley.' When Dan comes to-night I'll tell him what the Governor said."

Hiram soon joined the party, it being his night off. As of old, he stammered, or stuttered, when excited, and the sight of Quincy and Alice was enough to entirely disorganize his speaking apparatus.

"Ain't this jolly?" said he. "Just like old times. I heerd you was at Miss Hawkinses, but I didn't think as how you'd git round here so quick.

But we're mighty glad to see 'em, ain't we, Mandy? I hope you're all as hungry as I am." He went to the kitchen door and called, "Mrs. Crowley, we're waiting for the supper."

"How I wish Uncle Ike could be with us," said Alice.

"Why can't you call him?" asked Quincy.

"He's too weak in his legs to come down," said Mandy.

"I'll fetch him," and Quincy bounded up stairs, while Mandy got a place ready for him.

Quincy soon returned with Uncle Ike in his arms and placed him in a big arm-chair at the head of the table.

Alice looked up and smiled at her husband.

"Now it is much more like old times," she said, softly.

Maude, who had been an interested listener and spectator, finally exclaimed, "I'm not surprised that you stayed down here four months, Quincy, but we used to wonder, until we saw Alice, what the great attraction was."

Maude's explosive remark caused a general laugh in which Uncle Ike joined. Alice, feeling that all eyes were fixed upon her, blushed prettily, "As my husband's residence here brought good to others as well as to myself, I am glad that a poor, blind girl, such as I was, proved an attraction strong enough to keep him here."

She stopped, somewhat abashed at making so long a speech, which Maude might think indicated that she was offended at her sister-in-law's reference to herself.

"Bravo, Alice," cried Uncle Ike, "so say we all of us."

After supper all adjourned to the parlour. Quincy offered to carry Uncle Ike.

"No, young man. I'm all right on an even floor. It's these up and down stairs that tire my loose joints"--and he made his way, without a.s.sistance, to an easy chair in a farther corner. Quincy looked about the room. Five years had made little change. The old square piano was in its accustomed place, as well as the music stand. He looked over the pieces--the same ones that he and Alice had sung together years ago.

"Let's have some music," said Hiram. "We haven't heard any singers, except Dan, since you folks went away. Guess that pianner's out of tune by this time."

It certainly was, but their hearts were in tune, and it mattered little if some of the keys refused to move, or the sounds emitted were more discordant than melodious.

"Is this Dan a good singer?" asked Quincy.

"Fine!" exclaimed Hiram. "He's great on Irish songs."

"They are always humourous or pathetic," remarked Alice. "Some of them remind me of a person trying to laugh with a heart full of sorrow, and their love songs are so sweet."

"Can't we have him in?" asked Maude.

"I'll go and see if he's come," said Mandy. "He often drops in and helps Mrs. Crowley clear up after supper."

Maude laughed. "A sure sign he's in love. I hope I'll get such a helpful husband."

"Your life will be on different lines," remarked Uncle Ike. "You will not be obliged to do your own housework."

"I don't know about that. I've loafed all my life and I'd really like to know what work is."

Mandy came back with smiling face. "Yes, he's there, and they're putting the dishes in the closet. He's coming in, and, of course, Mrs. Crowley will come too."

"While we are waiting, play something, Maude," said Quincy.

"I only took three quarters," she said roguishly, as she seated herself and dashed off "Waves of Ocean" in strident style.

"I always liked that," said Hiram.

"So do I, with my bathing-dress on," and Maude acknowledged the applause that greeted her efforts with a low bow.

The door was opened, and Mrs. Crowley entered followed by Mr. Daniel Sweeney. Mrs. Crowley with her neat calico dress and white ap.r.o.n, did not look her forty-five years, and Mr. Sweeney, although five years her senior, was a young appearing man.

"I haven't the music with me," said Mr. Sweeney to Maude, who offered to play the accompaniment.

"Give me the key--I guess I can vamp it."

Mr. Sweeney struck a note.

"What's the t.i.tle?" asked Maude.

"Widow Mahan's Pig."

"Oh, I know that," said Maude. "It's one of my favourites. I often sing it to my sister Florence. She just adores it."

"Why, Maude," cried Alice, "how can you tell such stories?" But Quincy was laughing quietly. But few people understood Maude as he did.

Mr. Sweeney had a fine baritone voice; he sang with great expression, and, what is particularly desirable in a comic song, the words could be heard and understood.

I.