RICHES TAKE TO THEMSELVES WINGS.

"Ah, Grey, my child," said little Mrs Bolter, with a loud burst of sobbing, as soon as they were alone, "if ever you marry, don't marry a medical man! I try so hard--Heaven knows how hard--not to let such thoughts come into my mind; but I've altered terribly, my dear, since I was married. The doctor has made me love him very much; and it's being so fond of him that has caused this dreadful jealous feeling to spring up; and it finds vent in my being snappish to him, and complaining about all sorts of trifles that are of no consequence at all!"

"But you ought not to let such thoughts come into your mind," said Grey, reproachfully.

"I know I ought not, my dear," said the unhappy little body, clinging to her young friend's hand; "but they will come. It's just as if I were being tempted by mocking spirits, which keep on pretending to open my eyes when the doctor is out."

"Open your eyes, dear Mrs Bolter?" said Grey, who found relief for her own sore heart in trying to soothe another's.

"Yes, my dear. I'm confessing quite openly to you now, my dear; but I know that you will never betray me. They seem to open my eyes to all sorts of things, and make me see the doctor, when he is called in to ladies, taking their bands and feeling their pulses; and oh, my dear, it is very dreadful to sit at home and think that your husband is holding some handsome woman's hand and wrist, and feeling the beatings of her pulses, and perhaps all the time forgetting that he has a poor, anxious little wife at home thinking he is so long away!"

"When that same husband loves you very dearly, and is most likely longing to be back by your side," said Grey, reproachfully.

"If one could only feel that," said Mrs Bolter, "instead of being in such torture and misery, and wishing a hundred times a day that I had never listened to the doctor, and given up our quiet little home!"

"When you have come out to make his life so happy?" said Grey, smiling.

"I try to, my dear; but I can't help thinking sometimes," said the poor little woman, pathetically, "that his heart is more devoted to Solomon's gold--"

"Oh, Mrs Bolter!"

"And apes."

"My dear Mrs Bolter!"

"And peac.o.c.ks," sobbed the little woman, "than it is to me. Ah, my dear, when you marry--"

"I shall never marry, Mrs Bolter," said Grey, with a sad ring in her voice.

"Oh, you don't know, my child. I used to say so, and think that I was as firm as a rock, and as hard as iron; but, oh, these men--these men-- when once you listen to their dreadful, insinuating talk, they seem to get the better of your proper judgment, and end by completely turning you round their finger."

Grey smiled in her face and kissed her.

"There, there!" cried Mrs Bolter, changing her tone, "I am afraid I have lowered myself terribly in your eyes this morning, my dear. I'm growing into a very, very strange creature, and dreadfully weak! Those torturing thoughts keep suggesting to my foolish heart that the doctor has gone up the river on purpose to see the Inche Maida!"

"Oh, no; he cannot!" said Grey, smiling.

"Well, perhaps not, my dear; but whether or no, if he was to come back now, and confess that he had done so, I feel perfectly certain that, after scolding him well, I should forgive him. I've grown to be a very different body to the one you knew when you used to come to us from the Miss Twettenhams'."

"Now, look here, dear Mrs Bolter," said Grey, who, in her friend's trouble, seemed to have changed places with her, and become the elder of the two, "I believe Dr Bolter to be a really good, true man, to whom I should go in trouble and speak to as if he were my father, sure that he would be kind and wise, and help and protect me, whether my trouble were mental or bodily."

"My dear," cried Mrs Bolter, gazing at her with admiration, "you talk like a little Solomon! Ah!" she cried impatiently, "I wish there had never been a Solomon at all!"

"Why?" said Grey, wonderingly.

"Because then Harry would never have been always dreaming about gold, and Tarshish and Ophir, and all that stuff!"

"My dear Mrs Bolter," continued Grey, affectionately, "I feel that I am perfectly right about Doctor Bolter, and I hope you will not be hurt when I tell you that I think you are very hard and unjust to him!"

"Hurt, my darling!" sobbed the little woman, "no, indeed I am very grateful, my dear, and I wish you would scold me well. It would do me good!"

"I am sure, then, without scolding you," said Grey, smiling, "that the doctor is one of the best of men!"

"He is--he is, indeed, my dear!" cried Mrs Bolter; "and I'm sure I'd forgive him anything!"

"And you have nothing to forgive," said Grey. "I am sure of it; and I hope and pray that you will not be so unjust!"

"Do you think I am unjust, my dear?" said the little lady.

"Unintentionally, yes," replied Grey; "and it is such, a pity that there should be clouds in such a happy home!"

"You--you are--a dear little angel of goodness, Grey!" sobbed Mrs Bolter; "and you seem to come like sunshine into my poor, weak, foolish heart; and I'll never be suspicious or unkind to him again! He's only studying a little up the river of course; and I'm--as you've shown me--a weak, foolish, cruel--"

"Affectionate, loving wife," interrupted Grey, who felt herself crushed the next moment in little Mrs Bolter's arms.

"Bless you, my dear!" she cried. "I'll--"

"Hush!" whispered Grey. "Here is my father!" The little lady hastily wiped her eyes as she glanced through the veranda, and saw the bent, thin, dried-up figure of the old merchant coming through the burning sunshine past the window, and then he stopped and tapped at the door.

"May I come in?" he said. "I'm not a patient."

"Yes, yes, come in!" cried Mrs Bolter, cheerfully.

"How do--how do?" he cried, on entering. "Weel, Grey bairnie, how is it with ye?"

He kissed her in his dry fashion, smiling slightly as he smoothed his child's fair hair, and bending down to kiss her.

"I'm verra hot, and verra dry and parched up like, so I thought I'd joost step in and ask for a gla.s.s of watter, and joost a soospeeshun of the doctor's bad whuskee to kill the insects."

"Which I'm sure you shall have, Mr Stuart," cried little Mrs Bolter, eagerly.

"Weel, Grey, my bairnie, ye look red in your een and pale, when you ought to be verra happy to think things are all so pleasant and smooth for you."

"Indeed, I try to be very happy and contented, father," she said, with a slight catching of the breath.

"Try," he cried, "try? Why, it ought to want no trying; you ought to be as happy as the day is long."

"For shame, Mr Stuart," cried Mrs Bolter, handing him the large cool tumbler of water with the whiskey already in. "Would you have her show no sympathy for people who are all in trouble? It's a weary, miserable world, and I wonder you can look as happy as you do."

"Hoot--toot, Madam! weary miserable world! Here are you with the best of husbands. You ought to be ready to jump for joy."

"But I'm not," said the little woman, pa.s.sionately. "But I'm not so miserable as I was."

"That's a comfort," said the little merchant, drily; and he took a sip from his tumbler--a goodly sip--as if he intended to finish all that was there. "Hech! madam, ye didna forget the whuskee."

"Is it too strong, Mr Stuart? Let me put in a little more water."

"Mair watter! nay; ye'd spoil a verra decent drink for a hot day."