Chapter II

The poor, despised mother-in-law was so unfortunate as to overhear some portion of the conversation which so nearly concerned her; and the consequence was, that in less than a week after, she left the house, bag and baggage, for the home of another daughter, who had repeatedly pressed her to come and live with her.

Mrs. Harding might have been provoked with her son-in-law, but she prudently held her tongue, and made no mention of the reason for her sudden departure.

Samuel felt quite a relief the very hour she left, and in the evening, while they were seated in the little parlor, the baby sleeping in the crib between them, he was so ungenerous and unkind as to express himself to this effect.

“But, Samuel, you can’t think how lonesome I shall be; you are in town all day,” said the poor wife.

“Well, perhaps you will be for a few days; but you will get used to it.”

Mrs. Lawton sighed.

“And then,” continued Mr. Lawton, “you have the baby to occupy the time.”

Just then there came from the cradle a single rough, ringing cough—that peculiar, metallic-sounding cough which is like the knell of death to the ear of the loving mother.

“O mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Lawton, in tremulous tones, as she sprang to the side of the cradle.

“What’s the matter Lottie?” asked Samuel.

“Didn’t you hear that cough?” and the poor mother’s frame trembled, and her teeth chattered with alarm.

“I suppose Sammy has got a little cold.”

“It’s the croup, Samuel! Do run for the doctor as quick as you can.”

“To-night?”

“O Samuel, he may be dead before morning!” and the tears coursed freely down the cheek of the anxious mother.

“Nay, Lottie, you are nervous.”

“I know it; but do go for the doctor.”

“I will go if there is any need of it; but, really, I do not see that there is;” and Samuel bent over the cradle to discover what had so alarmed his wife.

But the child still slept, and apparently breathed as freely as ever.

“Nay, Samuel, go; you know what the croup is.”

“Certainly, I will go if you wish;” and the young husband put on his overcoat and left the house.

The residence of the young merchant was in D——, a town adjoining Boston, and the physician’s house was full half a mile distant. He could hardly restrain a smile at the idea of going for a doctor when the baby had only coughed once.

Dr. F—— was fortunately at home, and the two proceeded on their return together. The physician considered the case much more serious than the inexperienced father had deemed it.

On their arrival, they found the child awake. The little patient was breathing laboriously, and occasionally that brazen cough rang from his throat.

“Croup!” said the doctor, the moment he entered the room.

“O, doctor, do you think he will die?” exclaimed the agonized mother.

“No, no, no!” replied Dr. F——, confidently.

The physician was a good-natured, good-hearted German, who was thoroughly master of his profession. He had been eminently successful in his practice, especially with children, and his words were like oil upon the troubled waters to the anxious mother.

“I am so frightened, doctor!”

“There is nothing to fear; we have the case in season, and there is no danger. Suppose you wait till to-morrow morning before you call me? I shrug my shoulders, and tell you the child must die.”

“O Samuel!” exclaimed Lottie, looking at her husband.

Mr. Lawton was appalled by the significant words. His frame shook with terror. The child was his idol. He knew nothing of the symptoms of the insidious and terrible disease that menaced the life of his darling little one; he was nervous and uneasy. Death seemed to cast a broad shadow upon his home.

The doctor gave the child a little white powder, and placed some bandages wet in cold water upon its throat and chest. The effect was instantaneous; the child instantly breathed easier. Leaving the necessary medicines, Dr. F—— took his leave, assuring the anxious parents that the little one would be nearly well by morning.

But Mr. Lawton was uneasy, and Lottie was uneasy. An undefinable dread had taken possession of their hearts. Samuel was troubled. The child breathed with a sad, groaning sound, which shook every fibre in the nervous system of the father and mother. He was conscious of their inexperience; the child might relapse, and symptoms which they did not understand might appear.

“How I wish mother was here, Samuel!” said poor Lottie, awed by the fearful responsibility that rested upon her.

Mr. Lawton had wished so before, and thought if he once more had her in the house, he would give the world to keep her there—mothers-in-law are so exceedingly useful at times!

Samuel made no reply. Even in his terrible anxiety for the life of his child, pride had not entirely deserted him.

Lottie shed a flood of tears. For the first time in her life, her husband seemed cold and unfeeling, and it was cruel in him not to second her wish in such an hour of trial.

“If he should grow worse, Samuel!” continued the poor wife. “O, I am so fearful!”

“I will go for your mother if you wish,” replied Mr. Lawton, the anguish of his wife getting the mastery of his feelings.

“She has got cold; I don’t know as she would dare to come out in the night air.”

“I will try, at least.”

Mr. Lawton left the house. Mrs. Harding’s new home was not far off. He succeeded in rousing her, and, in spite of her cold, she was ready in five minutes to accompany him.

His heart smote him as he thought how hard he had been upon her—how he had almost attempted to drive her from his roof; and in his soul he thanked God that she did not know how mean he had been.

Her advice had been good. She had spoken to him for his interest, not for her own; and if she had not spoken it exactly as he wished, why, it was only because she was human, and had infirmities, like all the rest of mankind.

In the moment of peril and trial, he felt what a blessing it was to have a mother-in-law.

Mrs. Harding soon comforted Lottie. She understood the case, and perceived that the danger was past. Her presence was like that of an angel. It restored the drooping spirits of the devoted parents, and by midnight, worn out with anxiety, they went to sleep by the side of the child, whose slumbers, though troubled, were deep and sound.

The next morning, as Dr. F—— had predicted, Sammy was nearly well, and Mr. Lawton went to his business as usual; but there was trouble brewing around him. He spent nearly all the forenoon in vain attempts to raise the money to meet one of his notes which came due that day. He was unsuccessful, and, worn out and dispirited by his anxiety on the previous night, he gave up in despair, and went home, resolved to let the note be protested.

“You come home early, Samuel,” said his wife.

The young merchant made no reply, but threw himself, with a heavy sigh, into a chair.

“Why, what’s the matter, Samuel?”

“I am ruined, Lottie!” replied he, gloomily. “I must fail. This is the last day of grace, and I have left a note to be protested.”

Lottie was appalled by this intelligence. Mrs. Harding, who sat by the fire, holding little Sammy, merely glanced at him. She did not use those awful words, “I knew it would be so.”

“Mother, you were right; I have been too fast,” said Mr. Lawton, gazing sheepishly at her. “I thought very hard of you for telling me I lived better than I could afford; but you were right; I may as well own it.”

“I am sorry for you, Samuel. How much is the note?” said Mrs. Harding, with a gentle look—a look so kind and forgiving that it wrung his soul.

“Eight hundred dollars,” replied Lawton.

“Will you take the baby a moment, Lottie?” continued Mrs. Harding, who, giving Sammy into the hands of his mother, went to the secretary, and wrote a check on her bank for the amount.

“Why, mother, you wrong yourself,” exclaimed the astonished Lawton, as she handed him the check.

“Take it, Samuel; pay your note, and live and learn,” replied she, with a benignant smile.

Lawton took the money, and hastened back to the city to pay his note. His credit was saved, and hope again smiled upon him.

In the course of conversation that evening, Lawton was so far humiliated as to make this remark,—

“Mother, you will come and live with us again, won’t you?”

“What! after you have wished me out of the house?” replied Mrs. Harding, with a smile. “I heard your conversation the other day.”

“Forgive me, mother.”

“Perhaps, Samuel, I am not always just as I ought to be; but we all have our weaknesses. I mean to do right.”

“I know you do; I understand you now. Last night and to-day have taught me your value; and if I had heeded your counsel, I need not have been pressed for money to-day. Forgive me, mother.”

“Freely, Samuel. I live only to make my children happy.”

Mrs. Harding resumed her residence at Lottie’s, and from that time to this she has been appreciated. Mr. Lawton learned a lesson. The long proposed retrenchment was executed, and the prospect now is that he will die a rich man, if he don’t die too soon.

We were provoked to write this sketch by that contemptible squib from Punch, to the effect that Adam was a happy man because he had no mother-in-law. If Cain or Abel, in their babyhood, had the croup, measles, whooping cough, or any thing of that sort, we warrant he sighed for that squib-ridden, conundrum-defamed commodity—a MOTHER-IN-LAW.