Chapter XXVII: How Things Came About

THE next evening Mrs. Stuart asked abruptly of her son—

"Seen any of the Dunns to-day?"

"Just for a minute." Archie questioned with himself what might be coming next.

"Nancy Dunn?"

"Yes, mother. I'd hardly a word with her, though."

"And you're hankering after her just as much as ever?"

"Mother, there isn't another girl like Nancy in all the whole world! I give you my word for it," said Archie earnestly.

Mrs. Stuart began to sob.

"It isn't my way to give in," she said. "I'm not one o' those folks that's for ever chopping and changing. When I says a thing, I mean it, and I keep to it. And I did say I'd never have you marry Nancy Dunn. I didn't think her good enough. Nor I don't. Leastways, her father isn't your father's equal."

"Oh, bother!" broke out Archie.

"Yes, it's easy to say 'bother!'" she retorted, rather disposed to flare up. She had been somewhat irritable all day—no unusual state of things in the earlier stages of trouble, or of any marked change in heart and life. "But if you'd have a bit of patience and hear me out, you'd maybe speak in a different sort of way."

"Yes, mother," Archie said meekly, a sudden hope springing up.

"I did say I wouldn't have it," repeated Mrs. Stuart; "and I meant it too, and I'd have kept to my word. But he—he came in to see me, just the very same day he died—he did, Archie, that very afternoon. And I made him a cup o' tea, and he said—he said—I was the best tea-maker—"

"Yes, yes, mother, I know," said Archie, as she broke out crying. "You told me all that."

"And if I did," she retorted, "there was something else I didn't tell you nor nobody, and didn't mean to neither, till I'd made up my mind what to do. And I couldn't make it up till yesterday, when I was standing in the crowd, and all of 'em in black, and everybody crying round me, and Nancy Dunn with her pretty face all blistered—for there's no denying she's got a pretty face."

"Yes," assented Archie, with much warmth.

"It gave me a sort of a fellow-feeling with her, and I won't deny it," said Mrs. Stuart. "And it sort of made me think of his talking to me like that, about you and she, and how he hoped she'd be a good wife to you one day."

"Did he?" cried Archie.

"Yes, he did," said Mrs. Stuart, heaving another sigh. "And I won't deny as I was a bit grumpy, not thinking as it was the last time I'd ever see him again. O dear, dear me! To be sure! And the very last words he says, as he was going out of the door—looking so bad, for all he was better for the tea, as I'm sure I'd a foreboding in my mind it couldn't be long—and the very last words he says to me was how he wished I'd give in and let it be."

"And you will, won't you?" begged Archie.

"I'm not one to give in easy," repeated Mrs. Stuart. "But seeing it was, as one may say, his last wish, it do make a difference. And I won't deny neither that I've maybe been too stiff; and got to learn to be different. And understanding you don't mean to think of marrying for many a year to come—"

"Marrying! No," cried Archie. "Not yet, mother. Not till I'm earning enough to keep you and she too in comfort. But I do want to have her promise. I want to know she's safe to be my wife by-and-by."

"Folks chop and change," said Mrs. Stuart. "I'd sooner you'd keep yourself free. Maybe you'll get tired of it, or she'll change her mind. But there, you're set on the girl, and he wanted me to give in, and I'm not going to stand out against you no longer. So you just go and see Nancy Dunn, and say whatever you like, and have it settled."

Perhaps the consent might have been more graciously worded; but Archie was far too glad to be critical. He felt almost ashamed of his own gladness, at a time when everybody else was sad; yet doubtless it was only natural, and it did not prevent his sharing in the sorrow of others for the loss they had all endured.

That same evening, Archie made his way to Woodbine Cottage, and told the Dunns about his mother's newly-given permission. Nannie looked hardly so pretty as usual, for her face was still blistered with many tears, and they threatened to flow fast again when she heard of Mr. Wilmot's last call on Mrs. Stuart.

"It don't seem as if we'd ought to think about ourselves yet," she faltered. But Archie could not take that view of the question.

"I've waited ever so long, and mother's willing at last," he said. No doubt the few months that he had been acquainted with Nancy did really seem long at his age. "You won't put me off, will you, Nancy? Say she won't, Mrs. Dunn. I do want to have it a settled thing. And you've as good as told me already you'd say 'Yes' if my mother didn't make difficulties. I don't mean that I'm thinking of marrying yet awhile. I've got my mother to keep, you know. But by-and-by—"

"It'll have to be a good long by-and-by, I shouldn't wonder," observed Dunn. "Mind you, Archie, I'm willing to have it all fair and straight between you and Nannie. I do believe it'll be for her happiness and yours too, please God. There was a time when I wouldn't have been so willing. But I do believe it's your wish now to be a servant of God."

"Yes," Archie answered heartily. "And if I may have Nannie, why, I hope she and I'll be able to serve God together, Dunn."

"That's it, lad. If I didn't think so, I'd be loth enough to give her to you. But look you here, there's something else I've got to say. You've got your mother to keep, and it's right you should do it. She cared for you, and you must care for her."

"But I hope I'll soon be making enough to keep her and a wife too," said Archie.

"Maybe," responded Dunn. "You're a capable young fellow, and you're steady, and I hope you'll do well. Seems no reason why you shouldn't. Only mind this, Archie, you don't marry our Nannie, till you've got a right good sum laid by in the Savings Bank against a rainy day. It is all very fine to be making enough to live on in comfort, and to spend every penny of what you've got, never giving a thought to the future. And if illness comes, or an accident lays you by, or trade grows slack and work fails, what's to be done then? No, no, I'll never give in to that for Nannie. I've seen enough of the misery of it for wives and children, let alone a man himself. If you're bent on marrying her, you may do it; but you'll marry with a good provision laid by; and, what's more, you'll not squander it all away on a fine wedding, nor on a lot of smart furniture."

Archie was well content to bind himself by these conditions. Perhaps, like many young men, he thought them just a little needless. In his young vigour, he could not yet believe that bodily strength would ever fail him. But after all, he knew that Dunn was right, and he knew that his mother would put no difficulties in the way. Before winter, he would be receiving the wages of a full-blown artisan, and then, as she had often told him, would be the time to lay by. Archie had not quite seen the necessity till now.

Laying by for the future must of course mean some measure of self-denial. It meant this often in Archie's case. What if it did? His love for Nannie would have been a very poor sort of article, If it could not have endured the least touch of self-denial for her sake.

As time went on, months following months till they grew into years, while the amount down to Archie's name at the Savings Bank grew also, Archie became very grateful for the wise advice of Richard Dunn.

For, after all, though he and Nannie waited years for their wedding day, they did not wait so long as must have been the case, if Archie had not persistently from the first put aside every little sum he could spare from present needs. Sometimes it was a few shillings, sometimes only a few pence. But "many a little makes a mickle," says the old proverb. Archie proved the truth of this proverb.

Little more need be said, except that when the wedding did take place, Annie Wilmot was present, besides many other kind friends. The wedding cake was a present from Annie, as well as a beautiful family Bible, bound in morocco. Nannie made a sweet-looking young bride, in her neat brown dress and bonnet; and even Nannie's own parents scarcely saw her with more of fond pride than did Archie's mother. For Mrs. Stuart had long ceased to regret the thought of Nannie becoming Archie's wife; and on that wedding day, she gained a "daughter indeed" to be the comfort of her old age.

THE END.

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