"Ye mun ha' a wife, mon. It will ne'er do for ye to blether and worry ye'er life out at this rate at ye'er sainted wife's grave, while the bairns rin helter and skelter ower the hills, and the leaks in the kitchen and pantry grow bigger ilk day, and the store and the mill and the farm a' gae to ruin thegither. Think o' what ye owe to the bairns and to yoursel, and if that winna bring ye to a sense o' duty, consider ye'er relations to the church and ye'er obligations to comply like a mon and a Christian wi' the ordinances o' the Lord who gives and takes away. I'm sorry I ha' to speak sae roughly, but it greets me sair to see the wreck and ruin creepin' o'er ye'er property, and nae one to care for the puir bairns but that hizzy Peggy Rowell wha neither fears God nor regards the thrift o' her master. Indeed I see no help for it a' unless ye tak a wife wha understands the case and will bear wi' ye till this heavy grief wears off." So spake the venerable Dr. Waugh of the Colonies to the leading man in his church, a tall, muscular, dignified personage in the prime of manhood who had not feared the hardships and danger of pioneer life in the savage mountains of Pennsylvania, but with indomitable energy and perseverance had made his fortune, built his comfortable stone house, his store and his mills. But now, five months after her death, he stood, crushed by grief, beside the grave of his wife and in the bitterness of his soul refused to be comforted. There Dr. Waugh had found him. It was a Sabbath evening in October. Just beyond the little enclosure in which the two men stood was a grove of walnut trees. The silence was broken by the sound of thrashing branches and dropping nuts. George Hudson turned abruptly and said, "They are at it again! they are breaking the Sabbath." Moving through the long grass and trees until they came within view of the walnut grove, they beheld the offenders: the Squire's children and his housekeeper. Mr. Hudson restrained his anger and commanded them to return to the house where he would see them later. When left alone with the minister he was the first to speak, "And you think ... I ought to marry again. Verily, if my commands and example are insufficient to deter my children from wrong doing, you are right. They need a mother, but, God help me, I cannot move a step in that direction, and as for loving any other woman, that must not be spoken of, now, at least. . . . If you can find a mother for my children, one who would pity and bear with me until I could forget measurably what I have lost, you will be doing me a great kindness." His voice was husky and trembling and his head fell as he spoke, but it was evident that he meant what he said. "Puir lad," thought Dr. Waugh, "he might ha' been sure I wouldna ha' proposed sic a matter if a certain lassie hadna been hereabout." He grasped the Squire's hand and spoke, "Trust to me, Geordie, I'm sure ye'll ne'er ha' cause to repent it." Isabelle Buchanan was a young woman of sense and good birth, sincerely pious and a notable housekeeper. She had been an intimate and dearly loved friend of George Hudson's first wife, and was twenty-six years old when Dr. Waugh acted as proxy for his bereft parishioner. We can imagine the young lady's confusion and objections to Mr. Hudson's mode of courtship, but the good Doctor placed the matter before her as a religious duty and pled so convincingly that she at last consented to accept his hand if it were offered. A week later the widower appeared in company with his clerical friend, and according to the custom of the times asked her to walk with him in the evening. He told her of his sorrows and desolation and appealed to her on his children's behalf to become his wife and a mother to them. Isabelle wept and consented, and the marriage was quietly consummated within a few weeks time. Dr. Waugh's expectation of her ability to fill the difficult position was soon justified. Isabelle assumed the position of mistress and mother in Squire Hudson's household as if she had but returned from a visit. The children took to her, as the old folks said, as bees take to white clover. Within a week she was reigning spirit of the house, the farm and the mill. The Squire relapsed into the apathy that had seized him the day of his wife's death, and left everything to his new wife's management. He hugged his grief to his heart and shuddered every time he thought of the place of the dead being so hastily filled. To him his second marriage was one of simple expedience, but his wife had entered into it with the resolve to make it one of love with the lapse of time. She treated him with tenderest consideration, never obtruding herself upon him, but trusting that her efficient management of his affairs and her loving care of his children would at length win a personal attention that would open the way for real affection. The months wore on and the first anniversary of their wedding passed unnoticed. It had been a trying year for Isabelle, but patiently and unresistingly she prayed and endured and carried on his work and her own with marked ability. At the end of the second year of their marriage Squire Hudson resumed his methodical habits and relieved his wife of the oversight of his farm and mills. He did not compliment her on the satisfactory way in which she had conducted his business, but seemed to take it as a matter of course that required no comment. And so Isabelle's hopes perished one by one until she had to admit to herself that she would probably never be any more to her husband than a prudent, thrifty housewife and a good mother to his children. But finally a new hope dawned; she was to have a baby. She awaited its birth with confidence that that bond between them would awaken to fresh life the tenderness of his nature which she had so often seen during his first marriage. The baby was born, but the customary kindness of her husband's manner was unchanged. Isabelle decided on a mild strategy. Three months after birth the baby was christened and named Amelia. The following day Isabelle set about carrying out her project. The children were at school; the servant was dispatched to the village on an errand that would take her half the day. Isabelle worked hard and fast, and presently called to the man at the stable to saddle her horse and bring him to the door. The Squire heard of the unusual order and came to the house to see if anything was wrong. He found Isabelle dressed for riding, the baby wrapped to accompany her, trunks, boxes, and bundles in the hall ready to be sent for by cart. He was dumbfounded and stood looking from his wife to the luggage and back from the luggage to his wife in a helpless endeavor to grasp the situation. Isabelle had in her hand a pair of slippers which had never been worn. She told him how she had married him on trust; how she had loved him and his, and had won the love of his children; how she had, unassisted by him, kept his property in order and increased his gains; how she had borne with patience his strange forgetfulness of her, even in sickness, and had never reproached him with it trusting that his term of mourning would cease and that he would find in her something more than a housekeeper; but not even the birth of her child had elicited more than a common interest. She was unhappy, . . . miserable, . . . and she was going home. It was better so than that she should continue to live in the unnatural, irreligious position of unloved wife. She held the slippers out to him, "Here is the only gift you ever made me. Take it, and get my horse. You can send my goods if you will take that trouble, if not, John will come for them." The curtain is dropped on the scene that followed, but when it rises again it shows a couple in complete and happy union. The slippers lay in a drawer of George Hudson's old-fashioned desk for two score years. He used to show them to his grandchildren and say he was glad he had made his bride no more valuable present, else he might never have discovered what a spirited creature she was. He considered them the most unanswerable argument an offended wife could possibly present to a niggardly, selfish husband.' Children: by 1st wife, Janet,3 John,3 William,3 by 2nd wife, Amelia,3 born, Feb. 19th, 1776. JOSEPH' HUDSON, (William1). MARY HUDSON, (William'). Married: Probably, 1764, Lewis Williams, son of Joshua Williams of Great Valley, Chester Co., Pa. Children, surnamed Williams: See p. 19. JANE HUDSON, (William'). Married: James Davidson of Cumberland Valley, Pa. 2 AMELIA3 HUDSON, (George, William'), born, Feb. 19th, 1776; died, May 22d, 1818. Married: Dec. 1st, 1797, George Williams, born, Feb. 12th, 1776; died, Nov. 20th, 1834, son of Lewis and Mary (Hudson) Williams. Children, surnamed Williams: See p. 43. |