CHAPTER VIII.
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM
"Like ships that sailed for sunny isles, But never came to shore."--_Hervey._
All through the early spring Abner toiled with the might of a hopefulheart--love lightening every task and enduing him with the strength oftwo. His farm was soon enclosed, and divided into fields and woodlandstretches by neat rail fences. Planting-time was over. The young cornwas rank and tall, and its luxuriant green foliage almost hid the brownridges and furrows.
One day in May Abner stood at the threshold of his unfinished cabin,and gazed with unseeing eyes over fields and woods and growing corn.Alas for visions of domestic joy! The day before, he had asked Abby tobe his wife. So gentle, so sad, and withal so tender, had been hermanner, that at first he had refused to accept her decision. "Believeme, dear friend," she then said, "there is no answer possible save theone I have given. Though I honor you above any one else I have knownduring my life in Kentucky, I have no love to give you. Besides, I amtoo old, too grave, too disposed to melancholy, to make you happy. Youneed a younger, stronger, more joyous nature than mine. At present youcan not understand this; some day you will, and then you will see thata far more suitable mate--a girl self-reliant, buoyant, and with awealth of love in her pure, warm heart--is waiting for you. Ah! you areblind, blind, that you do not see how Happiness is holding out her handto you."
A dim, shadowy wonder as to whom she could mean flitted an instantacross the young man's mind; but he was too eager, too absorbed, toentertain the thought, and renewed his pleading. Then Abby, afterlooking at him a moment in wistful silence, rose from her chair, and,standing before him, laid her hands upon his shoulders, and, lookingearnestly into his face, said: "Abner, I have no love to give you; forlong ago all the love of which my heart is capable was given toanother. He is dead now; but I am as much his as though he stood herebefore me to-night. As I loved him at the first, I love him now, andmust love him to the end. For some, and I hope it will be so for you,love reblossoms into new beauty and vigor; but not for me. My heart canhave no second springtime."
Abner Dudley was of too manly a nature to grow morbid--nohealthy-minded, strong-bodied man does that--but for a long, darkseason he went about his work with a cherished sadness in his soul. Thespring was gone from his step, the light from his eyes, and he was soquiet, so little like his former cheery self, that Mason Rogers,noticing his depression and attributing it to overwork, urged him totake a "rest spaill."
"Tain't wuck whut's ailin' you, Abner," said Mrs. Rogers. "Thet nevah.hurt nobody yit. It's stayin' so much in them damp woods. You'regittin' peaky ez a sick kitten, an' saller ez a punkin; you'll be downwith fevers an' agers nex'. You need dosin' on boneset an'life-evehlastin', an' I'll brew you a cupful this very night. Drink itbilin' hot, then soak yer feet in hot watah with a lot o' mustardpounded up in it; then go to bed an' sweat it out, an' you'll be allright by mawnin'. Thar's nothin' lak a good sweat to drive fevers an'agers outen the systum."
Abner thanked his kindly hostess, but could not help laughing secretlyat her diagnosis and prescription. "Truly," thought he, "it's but astep from sentiment to bathos. 'Fevers an' agers' instead ofdisappointed love! Boneset tea and a mustard foot-bath for a brokenheart! I really must pull myself together."
This perfect unconsciousness of the simple household was helpful to theyoung man. Furthermore, his work necessitated his living much out ofdoors, and this helped him still more; for none but those who have theunseeing eye and the unappreciative heart for the beauty of woods andfields, summer sunshine, glinting stream, and joyous bird notes, canlong be wholly without benefit from nature's ministry. Thus Abner hadwithin reach two mighty remedies for sadness--the balm of nature'sbeauty, and the bracing tonic of hard work.
For some time he kept aloof from Oaklands; not only because of Abby,but because, when in Betsy's presence, certain tones of her voice whenspeaking to him, and a wistful look in her eyes, troubled him with avague, half-conscious sense that she, young though she was,comprehended his trouble.
In July, Abby, taking advantage of the proffered companionship of afamily who were returning to Virginia, went for a protracted visit.After arriving in Norfolk, she decided to make her home with a cousinthere. It was many a day before Abner Dudley saw her again.