e
impatience. "If he really is anxious for an answer, it is unkind to keep
him waiting."

"Well, well, that's so, I know, but I must confess that I thought the
masters and travel would bring you 'round," and Mr. Congreve shook his
head, as if in dire perplexity.

"I had rather work day and night, and win my own success, be it ever so
little, than to owe the widest fame to another. Besides, I don't want to
be married, I wouldn't be for anything; I want to belong to myself, and
do as I please!" cried Olive, vehemently; then slipped her arm through
his, with a little coaxing gesture, such as she sometime used with the
crusty old man, and said:

"There, Uncle Ridley, it is all settled, so let's not speak of it any
more. There come Walter and Bea; we'll walk down to the gate and meet
them."

This was all a month after the wedding, and it was the loveliest June
Sunday, imaginable. Mr. Congreve had dreaded so to go back to Virginia
without Jean, that he had yielded to their entreaties, and spent that
length of time with them; but now he was going on the next day; and the
old gentleman's feelings were so deeply stirred with the thought that he
was obliged to resort to his crusty manners to hide them. He had most
fervently hoped that Olive would change her mind, though possessed with
an inward conviction that she would not; yet even while he so deeply
regretted her decision, he could not but admire the independence, that
refused to sit with idle hands, and receive every advantage and
advancement from another. Surely, if Olive ever did marry, she would
bring something to her husband besides her dependent self, and he might
know, above all doubts, that indeed, he was truly loved in her heart of
hearts.

Every member of the family had grown to dearly love the crusty, abrupt,
peculiar old man, who wore the goodness of his heart like a mantle about
him, yet so modest with it. They never knew, until after he had left
them, how much good he had quietly done in his morning walks about
Canfield. How he had bought poor little lame Katie Gregg a great wax
doll, that could speak and cry; filled the pantry of the hard-working
widow mother with packages unnumbered, pretending to be so innocent of
the deed, when she found who was the giver, and tried to thank him.
There came to them, for many days after he had gone, reports, here and
there, of the little deeds of kindness and acts of thoughtful
generosity, the need of which, he had disc