Paine, a widow--went there first as a boarder, intending to remain but a few months.Dorinda took to her at once, being attracted in the beginning, I think, by the name."They call you Comfort Paine,"she said, "and you are a comfort to everybody else's pain.Yet you ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself.I never see anything like it.If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give you by the Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke.But anybody can see that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even a hand in the christenin'."Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his peculiar way.Mother would have been almost happy in the little Denboro home, if I had been with her.But she was never really happy when we were separated, a condition of mind which grew more acute as her health declined.I came down from the city once every month and those Sundays were great occasions.The Denboro people know me as Roscoe Paine.
For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own.In answer to my questions she always declared that she was ever so much better.
But Doctor Quimby, the town physician, looked serious "She must be kept absolutely quiet," he said."She must not be troubled in any way.Worry or mental distress is what I fear most.
Any sudden bad news or shock might--well, goodness knows what effect it might have.She must not be worried.Ros--" after one has visited Denboro five times in succession he is generally called by his Christian name--"Ros, if you've got any worries you keep 'em to yourself."I had worries, plenty of them.Our little fortune, saved, as we thought, from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage.Aconsiderable portion of it, as the lawyers discovered, was involved and belonged to the creditors.I said nothing to Mother about this: she supposed that we had a sufficient income for our needs, even without my salary.Without telling her I gave up our city apartment, stored our furniture, and took a room in a boarding-house.I was learning the banking business, was trusted with more and more responsibility, and believed my future was secure.Then came the final blow.
I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch."Embezzler and His Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro.He Commits Suicide When Notified of His Arrest." These headlines stared at me as I opened the paper at the restaurant table.My father had shot himself when the police came.I read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling of pity for him.It was of Mother that I thought.The news must be kept from her.If she should hear of it! What should I do? Iwent first of all to the lawyer's office: he was out of town for the day.I wandered up and down the streets for an hour.Then Iwent back to the bank.There I found a telegram from Doctor Quimby: "Mrs.Paine very ill.Come on first train." I knew what it meant.Mother had heard the news; the shock which the doctor dreaded had had its effect.
I reached Denboro the next morning.Lute met me at the station.
From his disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had been "feelin' fust-rate for her" until the noon before."I come back from the post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to read the newspaper, but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do--I believe she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left the paper on the dinin'-room table and went out to the barn.
Dorindy she come along to boss me, as usual.When we went back to the house there was Mrs.Comfort on the dinin'-room floor--dead, we was afraid at fust.The paper was alongside of her, so we judge she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took.The doctor says it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'.We carried her into the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence."She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me.
She called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for a moment, she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going back to the city.I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for three months.By that time she was herself, so far as her reason was concerned, but very weak and unable to bear the least hint of disturbance or worry.She must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby said, and he held out no immediate hope of her recovering the use of her limbs."She will be confined to her bed for a long time,"said the doctor, "and she is easy only when you are here.If you should go away I am afraid she might die." I did not go away.Igave up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro.
At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a portion of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned myself to a period of idleness in the country.Dorinda I hired as housekeeper, and when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in Lute, so to speak, for good measure.
And here I have been ever since.At first I looked upon my stay in Denboro as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course, only temporary.But time went on and Mother's condition continued unchanged.She needed me and I could not leave her.I fished and, shot and sailed and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware that the majority of the village people considered me too lazy to earn a living, and caring little for their opinion.At first I had kept up a hit or miss correspondence with one or two of my associates in the bank, but after a while I dropped even this connection with the world.I was ashamed to have my former acquaintances know what I had become, and they, apparently, were quite willing to forget me.I expected to live and die in Denboro, and I faced the prospect with indifference.
The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and my only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor, the Denboro bank cashier.He was fond of salt-water and out-door sports and we, occasionally enjoyed them together.
