At the old
aristocratic homes on the Wye River, more scowls than smiles were
bestowed on the eccentric _parvenu_; and at Chestertown, where
originated the Peales who drew this hat into their museum, the boys
burned tar-barrels on the market space, and marched, in hats of brown
loaf-sugar wrappers, like Meshach's, before the dwelling of Vesta's
host.
The greater the opposition, the more indomitable Milburn grew to live it
down. He wrote to her father to go to Annapolis and work for a railroad
charter and state aid, and began grading for his line in the vicinity of
his old store at Princess Anne, throwing the first shovelful of earth
himself, with the immemorial hat upon his sconce. This time there were
no shouts, and he almost regretted it, seeming to feel that jeers carry
no deep malice, while silence is hate.
Loyal to her least of vows, and wishing to love and obey him in spirit
fully, Vesta felt that his own good-nature was being darkened again by
his obstinacy upon this single point of an obsolete hat.
He looked, in their evening circle at Teackle Hall, like a younger and
knightlier person, in a modern suit of clothes, and slippers of Vesta's
gift. His delicate hand well became the ring she put upon it, and, when
he talked high enthusiasm and sense, and stood ready to back them with
courage and money, Vesta thought her husband lacked but one thing to
make him the equal of his supposititious kinsman, the democratic martyr
in the seventeenth century, and that was another head-dress.
Pages:
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532