The Wisdom of Fools. Margaret Wade Campbell Deland

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       Margaret Wade Campbell Deland

      The Wisdom of Fools

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066247997

Table of Contents

       WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS ’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

       THE HOUSE OF RIMMON

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

       COUNTING THE COST

       I

       II

       THE LAW, OR THE GOSPEL

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

      THE WISDOM OF FOOLS

WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS ’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE

       Table of Contents

I

       Table of Contents

      THE most delightful thing about our engagement is that everybody is so pleased with it.” Amy Townsend said this, smiling down at her lover, who, full length on the grass beside her, leaned on his elbow, watching her soft hair blowing across her forehead, and the color of the sun flickering through the shadows, hot on her cheek; for she had closed her fluffy white parasol and taken off her hat here under an oak-tree on the grassy bank of the river.

      “I should have thought that the fact that we were pleased ourselves was a trifle more important,” he suggested. But Miss Townsend paid no attention to his interruption.

      “You know, generally, when people get engaged, there are always people who exclaim: either the man is too good for the girl (and you are too good for me, Billy!), or the girl is too good for the man”—

      “She is; there is no question about that,” the man interrupted.

      “Be quiet!” the other commanded. “But in our case, everybody approves. You see, in the first place, you are a Parson, and I’m a Worker. That’s what they call me—the old ladies—‘a Worker.’ And of course that’s a most appropriate combination to start with.”

      “Well, the old ladies will discover that my wife isn’t going to run their committees for them,” the parson said emphatically. “Besides, if I’m a Parson, you’re a Person! How do the old ladies bear it, that I haven’t any ancestors, and used to run errands in a tin-shop? I’m a Worker, literally enough.”

      “You are a goose!” she told him calmly. “Don’t keep interrupting me, Billy. What do ancestors amount to? I admit I’m glad that none of mine were hanged (so far as I know), or that they didn’t run off with other people’s money—or wives. (I’d mind the wives less than the money, I must confess. I suppose you think that’s very mediæval in me?) But what credit is their good behavior to me? You are a credit to your people, whoever they were; and my own belief is that they were Princes!”

      She had such a charming way of flinging up her head and looking down at him sidewise, that he was willing to have had any kind of ancestors, only to catch that look of joyous pride; and in his own joyousness he was impelled to try to take her hand in his: but her fingers were laced about her knee, and she shook her head.

      “Stop! I’m talking seriously; you mustn’t be silly. You must listen to the other reasons why we are approved of: First, you are a Parson, and I’m a Worker. Secondly, you are forty-two, and ‘it’s high time’—high time, sir!—‘for you to be married’; and I’m twenty-seven—and, really, you know, ‘my chances are lessening’—(that’s what they say, my dear); and I ‘hardly deserve, after all these years’ ”—

      “And offers?” suggested her lover.

      “After all these years, Billy—not to get a crooked stick in the end.”

      “I am not crooked, I will admit,” he said.

      “Thirdly,” she proceeded, “you are very good-looking, and all the old Tabbies say that a handsome minister ought to be married.”

      “The old Tabbies might find something better to talk about,” he said, his face hardening. “Oh, Amy, that’s the kind of thing that makes a man cringe!—I mean a minister. Here is this great, serious, strenuous matter of living—the consciousness of God; that’s what living is in its highest expression. And to further that consciousness is the divinest human passion. A man tries to do it, gives his life to it, and immediately he is food for chattering old women! They gossip about his affairs, or his clothes, or his looks, even!” William West sat up, his face stirred with anger and pity. “But I suppose I must admit that the Parsons bring it on themselves to some extent,” he ended, with a sigh; “we don’t mingle enough with men; they distrust