My Fire Opal and Other Tales

Fiction > Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

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by Sarah Warner Brooks

PREFACE.

In the hope of interesting the reader in that insistent altruistic question of the hour—How may we best treat our convicted fellow sinners?—these simple tales (the outcome of intimate personal observation "behind the bars," and woven, almost equally, of fact and fiction) are offered for his kindly-indulgent perusal.

Most sincerely,
S. W. B.

West Medford, Jan. 31, 1896.

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MY FIRE OPAL.

ELL, have it all your own way, Isabel," meekly conceded Alcibiades; "but really, now, you ought not to be left here alone. Couldn't you have managed to invite company for a day or two—Aunt Maria, say, or Alice Barnes, or Emma and the baby?"

"Company!" mocked I, "that now is like a man! Here am I planning to give poor, overworked Cicely a day or two off, while you are all away and the housework at its minimum, and straightway you propose company!—which, of course, implies regular meals and extra chamber work.

"No, I thank you, sir, not any company for me," said I, rising from the breakfast-table to drop my husband a derisive courtesy; "and indeed, and indeed," I urged, "you are not to give up your own vacation because your wife is scared of burglars and bugbears, with neighbors as thick as blackberries, within call, and a stout policeman snoozing away his beat against our front fence!"

Alcibiades sighed and folded his napkin. I felt that he was still unconvinced. Nevertheless, he mounted the stairs, packed his grip, and, intent upon catching the next horse-car, bade me a hurried adieu. "Au revoir!" cried I, "in the wind of his going," "and, in case of burglars—

"'Fare thee well! and if forever,

Then—'"

already he had disappeared, and, closing the door, I resumed my unfinished breakfast. When Cicely came in to clear the table, I rejoiced her heart, by a full consent to her little vacation. Relieved of mind, she plunged vigorously into the Saturday scrubbing, and, having prospectively arranged my Sunday dinner, of pressed corned beef, was enabled to start for "me cousin's in South Boston" at two p. m.

As she whisked out, with a beaming smile, a brick-red face, and a huge newspaper bundle, I locked the door behind her, and found myself "Monarch of all I surveyed."

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