diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-0.txt | 4781 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-8.txt | 5175 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 95239 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 357625 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/30439-h.htm | 4896 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/images/image1.jpg | bin | 0 -> 48543 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/images/image2.jpg | bin | 0 -> 49026 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/images/image3.jpg | bin | 0 -> 65608 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/images/image4.jpg | bin | 0 -> 59790 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/images/logo.png | bin | 0 -> 15136 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439-h/images/title.png | bin | 0 -> 20105 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439.txt | 5175 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30439.zip | bin | 0 -> 95215 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-8.txt | 5175 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 95239 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 357625 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/30439-h.htm | 5313 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/images/image1.jpg | bin | 0 -> 48543 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/images/image2.jpg | bin | 0 -> 49026 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/images/image3.jpg | bin | 0 -> 65608 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/images/image4.jpg | bin | 0 -> 59790 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/images/logo.png | bin | 0 -> 15136 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439-h/images/title.png | bin | 0 -> 20105 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439.txt | 5175 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/30439.zip | bin | 0 -> 95215 bytes |
28 files changed, 35706 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30439-0.txt b/30439-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6ce6b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4781 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30439 *** + +[Illustration: MRS. TREE.] + + + + +MRS. TREE + +By +Laura E. Richards + +_Author of_ +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc. + +Boston +Dana Estes & Company +Publishers + + + +_Copyright, 1902_ +BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + +_All rights reserved_ + + +MRS. TREE +Published June, 1902 + + +Colonial Press +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + +To +My Daughter Rosalind + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. Wedding Bells 11 + +II. Phoebe's Opinions 25 + +III. Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather 41 + +IV. Old Friends 55 + +V. "But When He Was Yet a Great Way off" 75 + +VI. The New Postmaster 92 + +VII. In Miss Penny's Shop 107 + +VIII. A Tea-party 124 + +IX. A Garden-party 142 + +X. Mr. Butters Discourses 161 + +XI. Miss Phoebe Passes on 175 + +XII. The Peak in Darien 189 + +XIII. Life in Death 201 + +XIV. Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought 217 + +XV. Maria 233 + +XVI. Doctor Stedman's Patient 249 + +XVII. Not Yet! 267 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + PAGE + +Mrs. Tree Frontispiece + +"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony" 119 + +"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'" 143 + +"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said" 262 + + + + +MRS. TREE + +CHAPTER I. + +WEDDING BELLS + + +"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles. + +"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected." + +"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye. + +"I was cleanin' it." + +"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone." + +"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia. + +"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?" + +"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better. + +Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely. + +"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you--what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is." + +Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion. + +"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so." + +She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time. + +"'I ain't no notion!' says he. + +"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says. + +"'Just what I say,' says he. + +"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here. + +"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.' + +"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died--_she_ was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived--died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off--but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty. + +"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in." + +Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phoebe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker. + +But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind. + +Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant. + +"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to." + +"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!" + +"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet. + +"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to--" + +"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?" + +"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health." + +"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know." + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try." + +"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint." + +Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent. + +Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room. + +"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?" + +"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed--Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness--the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!--there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage." + +"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least." + +"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of--of +pride and joy and youth--ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?" + +"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?" + +Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I--I confess--" + +"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?" + +"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking--Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!" + +"Do I look as if I were going to die?" + +"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust." + +"Very well! When I _am_ dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!" + +Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one. + +"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man." + +"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again." + +"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!" + +"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there." + +Miss Vesta looked distressed. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phoebe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and--" + +"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?" + +Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger. + +"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by." + +"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phoebe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now." + +"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!" + +"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MISS PHOEBE'S OPINIONS + + +"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman. + +Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks. + +"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she--that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is." + +Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't." + +"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phoebe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in--one, two, three, purl--in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable." + +"I often think, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young." + +"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phoebe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say." + +"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phoebe." + +"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?" + +After a majestic pause, Miss Phoebe continued, glancing at her other +hearers: + +"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is--I grieve to use +a harsh expression--frivolous." + +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phoebe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phoebe. + +"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits." + +"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one." + +"I--a--was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the--a--pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"--he waved his hands gently +abroad--"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities." + +"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phoebe, with stately courtesy. + +"Certainly, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon." + +It was one of Miss Phoebe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phoebe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother. + +"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and--other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of--mockery; of--derision; +of--contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as--strange; as--singular; +as--extraordinary." + +"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phoebe." + +"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman. + +"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phoebe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?" + +"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phoebe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!" + +Miss Phoebe colored and drew herself up. + +"Sister Phoebe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of--" + +"Vesta, I _think_ I have my senses," said Miss Phoebe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof--I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter--we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"--Miss Phoebe's voice quavered slightly--"he is +a chosen spirit." + +"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta. + +"But in spite of this," Miss Phoebe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend." + +"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly. + +Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows. + +"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best--patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,--whatever it was,--I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking." + +Miss Phoebe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton." + +"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction. + +"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to--a--persons of literary taste. There is"--he +waved his hands--"too much noise; too much--sound; too much--absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats." + +"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose." + +"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was--friendly; that +was--benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I--since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"--his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phoebe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!" + +He shook hands heartily all around and was gone. + +Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits." + +His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes. + +"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phoebe, benevolently. + +Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket. + +"This is--you may be aware, Cousin Phoebe--the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing--I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning--which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phoebe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main--but you shall judge for yourself." + +He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began: + +"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats." + +"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phoebe. + +"By all means, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'--but I +need not repeat the title. + + "I asked the Muse if she had one + Thrice-favored son, + Or if some one poetic brother + Appealed to her more than another. + She gazed on me with aspect high, + And tear in eye, + While musically she repeats, + 'Keats!' + + "She gave me then to understand, + And smilèd bland, + On Helicon the sacred Nine + Occasionally ask bards to dine. + 'For most,' she said, 'we do not move, + Though we approve; + For one alone we leave our seats: + "Keats!"'" + +There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now. + +"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry +to speak strongly--shocks me!" + +Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you." + +"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a +few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries." + +"But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him +with a wave of her hand. + +"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER + + +"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air. + +"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there." + +"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners." + +The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own. + +The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers. + +"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said _shake hands_, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?" + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same." + +Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?" + +"_May_ I, not _can_ I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it." + +The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats. + +"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree. + +"Bully!" said Tommy. + +"Now, what do you want to hear?" + +"About Grampy." + +"What about him?" + +"Everything! like what you told me last time." + +There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other. + +"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew." + +Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture. + +"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,--we +wore aprons with big pockets then,--and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!" + +"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!" + +"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?" + +"Yes'm!" + +"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight--the first one--was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called _him_ Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron--or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again. + +"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street--dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them. + +"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still." + +"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room." + +"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?' + +"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits. + +"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.' + +"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?' + +"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.) + +"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.' + +"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?" + +"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly. + +"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?" + +Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't." + +"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous--that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?" + +"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OLD FRIENDS + + +It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would--it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf. + +A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question. + +In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea. + +"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something." + +"Direxia Hawkes!" + +When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant. + +"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone." + +"What does he look like?" + +"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!" + +"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree. + +"What say?" + +"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do." + +"The dogs--I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'--" + +"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?" + +"Well! of all the cantankerous--here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean. + +Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly. + +The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there. + +"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry." + +"Are you a tramp?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Anything else?" + +The man was silent. + +"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you." + +"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman." + +The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again. + +"I--cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me." + +"Why can't you?" + +This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously. + +"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen--or--I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring. + +"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!" + +Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering. + +"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!" + +As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone: + +"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?" + +"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health." + +"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?" + +The man nodded gloomily. + +"That begins it. After awhile--I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit--" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat. + +He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief. + +"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim--and clean. + +"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door. + +"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together. + +Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phoebe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day. + +The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape. + +Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it. + +"Old friends!" said the voice. + +The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held. + +"_My God!_" he said, violently. + +"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!" + +"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!" + +"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?" + +"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am--faint. I must get out into the air." + +The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down." + +"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +_Do as I say!_ There!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot. + + * * * * * + +"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes." + +"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!" + +She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods. + +"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here--hey?" + +The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock. + +"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest." + +He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet. + +"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy." + +"I came--" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came--to rob +you, Mrs. Tree." + +"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that--there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did." + +"God knows! When--how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?" + +"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy." + +"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend--yes, the parrot knew +me!--and let me go!" + +"Hark!" said the old woman. + +She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut. + +"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight." + +She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! _Do as I say!_ Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!" + +She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening. + +Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders. + +"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he--" + +"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono--lands sakes, I don't know what _to_ do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she--" + +"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs. + +"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!" + +She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her. + +"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes. + +"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs. + +"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in." + +Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature. + +"What can I do for you?" she repeated. + +Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant. + +"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect you when need +is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and he's here for no +good." + +"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree. + +"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes." + +"When?" + +"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't." + +"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently. + +"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in +this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats in--and when you're abed +and asleep they'll have your life, them two, and run off with your +worldly goods that you've thought so much of. Would have, that is, if I +hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out of winder. Oh, how +thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, though I was +scairt 'most to death, and am now." + +"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none." + +"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these--" + +"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly. + +"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There _are_ tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away--well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF" + + +"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?" + +"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then--I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp--it was last spring, and warm weather coming on--till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then--in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting--I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it." + +"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick. + +"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only--it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that." + +"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman. + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color--if the light were +not gone out of them. + +"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard--I supposed he was still in Europe." + +"Two years ago." + +"Was it--" something seemed to choke the man. + +"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all." + +Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light. + +"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers." + +"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?" + +William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness. + +"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since--I +don't know when. I feel--almost--like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?" + +"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly. + +"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead." + +"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?" + +Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles. + +"To Mother!" + +"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; _do as I tell +you_! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind." + +"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time." + +"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!" + +The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow. + +"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?" + +She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S. + +"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?" + +He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face. + +"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" + +Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed. + +"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?" + +"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree." + +"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up." + +"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!" + +"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away." + + * * * * * + +The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it. + +This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before. + +She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly. + +Mrs. Weight called over the stairs. + +"Isick, be you there?" + +"Yep!" + +"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her." + +"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac. + +"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking." + +"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door. + +"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you." + +"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows." + +"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter--it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up--not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home." + + * * * * * + +"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit." + +"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?" + +"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?" + +The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door. + +"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?" + +"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith." + +"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is." + +She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale. + +"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me." + +"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I--I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me--an old acquaintance--who had--who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is--doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life--" + +Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word. + +"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her. + + * * * * * + +Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother. + +"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phoebe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE NEW POSTMASTER + + +Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this. + +"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village. + +When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect. + +"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey. + +No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement. + +"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather." + +"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't." + +"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so." + +"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself." + +"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage. + +"Brether--I--I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?" + +The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily. + +"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home." + +"Not a mite," was the general verdict. + +"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job." + +He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet. + +"There's the _Fidely_," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect." + +A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment. + +"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year." + +"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey. + +"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him." + +"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?" + +"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?" + +"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it." + +"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases." + +"Humph!" said Seth Weaver. + +The others looked thoughtful. + +"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him." + +He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently-- + +"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this: + +"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone. + +Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it. + +"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?" + +There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic. + +"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before. + +"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway." + +"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on." + +"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily. + +"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver. + +"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?" + +At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,--indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,--but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily. + +"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly. + +"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time." + +"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey. + +Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie. + +"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to--occupy;--to--a--become a holder of." + +"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly. + +"I--am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service--to the--amelioration; to +the--mental, moral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?" + +"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock. + +"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember." + +There was an assenting hum. + +Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone. + +"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow." + +He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders. + +They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary. + +But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail. + +"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly. + +Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily. + +"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it." + +"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'" + +"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say: + + "'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on! + Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'" + +"--His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly--" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)--"I may say +_very_ strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind." + +There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another. + +"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted." + +"That's so," said the elders. + +"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him--why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned." + +The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes--shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them--roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove. + +"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic." + +"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest." + +"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP + + +One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone--and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits. + +One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked. + +"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him--well, he always had +that--but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?" + +"_Eheu fugaces_," said a harsh voice from a corner. + +"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good." + + "'_Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, + Labuntur anni_;' + +tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly. + +"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness." + +"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters." + +"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?" + +"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?" + +"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open." + +"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!" + +"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily. + +Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf. + +"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her." + +"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird--" + +She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare. + +"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes--won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?" + +"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight. + +"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints." + + "Helen was a beauty, + Xantippe was a shrew; + Medusa was a Gorgon, + And so--are--_you_! + +Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!" + +Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her. + +"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a _man_ in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck." + +Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct. + +"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?" + +Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down. + +"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious _I_ see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em." + +"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way." + +"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!" + +"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom--" + +"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly. + +"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could--" + +She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post. + +"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is." + +"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well." + +"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're _real_ smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here." + +She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song. + +"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure. + +"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!" + +Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phoebe?" + +"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!" + +[Illustration: "SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."] + +She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony. + +"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious." + +"How old _is_ that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny. + +"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection." + +"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many--violent expressions in that +language." + +"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe. + +"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural." + +"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!" + +"_Arma virumque cano!_" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!" + +"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health." + +"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?" + +"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome." + +"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like--a--dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing." + +"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam." + +"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?" + +"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday." + +"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?" + +"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight--" + +"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!" + +"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A TEA-PARTY + + +"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well." + +"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phoebe. "Let me see; one, two, three--six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss--no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening." + +"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phoebe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?" + +The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phoebe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish. + +"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phoebe, gravely; +then she sighed. + +"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies." + +"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,--naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,--but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!" + +"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phoebe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?" + +Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phoebe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat. + +"Phoebe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me--yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?" + +Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset. + +"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit." + +"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong--ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up." + +"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phoebe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea." + +"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table." + +"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phoebe?" + +"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phoebe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?" + +"A--it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phoebe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you." + +"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phoebe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice. + +"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious--so harmonious--I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment." + +He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table. + +"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It _is_ the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting." + +Miss Phoebe looked pleased. + +"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it--" + +"Ah, Phoebe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see." + +"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phoebe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable." + +"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phoebe." + +He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey--not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phoebe looked grave. + +"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?" + +"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome. + +"She is a--a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently." + +"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phoebe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case." + +"A--well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"--here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself--"in fact,--a--she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely. + +"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,--'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,--and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word--had +you, John?--when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses--what _do_ you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl--" + +"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon." + +"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree _is_ just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!--no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she _is_ kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us." + +"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?" + +Mr. Homer bridled and colored. + +"A--not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my--a--genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek--to employ--to--a--avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It--gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"--he waved his +hands--"circumambiency!" + +His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you." + +"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,--but it was +only seven,--settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly. + +Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile. + +"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom--or more properly which--I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our--a--midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but--shall I say, Cousin Phoebe, a temporary estray from +the--a--star-y-pointing path?" + +"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phoebe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention." + +Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phoebe, sitting erect and rigid--in the rocking-chair, _his_ +rocking-chair! Miss Phoebe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she _could_ rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills. + +Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising--and read as follows: + +"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND. + + "Our beloved William Jaquith + Has resolved henceforth to break with + Devious ways; + And returning to his mother + Vows he will have ne'er another + All his days. + + "Husk of swine did not him nourish; + Plant of Virtue could not flourish + Far from home; + So his heart with longing burnèd, + And his feet with speed returnèd + To its dome. + + "Welcome, William, to our village! + Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage, + Cherished son! + On her sightless steps attendant, + Wear a crown of light resplendent, + Duty done!" + +There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phoebe. + +"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phoebe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more--a"--he +waved his hands--"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind." + +"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phoebe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A GARDEN PARTY + + +It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams. + +No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth. + +[Illustration: "'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"] + +Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw. + +"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats." + +"With Mary--do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up. + +"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent--" + +She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that." + +"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying--something +about Lily Bent?" + +"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip." + +"Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect." + +"Mrs. Tree,"--the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,--"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting--I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since--why does she stay away +so long?" + +"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and--one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that--of your wife after she +left you." + +"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after--" + +"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you." + +She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled. + +"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But--I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long." + +"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy." + +"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information." + +"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am. + +"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to." + +Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk. + +"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!" + +"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?" + +"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance--but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was." + +"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't--" + +"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!" + +Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her. + +With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith. + +"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?" + +Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion. + +Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together. + +"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,--ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time." + +"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day." + +"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery--and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent--pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then--she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder--h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!" + +His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine. + +"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?" + +A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor. + +"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!" + +"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I--" + +But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback. + +He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes. + +"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?" + +"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow." + +"See anything to beat the State of Maine?" + +"I think not. No, certainly not." + +"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good--when it +_is_ good--it's _good_, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?" + +"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour--" + +"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared. + +"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?" + +"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree." + +He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings. + +"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace." + +The wings were graciously accepted and praised. + +"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman." + +"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny." + +"Was it sudden?" + +"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now." + +"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel--why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'." + +"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you." + +"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!" + +He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes. + +"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago--two +months maybe it was--a man come to the door--back door--and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,--she's terrible skeert of +tramps,--and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door. + +"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he. + +"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short. + +"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.' + +"She questioned him,--Alviry's a master hand at questionin',--and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,--ma'am, I ask your pardon,--he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says. + +"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.' + +"So he told her his name,--Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he _has_ +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,--and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,--ma'am, _I_ should +say,--when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at. + +"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!" + +"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings." + +"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES + + +After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward. + +"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!" + +Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially. + +"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?" + +"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?" + +"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere." + +"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!" + +"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you." + +"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it." + +"Wal, I don't know what else _to_ do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben." + +"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise? + +"'What have ye done?' says I. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else _to_ do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late." + +"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,--or was it oil and +vinegar?" + +Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver." + +Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?" + +Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window. + +"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?" + +"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were--adjacent;--a--contiguous;--a--in point +of fact, near together." + +"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way." + +"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I--I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is--a--in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of--a--alienation; +of--a--wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred--" + +Ithuriel Butters looked at him. + +"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly. + +"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of--" + +"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months." + +Mr. Homer colored painfully. + +"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that--that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters." + +"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't. + +"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?" + +"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters." + +"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal." + +"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously. + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest. + +"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,--she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,--but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House--you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house. + +"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too." + +"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You--a--you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so--a--so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth." + +"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em. + +"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so." + +"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MISS PHOEBE PASSES ON + + +Miss Phoebe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way. + +Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phoebe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phoebe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented--linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming. + +"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'" + +"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phoebe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar." + +"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances. + +"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method." + +"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I _do_ +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of--" + +She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her. + +"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you." + +She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters. + +"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?" + +"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's _so_! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know--unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?" + +"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning." + +"Well, I--" + +For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly. + +"Girls, I would _not_ have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out--she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?' + +"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?' + +"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me--what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?" + +Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phoebe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'." + +"Miss Phoebe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day." + +"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village--I'll go +further, and say county--that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phoebe, but--there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em." + +"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me--" + +"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly." + + * * * * * + +While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms. + +Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue. + +"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea." + +"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire--let us keep things as they +have been--as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"--the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break--"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but--she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them." + +"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,--she's real good,--and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer." + +"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?" + +"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has." + +"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion." + +"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her." + +Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phoebe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure. + +"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I--" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE PEAK IN DARIEN + + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken: + Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes + He stared at the Pacific, and all his men + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + --_John Keats._ + + +Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phoebe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky. + +When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phoebe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled. + +"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?" + +But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly. + +"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is--a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person." + +After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride. + +"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of--a--song; but I think that looks well, +William?" + +"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!" + +"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will--a--wither; will--a--become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to--beat; to--throb; +to--a--palpitate." + +He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued: + +"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our--retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated--a--rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!" + +"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it." + +Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question. + +"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien." + +"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this." + +Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture. + +"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, _a_ +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain _is_ in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one--to me. It represents--a--Woman." + +"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled. + +"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes--a--Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of--a--Woman, through the medium of the--a--Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien--Woman! Guided by the--a--Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and--and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise--silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!" + +Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half--or more than half--in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling. + +Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer! + +The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if--unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture--"How if a man were misled for a time by--I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer--by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than--would he have any right to--what was it you +said, sir?--to try once more to scale those crystal heights?" + +"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light--I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided--would again fall +across his path." + +"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath. + +He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien. + +"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith. + +When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken. + +"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?" + +"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant. + +"Have I--have I given satisfaction, sir?" + +"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me--on many accounts." + +"Then, you--you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?" + +"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give." + +"Then--then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"--he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,--"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!" + + * * * * * + +So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her. + +"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown. + +"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?" + +"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly. + +"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you." + +"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did." + +The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again. + +"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you--or thank you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +LIFE IN DEATH + + +"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall. + +"To Miss Dane's!" + +"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony. + +The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived--"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said--Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,--indeed, report would have her some years +older,--but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one. + +Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested. + +Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy. + +"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use." + +"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it." + +The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint. + +"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony." + +"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand. + +"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?" + +The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light. + +These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths. + +"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?" + +Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat. + +"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met." + +"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away." + +"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me." + +"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned." + +"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking." + +"Certainly I have; years ago." + +"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith--Mary Ashton?" + +"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes. + +"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?" + +There was a pause. + +"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank." + +"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly." + +"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living." + +"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along--somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But--Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now--they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia." + +There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other. + +"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first." + +She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention. + +"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?" + +"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred." + +"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane. + +"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?" + +Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally: + +"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary." + +"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phoebe Blyth was dead?" + +"I knew that Phoebe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor." + +She paused a moment, and then added, "Phoebe was with me last night." + +"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phoebe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults." + +"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you." + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said." + +The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame. + +"_You dare_--" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you--te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!" + +Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times. + +"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.) + +"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; _the other +side_, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me." + +In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones. + +"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?" + +Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was--" + +"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal." + +"Oh, Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?" + +"Oh, he is _so_ well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed." + +"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby--I never had but one--was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral." + +She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends. + +"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently. + +"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT + + +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree. + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same!" replied Tommy Candy, in one breath. + +"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?" + +"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it." + +"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy." + +Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin. + +"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair." + +The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair. + +"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did." + +"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there--don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it--and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?" + +"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy. + +"Every word." + +Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said. + +He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale. + +"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him--well, _saw_ him--come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow--yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see--saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight--we was goin' home from school together--I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas--no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off--I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand--thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation. + +"We waited--there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant--I reely did, +Mis' Tree--to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight--he makes me tired!--the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!' + +"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway." + +"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did--did your father whip you well, Tommy?" + +"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!" + +When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them. + +Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh. + +"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old block!" + +Then she took up her letter. + +Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phoebe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room. + +"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?" + +"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house." + +Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria." + +"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you." + +Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows: + + "MY DEAR AUNT:--I was much grieved to hear of poor Phoebe's + death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her + illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and + gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and + Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to + overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phoebe sadly, and + be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come + and show you both that to _me_, at least, blood is thicker than + water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to + establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in + Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet + girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to + their venerable relation. I think you would find them _not + inferior_, to say the least, to some others who have been more put + forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been + _my_ idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are + so numerous, and they are so much _sought after_, that it will be + impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to + do so. I propose to divide my visit _impartially_ between you and + poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, + since such we are bidden to visit. + + "Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and + hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of + health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt, + + "Your affectionate niece, + "MARIA DARRACOTT PRYOR." + +"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta." + +But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,--"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,--and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!" + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman. + +"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia!" + +"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!" + +Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phoebe! She +must try her best to do as Phoebe would have wished. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear--so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,--especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,--that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are." + +"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother." + +"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them--but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her." + +"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"_Quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!" + +Miss Vesta sighed. "Then--what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?" + +"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly. + +"Surely you must answer her letter, dear." + +"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl." + +"Surely you _will_ answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words. + +"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself." + +"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia." + +"Then she can go without. + + "'Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'" + +Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing. + +"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that--" + +"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth--te-hee!--and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MARIA + + +"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!" + +Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky. + +"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire--Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phoebe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities--" + +"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?" + +"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phoebe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,--no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails--why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home--not an inch but is covered with something bright and æsthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phoebe--in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phoebe's being taken--about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phoebe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,--in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phoebe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever--you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,--but--well--and so--I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?" + +She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen. + +Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her. + +Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phoebe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister. + +"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?" + +Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her. + +"You have put me in Phoebe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun--oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And _how_ is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive." + +"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure--in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present." + +"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to _stay_ with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound--but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +_Good_-by!" + +Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor. + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down. + +"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I--something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phoebe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our--my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon." + +"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?" + +"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?" + +"Hum! yes, I remember _her_. She hasn't come here, to this house?" + +"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am--of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but--James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?" + +Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known." + +"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear--" + +"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta--let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit." + +"Go away, James? I?" + +"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very--everything that is like you--to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this--this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!" + +"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but--but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria--my own +cousin, remember, James--chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it." + +"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta." + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely. + +"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,--she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way--though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,--it is a +small matter, but--I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since--I first lighted the lamp. Then--" + +"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet." + +The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before. + +"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!" + +Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but--no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact. + +Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her. + +"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if--Vesta,--may I speak once more?" + +"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it." + +"But--you are alone, child. If Phoebe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and--I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed." + +He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his. + +"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never--at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,--for it must fail,--she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives." + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning--there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand--or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT + + +Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking--perhaps with the wind. + +Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock. + +"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,--Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?" + +She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding. + +"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said. + +Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged." + +She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir. + +"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow." + +"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too--stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?" + +"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face. + +Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw. + +"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"--she stretched her neck toward the door--"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her." + +"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within. + +"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor. + +"Scat! _quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was--" + +"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'--good mornin', Mis' Pryor!" + +She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway. + +Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand. + +"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you _are_ a stranger! Step right +in this way!" + +Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room. + +"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl--I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?" + +Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phoebe +Blyth is universally lamented." + +Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years. + +"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?" + +Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips. + +"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to _be_ neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phoebe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phoebe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +_can_ do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in _my_ +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body." + +Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down--Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of--and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than--well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so." + +Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were--oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming! + +"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative _of_ +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?" + +Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and--so +far as might be--in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech. + +"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a--a--mountain; a--a--in +short,--a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it. + +Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked. + +"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back." + +"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out--" + +"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her." + +Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen. + +Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower. + +"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see." + +"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?" + +Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye. + +"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do." + +"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own. + +"Have you any symptoms for me?" + +"I thought that was your business!" said the patient. + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been--a--feeling like +this?" + +"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for--for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!" + +"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman. + +"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors." + +The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient. + +[Illustration: "'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE +SAID."] + +"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the--a--nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile." + +"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta." + +"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?" + +Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave. + +"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired--almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this--" + +"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +_she_ is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?" + +"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree. + +The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him. + +At last--"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come." + +"Have you tried again, James?" + +"Yes, I have tried again, or--tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before." + +"Has the little idiot--has she any reason to give?" + +Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and--but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as--that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs." + +"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply. + +"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that." + +"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But--larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +NOT YET! + + +How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection. + +Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress. + +"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!" + +Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song: + + "Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!" + +Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!" + +At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and--since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out--it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that _this_ duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water. + +In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage. + +"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?" + +"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight. + +"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?" + +"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it--three minutes ago--with +these eyes! I run all the way--just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect--palpitations--I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?" + +Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa. + +"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?" + +"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!" + +And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake. + +"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no--my dear heart alive! what has happened?" + +Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat. + +"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She--Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I--I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?" + +A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder. + +"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?" + +"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?" + +"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?" + +"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?" + +"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice. + +The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma. + +"What has happened?" + +"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!" + +"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phoebe--" + +"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning." + +"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!" + +"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think--" + +"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!" + +Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house--a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things. + +The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand. + +Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence--was +it the only presence?--of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice. + +"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute." + +"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!" + +"You--oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits _this_ +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree--if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted." + +"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred." + +"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?" + +"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?" + +"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy. + +"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30439 *** diff --git a/30439-8.txt b/30439-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7ae504 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5175 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Tree + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Release Date: November 9, 2009 [EBook #30439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: MRS. TREE.] + + + + +MRS. TREE + +By +Laura E. Richards + +_Author of_ +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc. + +Boston +Dana Estes & Company +Publishers + + + +_Copyright, 1902_ +BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + +_All rights reserved_ + + +MRS. TREE +Published June, 1902 + + +Colonial Press +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + +To +My Daughter Rosalind + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. Wedding Bells 11 + +II. Phoebe's Opinions 25 + +III. Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather 41 + +IV. Old Friends 55 + +V. "But When He Was Yet a Great Way off" 75 + +VI. The New Postmaster 92 + +VII. In Miss Penny's Shop 107 + +VIII. A Tea-party 124 + +IX. A Garden-party 142 + +X. Mr. Butters Discourses 161 + +XI. Miss Phoebe Passes on 175 + +XII. The Peak in Darien 189 + +XIII. Life in Death 201 + +XIV. Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought 217 + +XV. Maria 233 + +XVI. Doctor Stedman's Patient 249 + +XVII. Not Yet! 267 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + PAGE + +Mrs. Tree Frontispiece + +"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony" 119 + +"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'" 143 + +"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said" 262 + + + + +MRS. TREE + +CHAPTER I. + +WEDDING BELLS + + +"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles. + +"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected." + +"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye. + +"I was cleanin' it." + +"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone." + +"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia. + +"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?" + +"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better. + +Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely. + +"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you--what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is." + +Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion. + +"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so." + +She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time. + +"'I ain't no notion!' says he. + +"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says. + +"'Just what I say,' says he. + +"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here. + +"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.' + +"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died--_she_ was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived--died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off--but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty. + +"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in." + +Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phoebe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker. + +But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind. + +Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant. + +"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to." + +"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!" + +"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet. + +"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to--" + +"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?" + +"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health." + +"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know." + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try." + +"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint." + +Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent. + +Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room. + +"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?" + +"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed--Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness--the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!--there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage." + +"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least." + +"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of--of +pride and joy and youth--ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?" + +"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?" + +Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I--I confess--" + +"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?" + +"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking--Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!" + +"Do I look as if I were going to die?" + +"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust." + +"Very well! When I _am_ dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!" + +Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one. + +"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man." + +"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again." + +"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!" + +"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there." + +Miss Vesta looked distressed. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phoebe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and--" + +"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?" + +Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger. + +"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by." + +"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phoebe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now." + +"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!" + +"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MISS PHOEBE'S OPINIONS + + +"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman. + +Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks. + +"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she--that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is." + +Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't." + +"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phoebe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in--one, two, three, purl--in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable." + +"I often think, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young." + +"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phoebe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say." + +"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phoebe." + +"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?" + +After a majestic pause, Miss Phoebe continued, glancing at her other +hearers: + +"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is--I grieve to use +a harsh expression--frivolous." + +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phoebe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phoebe. + +"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits." + +"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one." + +"I--a--was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the--a--pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"--he waved his hands gently +abroad--"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities." + +"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phoebe, with stately courtesy. + +"Certainly, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon." + +It was one of Miss Phoebe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phoebe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother. + +"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and--other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of--mockery; of--derision; +of--contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as--strange; as--singular; +as--extraordinary." + +"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phoebe." + +"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman. + +"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phoebe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?" + +"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phoebe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!" + +Miss Phoebe colored and drew herself up. + +"Sister Phoebe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of--" + +"Vesta, I _think_ I have my senses," said Miss Phoebe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof--I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter--we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"--Miss Phoebe's voice quavered slightly--"he is +a chosen spirit." + +"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta. + +"But in spite of this," Miss Phoebe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend." + +"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly. + +Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows. + +"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best--patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,--whatever it was,--I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking." + +Miss Phoebe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton." + +"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction. + +"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to--a--persons of literary taste. There is"--he +waved his hands--"too much noise; too much--sound; too much--absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats." + +"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose." + +"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was--friendly; that +was--benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I--since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"--his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phoebe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!" + +He shook hands heartily all around and was gone. + +Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits." + +His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes. + +"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phoebe, benevolently. + +Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket. + +"This is--you may be aware, Cousin Phoebe--the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing--I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning--which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phoebe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main--but you shall judge for yourself." + +He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began: + +"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats." + +"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phoebe. + +"By all means, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'--but I +need not repeat the title. + + "I asked the Muse if she had one + Thrice-favored son, + Or if some one poetic brother + Appealed to her more than another. + She gazed on me with aspect high, + And tear in eye, + While musically she repeats, + 'Keats!' + + "She gave me then to understand, + And smilèd bland, + On Helicon the sacred Nine + Occasionally ask bards to dine. + 'For most,' she said, 'we do not move, + Though we approve; + For one alone we leave our seats: + "Keats!"'" + +There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now. + +"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry +to speak strongly--shocks me!" + +Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you." + +"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a +few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries." + +"But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him +with a wave of her hand. + +"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER + + +"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air. + +"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there." + +"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners." + +The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own. + +The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers. + +"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said _shake hands_, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?" + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same." + +Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?" + +"_May_ I, not _can_ I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it." + +The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats. + +"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree. + +"Bully!" said Tommy. + +"Now, what do you want to hear?" + +"About Grampy." + +"What about him?" + +"Everything! like what you told me last time." + +There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other. + +"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew." + +Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture. + +"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,--we +wore aprons with big pockets then,--and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!" + +"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!" + +"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?" + +"Yes'm!" + +"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight--the first one--was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called _him_ Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron--or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again. + +"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street--dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them. + +"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still." + +"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room." + +"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?' + +"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits. + +"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.' + +"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?' + +"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.) + +"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.' + +"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?" + +"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly. + +"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?" + +Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't." + +"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous--that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?" + +"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OLD FRIENDS + + +It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would--it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf. + +A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question. + +In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea. + +"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something." + +"Direxia Hawkes!" + +When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant. + +"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone." + +"What does he look like?" + +"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!" + +"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree. + +"What say?" + +"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do." + +"The dogs--I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'--" + +"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?" + +"Well! of all the cantankerous--here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean. + +Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly. + +The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there. + +"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry." + +"Are you a tramp?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Anything else?" + +The man was silent. + +"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you." + +"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman." + +The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again. + +"I--cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me." + +"Why can't you?" + +This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously. + +"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen--or--I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring. + +"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!" + +Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering. + +"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!" + +As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone: + +"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?" + +"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health." + +"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?" + +The man nodded gloomily. + +"That begins it. After awhile--I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit--" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat. + +He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief. + +"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim--and clean. + +"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door. + +"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together. + +Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phoebe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day. + +The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape. + +Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it. + +"Old friends!" said the voice. + +The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held. + +"_My God!_" he said, violently. + +"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!" + +"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!" + +"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?" + +"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am--faint. I must get out into the air." + +The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down." + +"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +_Do as I say!_ There!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot. + + * * * * * + +"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes." + +"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!" + +She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods. + +"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here--hey?" + +The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock. + +"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest." + +He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet. + +"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy." + +"I came--" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came--to rob +you, Mrs. Tree." + +"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that--there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did." + +"God knows! When--how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?" + +"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy." + +"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend--yes, the parrot knew +me!--and let me go!" + +"Hark!" said the old woman. + +She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut. + +"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight." + +She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! _Do as I say!_ Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!" + +She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening. + +Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders. + +"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he--" + +"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono--lands sakes, I don't know what _to_ do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she--" + +"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs. + +"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!" + +She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her. + +"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes. + +"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs. + +"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in." + +Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature. + +"What can I do for you?" she repeated. + +Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant. + +"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect you when need +is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and he's here for no +good." + +"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree. + +"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes." + +"When?" + +"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't." + +"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently. + +"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in +this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats in--and when you're abed +and asleep they'll have your life, them two, and run off with your +worldly goods that you've thought so much of. Would have, that is, if I +hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out of winder. Oh, how +thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, though I was +scairt 'most to death, and am now." + +"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none." + +"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these--" + +"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly. + +"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There _are_ tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away--well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF" + + +"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?" + +"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then--I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp--it was last spring, and warm weather coming on--till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then--in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting--I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it." + +"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick. + +"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only--it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that." + +"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman. + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color--if the light were +not gone out of them. + +"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard--I supposed he was still in Europe." + +"Two years ago." + +"Was it--" something seemed to choke the man. + +"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all." + +Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light. + +"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers." + +"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?" + +William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness. + +"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since--I +don't know when. I feel--almost--like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?" + +"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly. + +"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead." + +"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?" + +Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles. + +"To Mother!" + +"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; _do as I tell +you_! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind." + +"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time." + +"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!" + +The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow. + +"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?" + +She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S. + +"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?" + +He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face. + +"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" + +Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed. + +"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?" + +"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree." + +"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up." + +"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!" + +"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away." + + * * * * * + +The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it. + +This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before. + +She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly. + +Mrs. Weight called over the stairs. + +"Isick, be you there?" + +"Yep!" + +"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her." + +"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac. + +"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking." + +"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door. + +"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you." + +"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows." + +"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter--it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up--not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home." + + * * * * * + +"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit." + +"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?" + +"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?" + +The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door. + +"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?" + +"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith." + +"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is." + +She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale. + +"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me." + +"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I--I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me--an old acquaintance--who had--who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is--doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life--" + +Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word. + +"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her. + + * * * * * + +Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother. + +"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phoebe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE NEW POSTMASTER + + +Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this. + +"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village. + +When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect. + +"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey. + +No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement. + +"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather." + +"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't." + +"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so." + +"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself." + +"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage. + +"Brether--I--I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?" + +The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily. + +"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home." + +"Not a mite," was the general verdict. + +"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job." + +He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet. + +"There's the _Fidely_," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect." + +A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment. + +"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year." + +"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey. + +"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him." + +"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?" + +"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?" + +"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it." + +"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases." + +"Humph!" said Seth Weaver. + +The others looked thoughtful. + +"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him." + +He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently-- + +"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this: + +"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone. + +Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it. + +"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?" + +There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic. + +"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before. + +"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway." + +"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on." + +"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily. + +"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver. + +"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?" + +At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,--indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,--but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily. + +"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly. + +"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time." + +"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey. + +Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie. + +"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to--occupy;--to--a--become a holder of." + +"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly. + +"I--am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service--to the--amelioration; to +the--mental, moral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?" + +"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock. + +"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember." + +There was an assenting hum. + +Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone. + +"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow." + +He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders. + +They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary. + +But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail. + +"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly. + +Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily. + +"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it." + +"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'" + +"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say: + + "'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on! + Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'" + +"--His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly--" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)--"I may say +_very_ strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind." + +There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another. + +"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted." + +"That's so," said the elders. + +"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him--why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned." + +The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes--shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them--roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove. + +"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic." + +"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest." + +"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP + + +One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone--and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits. + +One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked. + +"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him--well, he always had +that--but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?" + +"_Eheu fugaces_," said a harsh voice from a corner. + +"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good." + + "'_Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, + Labuntur anni_;' + +tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly. + +"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness." + +"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters." + +"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?" + +"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?" + +"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open." + +"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!" + +"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily. + +Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf. + +"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her." + +"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird--" + +She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare. + +"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes--won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?" + +"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight. + +"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints." + + "Helen was a beauty, + Xantippe was a shrew; + Medusa was a Gorgon, + And so--are--_you_! + +Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!" + +Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her. + +"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a _man_ in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck." + +Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct. + +"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?" + +Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down. + +"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious _I_ see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em." + +"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way." + +"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!" + +"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom--" + +"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly. + +"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could--" + +She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post. + +"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is." + +"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well." + +"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're _real_ smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here." + +She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song. + +"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure. + +"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!" + +Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phoebe?" + +"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!" + +[Illustration: "SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."] + +She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony. + +"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious." + +"How old _is_ that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny. + +"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection." + +"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many--violent expressions in that +language." + +"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe. + +"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural." + +"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!" + +"_Arma virumque cano!_" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!" + +"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health." + +"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?" + +"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome." + +"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like--a--dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing." + +"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam." + +"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?" + +"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday." + +"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?" + +"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight--" + +"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!" + +"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A TEA-PARTY + + +"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well." + +"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phoebe. "Let me see; one, two, three--six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss--no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening." + +"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phoebe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?" + +The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phoebe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish. + +"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phoebe, gravely; +then she sighed. + +"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies." + +"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,--naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,--but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!" + +"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phoebe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?" + +Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phoebe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat. + +"Phoebe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me--yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?" + +Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset. + +"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit." + +"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong--ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up." + +"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phoebe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea." + +"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table." + +"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phoebe?" + +"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phoebe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?" + +"A--it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phoebe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you." + +"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phoebe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice. + +"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious--so harmonious--I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment." + +He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table. + +"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It _is_ the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting." + +Miss Phoebe looked pleased. + +"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it--" + +"Ah, Phoebe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see." + +"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phoebe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable." + +"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phoebe." + +He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey--not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phoebe looked grave. + +"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?" + +"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome. + +"She is a--a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently." + +"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phoebe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case." + +"A--well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"--here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself--"in fact,--a--she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely. + +"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,--'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,--and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word--had +you, John?--when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses--what _do_ you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl--" + +"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon." + +"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree _is_ just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!--no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she _is_ kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us." + +"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?" + +Mr. Homer bridled and colored. + +"A--not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my--a--genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek--to employ--to--a--avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It--gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"--he waved his +hands--"circumambiency!" + +His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you." + +"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,--but it was +only seven,--settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly. + +Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile. + +"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom--or more properly which--I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our--a--midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but--shall I say, Cousin Phoebe, a temporary estray from +the--a--star-y-pointing path?" + +"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phoebe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention." + +Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phoebe, sitting erect and rigid--in the rocking-chair, _his_ +rocking-chair! Miss Phoebe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she _could_ rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills. + +Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising--and read as follows: + +"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND. + + "Our beloved William Jaquith + Has resolved henceforth to break with + Devious ways; + And returning to his mother + Vows he will have ne'er another + All his days. + + "Husk of swine did not him nourish; + Plant of Virtue could not flourish + Far from home; + So his heart with longing burnèd, + And his feet with speed returnèd + To its dome. + + "Welcome, William, to our village! + Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage, + Cherished son! + On her sightless steps attendant, + Wear a crown of light resplendent, + Duty done!" + +There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phoebe. + +"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phoebe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more--a"--he +waved his hands--"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind." + +"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phoebe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A GARDEN PARTY + + +It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams. + +No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth. + +[Illustration: "'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"] + +Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw. + +"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats." + +"With Mary--do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up. + +"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent--" + +She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that." + +"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying--something +about Lily Bent?" + +"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip." + +"Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect." + +"Mrs. Tree,"--the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,--"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting--I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since--why does she stay away +so long?" + +"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and--one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that--of your wife after she +left you." + +"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after--" + +"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you." + +She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled. + +"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But--I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long." + +"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy." + +"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information." + +"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am. + +"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to." + +Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk. + +"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!" + +"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?" + +"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance--but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was." + +"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't--" + +"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!" + +Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her. + +With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith. + +"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?" + +Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion. + +Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together. + +"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,--ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time." + +"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day." + +"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery--and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent--pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then--she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder--h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!" + +His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine. + +"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?" + +A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor. + +"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!" + +"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I--" + +But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback. + +He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes. + +"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?" + +"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow." + +"See anything to beat the State of Maine?" + +"I think not. No, certainly not." + +"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good--when it +_is_ good--it's _good_, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?" + +"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour--" + +"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared. + +"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?" + +"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree." + +He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings. + +"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace." + +The wings were graciously accepted and praised. + +"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman." + +"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny." + +"Was it sudden?" + +"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now." + +"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel--why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'." + +"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you." + +"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!" + +He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes. + +"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago--two +months maybe it was--a man come to the door--back door--and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,--she's terrible skeert of +tramps,--and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door. + +"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he. + +"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short. + +"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.' + +"She questioned him,--Alviry's a master hand at questionin',--and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,--ma'am, I ask your pardon,--he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says. + +"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.' + +"So he told her his name,--Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he _has_ +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,--and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,--ma'am, _I_ should +say,--when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at. + +"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!" + +"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings." + +"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES + + +After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward. + +"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!" + +Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially. + +"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?" + +"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?" + +"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere." + +"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!" + +"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you." + +"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it." + +"Wal, I don't know what else _to_ do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben." + +"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise? + +"'What have ye done?' says I. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else _to_ do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late." + +"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,--or was it oil and +vinegar?" + +Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver." + +Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?" + +Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window. + +"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?" + +"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were--adjacent;--a--contiguous;--a--in point +of fact, near together." + +"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way." + +"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I--I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is--a--in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of--a--alienation; +of--a--wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred--" + +Ithuriel Butters looked at him. + +"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly. + +"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of--" + +"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months." + +Mr. Homer colored painfully. + +"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that--that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters." + +"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't. + +"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?" + +"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters." + +"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal." + +"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously. + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest. + +"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,--she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,--but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House--you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house. + +"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too." + +"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You--a--you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so--a--so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth." + +"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em. + +"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so." + +"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MISS PHOEBE PASSES ON + + +Miss Phoebe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way. + +Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phoebe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phoebe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented--linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming. + +"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'" + +"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phoebe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar." + +"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances. + +"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method." + +"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I _do_ +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of--" + +She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her. + +"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you." + +She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters. + +"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?" + +"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's _so_! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know--unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?" + +"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning." + +"Well, I--" + +For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly. + +"Girls, I would _not_ have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out--she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?' + +"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?' + +"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me--what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?" + +Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phoebe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'." + +"Miss Phoebe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day." + +"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village--I'll go +further, and say county--that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phoebe, but--there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em." + +"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me--" + +"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly." + + * * * * * + +While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms. + +Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue. + +"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea." + +"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire--let us keep things as they +have been--as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"--the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break--"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but--she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them." + +"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,--she's real good,--and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer." + +"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?" + +"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has." + +"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion." + +"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her." + +Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phoebe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure. + +"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I--" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE PEAK IN DARIEN + + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken: + Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes + He stared at the Pacific, and all his men + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + --_John Keats._ + + +Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phoebe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky. + +When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phoebe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled. + +"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?" + +But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly. + +"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is--a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person." + +After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride. + +"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of--a--song; but I think that looks well, +William?" + +"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!" + +"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will--a--wither; will--a--become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to--beat; to--throb; +to--a--palpitate." + +He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued: + +"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our--retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated--a--rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!" + +"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it." + +Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question. + +"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien." + +"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this." + +Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture. + +"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, _a_ +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain _is_ in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one--to me. It represents--a--Woman." + +"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled. + +"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes--a--Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of--a--Woman, through the medium of the--a--Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien--Woman! Guided by the--a--Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and--and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise--silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!" + +Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half--or more than half--in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling. + +Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer! + +The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if--unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture--"How if a man were misled for a time by--I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer--by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than--would he have any right to--what was it you +said, sir?--to try once more to scale those crystal heights?" + +"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light--I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided--would again fall +across his path." + +"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath. + +He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien. + +"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith. + +When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken. + +"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?" + +"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant. + +"Have I--have I given satisfaction, sir?" + +"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me--on many accounts." + +"Then, you--you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?" + +"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give." + +"Then--then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"--he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,--"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!" + + * * * * * + +So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her. + +"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown. + +"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?" + +"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly. + +"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you." + +"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did." + +The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again. + +"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you--or thank you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +LIFE IN DEATH + + +"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall. + +"To Miss Dane's!" + +"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony. + +The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived--"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said--Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,--indeed, report would have her some years +older,--but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one. + +Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested. + +Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy. + +"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use." + +"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it." + +The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint. + +"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony." + +"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand. + +"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?" + +The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light. + +These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths. + +"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?" + +Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat. + +"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met." + +"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away." + +"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me." + +"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned." + +"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking." + +"Certainly I have; years ago." + +"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith--Mary Ashton?" + +"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes. + +"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?" + +There was a pause. + +"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank." + +"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly." + +"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living." + +"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along--somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But--Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now--they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia." + +There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other. + +"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first." + +She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention. + +"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?" + +"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred." + +"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane. + +"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?" + +Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally: + +"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary." + +"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phoebe Blyth was dead?" + +"I knew that Phoebe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor." + +She paused a moment, and then added, "Phoebe was with me last night." + +"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phoebe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults." + +"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you." + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said." + +The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame. + +"_You dare_--" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you--te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!" + +Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times. + +"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.) + +"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; _the other +side_, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me." + +In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones. + +"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?" + +Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was--" + +"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal." + +"Oh, Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?" + +"Oh, he is _so_ well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed." + +"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby--I never had but one--was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral." + +She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends. + +"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently. + +"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT + + +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree. + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same!" replied Tommy Candy, in one breath. + +"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?" + +"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it." + +"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy." + +Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin. + +"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair." + +The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair. + +"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did." + +"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there--don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it--and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?" + +"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy. + +"Every word." + +Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said. + +He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale. + +"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him--well, _saw_ him--come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow--yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see--saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight--we was goin' home from school together--I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas--no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off--I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand--thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation. + +"We waited--there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant--I reely did, +Mis' Tree--to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight--he makes me tired!--the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!' + +"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway." + +"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did--did your father whip you well, Tommy?" + +"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!" + +When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them. + +Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh. + +"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old block!" + +Then she took up her letter. + +Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phoebe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room. + +"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?" + +"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house." + +Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria." + +"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you." + +Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows: + + "MY DEAR AUNT:--I was much grieved to hear of poor Phoebe's + death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her + illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and + gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and + Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to + overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phoebe sadly, and + be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come + and show you both that to _me_, at least, blood is thicker than + water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to + establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in + Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet + girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to + their venerable relation. I think you would find them _not + inferior_, to say the least, to some others who have been more put + forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been + _my_ idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are + so numerous, and they are so much _sought after_, that it will be + impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to + do so. I propose to divide my visit _impartially_ between you and + poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, + since such we are bidden to visit. + + "Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and + hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of + health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt, + + "Your affectionate niece, + "MARIA DARRACOTT PRYOR." + +"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta." + +But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,--"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,--and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!" + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman. + +"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia!" + +"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!" + +Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phoebe! She +must try her best to do as Phoebe would have wished. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear--so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,--especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,--that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are." + +"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother." + +"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them--but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her." + +"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"_Quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!" + +Miss Vesta sighed. "Then--what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?" + +"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly. + +"Surely you must answer her letter, dear." + +"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl." + +"Surely you _will_ answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words. + +"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself." + +"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia." + +"Then she can go without. + + "'Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'" + +Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing. + +"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that--" + +"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth--te-hee!--and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MARIA + + +"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!" + +Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky. + +"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire--Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phoebe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities--" + +"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?" + +"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phoebe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,--no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails--why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home--not an inch but is covered with something bright and æsthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phoebe--in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phoebe's being taken--about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phoebe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,--in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phoebe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever--you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,--but--well--and so--I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?" + +She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen. + +Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her. + +Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phoebe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister. + +"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?" + +Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her. + +"You have put me in Phoebe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun--oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And _how_ is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive." + +"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure--in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present." + +"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to _stay_ with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound--but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +_Good_-by!" + +Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor. + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down. + +"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I--something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phoebe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our--my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon." + +"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?" + +"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?" + +"Hum! yes, I remember _her_. She hasn't come here, to this house?" + +"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am--of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but--James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?" + +Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known." + +"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear--" + +"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta--let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit." + +"Go away, James? I?" + +"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very--everything that is like you--to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this--this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!" + +"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but--but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria--my own +cousin, remember, James--chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it." + +"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta." + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely. + +"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,--she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way--though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,--it is a +small matter, but--I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since--I first lighted the lamp. Then--" + +"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet." + +The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before. + +"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!" + +Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but--no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact. + +Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her. + +"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if--Vesta,--may I speak once more?" + +"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it." + +"But--you are alone, child. If Phoebe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and--I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed." + +He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his. + +"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never--at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,--for it must fail,--she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives." + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning--there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand--or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT + + +Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking--perhaps with the wind. + +Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock. + +"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,--Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?" + +She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding. + +"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said. + +Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged." + +She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir. + +"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow." + +"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too--stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?" + +"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face. + +Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw. + +"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"--she stretched her neck toward the door--"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her." + +"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within. + +"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor. + +"Scat! _quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was--" + +"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'--good mornin', Mis' Pryor!" + +She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway. + +Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand. + +"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you _are_ a stranger! Step right +in this way!" + +Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room. + +"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl--I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?" + +Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phoebe +Blyth is universally lamented." + +Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years. + +"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?" + +Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips. + +"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to _be_ neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phoebe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phoebe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +_can_ do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in _my_ +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body." + +Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down--Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of--and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than--well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so." + +Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were--oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming! + +"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative _of_ +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?" + +Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and--so +far as might be--in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech. + +"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a--a--mountain; a--a--in +short,--a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it. + +Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked. + +"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back." + +"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out--" + +"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her." + +Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen. + +Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower. + +"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see." + +"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?" + +Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye. + +"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do." + +"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own. + +"Have you any symptoms for me?" + +"I thought that was your business!" said the patient. + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been--a--feeling like +this?" + +"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for--for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!" + +"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman. + +"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors." + +The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient. + +[Illustration: "'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE +SAID."] + +"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the--a--nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile." + +"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta." + +"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?" + +Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave. + +"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired--almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this--" + +"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +_she_ is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?" + +"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree. + +The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him. + +At last--"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come." + +"Have you tried again, James?" + +"Yes, I have tried again, or--tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before." + +"Has the little idiot--has she any reason to give?" + +Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and--but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as--that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs." + +"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply. + +"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that." + +"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But--larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +NOT YET! + + +How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection. + +Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress. + +"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!" + +Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song: + + "Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!" + +Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!" + +At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and--since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out--it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that _this_ duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water. + +In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage. + +"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?" + +"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight. + +"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?" + +"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it--three minutes ago--with +these eyes! I run all the way--just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect--palpitations--I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?" + +Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa. + +"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?" + +"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!" + +And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake. + +"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no--my dear heart alive! what has happened?" + +Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat. + +"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She--Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I--I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?" + +A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder. + +"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?" + +"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?" + +"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?" + +"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?" + +"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice. + +The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma. + +"What has happened?" + +"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!" + +"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phoebe--" + +"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning." + +"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!" + +"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think--" + +"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!" + +Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house--a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things. + +The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand. + +Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence--was +it the only presence?--of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice. + +"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute." + +"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!" + +"You--oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits _this_ +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree--if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted." + +"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred." + +"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?" + +"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?" + +"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy. + +"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + +***** This file should be named 30439-8.txt or 30439-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/3/30439/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/30439-8.zip b/30439-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..748d1b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-8.zip diff --git a/30439-h.zip b/30439-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a26ac6 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h.zip diff --git a/30439-h/30439-h.htm b/30439-h/30439-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6b5eca --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/30439-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4896 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +body { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; clear: both; } + +p { margin: .75em 0; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em; } + +p.i0 { text-indent: 0; } + +hr { width: 65%; margin: 2em auto; clear: both; } + +hr.thoughtbreak { width: 45%; } + +blockquote { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + +abbr { text-decoration: none !important; border-bottom: none !important; } + +a:focus, a:active { outline:#ffee66 solid 2px; background-color:#ffee66;} + +.center { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal; } + +.caption { font-size: smaller; margin-top: 0em; text-align: center; } + +.citation { text-align: right; } + +.quotsig { margin-left: 35%; text-indent: -4em; text-align: left; } + +.transnote {background-color: #e6e6fa; color: #000000; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding: 0.5em;} + +/* Front Matter */ +.bbox { border: solid 2px; margin: 3px; } + +.frontmatter { width: 411px; margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; } + +.frontmatter p { text-indent: 0; padding-left: 2em; } + + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left; } + +.poem br { display: none; } + +.poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + +.poem span { display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; } + +.poem span.i2 { margin-left: 2em; } + +.poem span.i5 { margin-left: 5em; } + +.poem span.i6 { margin-left: 6em; } + +.poem p { font-size: smaller; text-indent: 0; } + +.poem { max-width: 30em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + +/* Contents and List of Illustrations */ +div.contents { position: relative; width: 85%; padding: 1em;} +span.ralign { position: absolute; right: 0; top: auto; } +ol.loi { list-style-type: none; } +ol.toc { list-style-type: upper-roman; } + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30439 ***</div> + +<p class="transnote">Transcriber's Note: Punctuation errors have been corrected, but suspected misprints retained as possible dialect.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/image1.jpg" + width="364" height="600" + alt="Frontispiece featuring Mrs. Tree sitting in the chair, knitting" + title="MRS. TREE" /> + <p class="caption">MRS. TREE</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="bbox frontmatter"> +<div class="bbox"> + <a name="image_1" id="image_1"></a> + <img src="images/title.png" + width="399" height="163" + alt="Decorative title: MRS. TREE" + title="MRS. TREE" /> +</div> + +<div class="bbox"> +<p><big>By<br /> +Laura E. Richards</big><br /> + +<small><i>Author of</i><br /> +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc.</small></p> +</div> + +<div class="bbox center"> + <img src="images/logo.png" + width="150" height="177" + alt="An ovaloid logo featuring a picture of a tree and inscription 'D E & Co / INTER FOLIA FRUCTUS'" + title="D E & Co / INTER FOLIA FRUCTUS" /> +</div> + +<div class="bbox"> +<p>Boston<br /> +Dana Estes & Company<br /> +Publishers</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1902</i><br /> +<b class="smcap">By Dana Estes & Company</b><br /> +——<br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<pre style="height: 3em;"> + + + +</pre> + +<p class="center"><small>MRS. TREE</small><br /> +Published June, 1902</p> + +<pre style="height: 3em;"> + + + +</pre> + +<p class="center"><b><i>Colonial Press</i></b><br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & <abbr title="Company">Co.</abbr><br /> +Boston, <abbr title="Massachusetts">Mass.</abbr>, <abbr title="United States of America">U. S. A.</abbr></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><small>TO</small><br /> +<b><i>My Daughter Rosalind</i></b></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="contents"> +<ol class="toc"> +<li><a href="#chapter_1">Wedding Bells</a> <span class="ralign">11</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_2">Phœbe's Opinions</a> <span class="ralign">25</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_3">Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather</a> <span class="ralign">41</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_4">Old Friends</a> <span class="ralign">55</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_5">"But When He Was Yet a Great Way off"</a> <span class="ralign">75</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_6">The New Postmaster</a> <span class="ralign">92</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_7">In Miss Penny's Shop</a> <span class="ralign">107</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_8">A Tea-party</a> <span class="ralign">124</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_9">A Garden-party</a> <span class="ralign">142</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_10">Mr. Butters Discourses</a> <span class="ralign">161</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_11">Miss Phœbe Passes on</a> <span class="ralign">175</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_12">The Peak in Darien</a> <span class="ralign">189</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_13">Life in Death</a> <span class="ralign">201</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_14">Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought</a> <span class="ralign">217</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_15">Maria</a> <span class="ralign">233</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_16">Doctor Stedman's Patient</a> <span class="ralign">249</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_17">Not Yet!</a> <span class="ralign">267</span></li> +</ol> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="illustrations" id="illustrations"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<div class="contents"> +<ol class="loi"> +<li><a href="#image_1">Mrs. Tree</a> <span class="ralign">Frontispiece</span></li> +<li><a href="#image_2">"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony"</a> <span class="ralign">119</span></li> +<li><a href="#image_3">"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'"</a> <span class="ralign">143</span></li> +<li><a href="#image_4">"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said"</a> <span class="ralign">262</span></li> +</ol> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h1><a name="MRS_TREE" id="MRS_TREE"></a>MRS. TREE</h1> + +<h2><a name="chapter_1" id="chapter_1"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="one">I</abbr>.<br /> +<small>WEDDING BELLS</small></h2> + + +<p>"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected."</p> + +<p>"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye.</p> + +<p>"I was cleanin' it."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone."</p> + +<p>"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia.</p> + +<p>"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?"</p> + +<p>"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better.</p> + +<p>Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely.</p> + +<p>"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you—what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is."</p> + +<p>Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion.</p> + +<p>"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so."</p> + +<p>She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phœbe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time.</p> + +<p>"'I ain't no notion!' says he.</p> + +<p>"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says.</p> + +<p>"'Just what I say,' says he.</p> + +<p>"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here.</p> + +<p>"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.'</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died—<em>she</em> was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived—died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off—but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phœbe 'n' Vesty.</p> + +<p>"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phœbe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker.</p> + +<p>But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind.</p> + +<p>Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant.</p> + +<p>"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia."</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!"</p> + +<p>"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet.</p> + +<p>"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to—"</p> + +<p>"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed—Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness—the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!—there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage."</p> + +<p>"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of—of +pride and joy and youth—ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?"</p> + +<p>"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I—I confess—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking—Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division—"</p> + +<p>"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!"</p> + +<p>"Do I look as if I were going to die?"</p> + +<p>"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust."</p> + +<p>"Very well! When I <em>am</em> dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one.</p> + +<p>"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man."</p> + +<p>"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!"</p> + +<p>"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta looked distressed.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phœbe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and—"</p> + +<p>"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger.</p> + +<p>"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phœbe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now."</p> + +<p>"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!"</p> + +<p>"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_2" id="chapter_2"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="two">II</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MISS PHŒBE'S OPINIONS</small></h2> + + +<p>"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman.</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she—that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is."</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't."</p> + +<p>"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phœbe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in—one, two, three, purl—in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable."</p> + +<p>"I often think, Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young."</p> + +<p>"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phœbe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phœbe."</p> + +<p>"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?"</p> + +<p>After a majestic pause, Miss Phœbe continued, glancing at her other +hearers:</p> + +<p>"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is—I grieve to use +a harsh expression—frivolous."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phœbe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one."</p> + +<p>"I—a—was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the—a—pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"—he waved his hands gently +abroad—"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities."</p> + +<p>"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phœbe, with stately courtesy.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Cousin Phœbe. I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>It was one of Miss Phœbe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phœbe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother.</p> + +<p>"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and—other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of—mockery; of—derision; +of—contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as—strange; as—singular; +as—extraordinary."</p> + +<p>"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phœbe."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman.</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phœbe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phœbe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!"</p> + +<p>Miss Phœbe colored and drew herself up.</p> + +<p>"Sister Phœbe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of—"</p> + +<p>"Vesta, I <em>think</em> I have my senses," said Miss Phœbe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof—I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter—we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"—Miss Phœbe's voice quavered slightly—"he is +a chosen spirit."</p> + +<p>"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta.</p> + +<p>"But in spite of this," Miss Phœbe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly.</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best—patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,—whatever it was,—I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking."</p> + +<p>Miss Phœbe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction.</p> + +<p>"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to—a—persons of literary taste. There is"—he +waved his hands—"too much noise; too much—sound; too much—absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats."</p> + +<p>"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose."</p> + +<p>"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was—friendly; that +was—benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I—since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"—his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phœbe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>He shook hands heartily all around and was gone.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits."</p> + +<p>His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phœbe, benevolently.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"This is—you may be aware, Cousin Phœbe—the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing—I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning—which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phœbe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main—but you shall judge for yourself."</p> + +<p>He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began:</p> + +<p>"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats."</p> + +<p>"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"By all means, Cousin Phœbe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'—but I +need not repeat the title.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"I asked the Muse if she had one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrice-favored son,<br /></span> +<span>Or if some one poetic brother<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appealed to her more than another.<br /></span> +<span>She gazed on me with aspect high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tear in eye,<br /></span> +<span>While musically she repeats,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Keats!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"She gave me then to understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smilèd bland,<br /></span> +<span>On Helicon the sacred Nine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Occasionally ask bards to dine.<br /></span> +<span>'For most,' she said, 'we do not move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though we approve;<br /></span> +<span>For one alone we leave our seats:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Keats!"'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phœbe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phœbe was ready now.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression—I am sorry +to speak strongly—shocks me!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times.</p> + +<p>"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phœbe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you."</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phœbe. "The poets—with a +few notable exceptions—are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries."</p> + +<p>"But Keats, Cousin Phœbe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phœbe checked him +with a wave of her hand.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_3" id="chapter_3"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="three">III</abbr>.<br /> +<small>INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER</small></h2> + + +<p>"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air.</p> + +<p>"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there."</p> + +<p>"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners."</p> + +<p>The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own.</p> + +<p>The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers.</p> + +<p>"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said <em>shake hands</em>, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?"</p> + +<p>"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are-the-same."</p> + + +<p>Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?"</p> + +<p>"<em>May</em> I, not <em>can</em> I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it."</p> + +<p>The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats.</p> + +<p>"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Bully!" said Tommy.</p> + +<p>"Now, what do you want to hear?"</p> + +<p>"About Grampy."</p> + +<p>"What about him?"</p> + +<p>"Everything! like what you told me last time."</p> + +<p>There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other.</p> + +<p>"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew."</p> + +<p>Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture.</p> + +<p>"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,—we +wore aprons with big pockets then,—and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!"</p> + +<p>"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!"</p> + +<p>"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm!"</p> + +<p>"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight—the first one—was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called <em>him</em> Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron—or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street—dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,—his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,—and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them.</p> + +<p>"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study—it was dusk by now—and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room."</p> + +<p>"<em>Saw</em>, not <em>see</em>!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear—he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?'</p> + +<p>"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.'</p> + +<p>"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?'</p> + +<p>"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.)</p> + +<p>"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.'</p> + +<p>"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?"</p> + +<p>"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly.</p> + +<p>"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?"</p> + +<p>Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't."</p> + +<p>"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous—that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_4" id="chapter_4"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="four">IV.</abbr><br /> +<small>OLD FRIENDS</small></h2> + + +<p>It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would—it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf.</p> + +<p>A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question.</p> + +<p>In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea.</p> + +<p>"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something."</p> + +<p>"Direxia Hawkes!"</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant.</p> + +<p>"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone."</p> + +<p>"What does he look like?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!"</p> + +<p>"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"What say?"</p> + +<p>"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do."</p> + +<p>"The dogs—I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'—"</p> + +<p>"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?"</p> + +<p>"Well! of all the cantankerous—here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there.</p> + +<p>"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry."</p> + +<p>"Are you a tramp?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam."</p> + +<p>"Anything else?"</p> + +<p>The man was silent.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you."</p> + +<p>"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman."</p> + +<p>The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again.</p> + +<p>"I—cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you?"</p> + +<p>This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously.</p> + +<p>"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen—or—I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring.</p> + +<p>"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!"</p> + +<p>Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering.</p> + +<p>"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!"</p> + +<p>As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone:</p> + +<p>"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health."</p> + +<p>"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?"</p> + +<p>The man nodded gloomily.</p> + +<p>"That begins it. After awhile—I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit—"</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat.</p> + +<p>He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim—and clean.</p> + +<p>"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door.</p> + +<p>"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phœbe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day.</p> + +<p>The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it.</p> + +<p>"Old friends!" said the voice.</p> + +<p>The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held.</p> + +<p>"<em>My God!</em>" he said, violently.</p> + +<p>"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!"</p> + +<p>"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!"</p> + +<p>"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am—faint. I must get out into the air."</p> + +<p>The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down."</p> + +<p>"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!"</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +<em>Do as I say!</em> There!"</p> + +<p>"Old friends!" said the parrot.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes."</p> + +<p>"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!"</p> + +<p>She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods.</p> + +<p>"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here—hey?"</p> + +<p>The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock.</p> + +<p>"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest."</p> + +<p>He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet.</p> + +<p>"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy."</p> + +<p>"I came—" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came—to rob +you, Mrs. Tree."</p> + +<p>"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that—there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did."</p> + +<p>"God knows! When—how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?"</p> + +<p>"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy."</p> + +<p>"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend—yes, the parrot knew +me!—and let me go!"</p> + +<p>"Hark!" said the old woman.</p> + +<p>She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut.</p> + +<p>"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight."</p> + +<p>She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! <em>Do as I say!</em> Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!"</p> + +<p>She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono—lands sakes, I don't know what <em>to</em> do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she—"</p> + +<p>"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs.</p> + +<p>"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!"</p> + +<p>She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature.</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect +you when need is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and +he's here for no good."</p> + +<p>"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't."</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently.</p> + +<p>"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats +in—and when you're abed and asleep they'll have your life, them two, +and run off with your worldly goods that you've thought so much of. +Would have, that is, if I hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out +of winder. Oh, how thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, +though I was scairt 'most to death, and am now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none."</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these—"</p> + +<p>"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There <em>are</em> tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away—well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_5" id="chapter_5"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="five">V</abbr>.<br /> +<small>"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF"</small></h2> + + +<p>"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then—I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp—it was last spring, and warm weather coming on—till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then—in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting—I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it."</p> + +<p>"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only—it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman.</p> + +<p>She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color—if the light were +not gone out of them.</p> + +<p>"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard—I supposed he was still in Europe."</p> + +<p>"Two years ago."</p> + +<p>"Was it—" something seemed to choke the man.</p> + +<p>"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all."</p> + +<p>Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light.</p> + +<p>"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?"</p> + +<p>William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since—I +don't know when. I feel—almost—like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead."</p> + +<p>"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?"</p> + +<p>Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles.</p> + +<p>"To Mother!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; <em>do as I tell +you</em>! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time."</p> + +<p>"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!"</p> + +<p>The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?"</p> + +<p>She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S.</p> + +<p>"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?"</p> + +<p>He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face.</p> + +<p>"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree."</p> + +<p>"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up."</p> + +<p>"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!"</p> + +<p>"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away."</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it.</p> + +<p>This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before.</p> + +<p>She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight called over the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Isick, be you there?"</p> + +<p>"Yep!"</p> + +<p>"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her."</p> + +<p>"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac.</p> + +<p>"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking."</p> + +<p>"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you."</p> + +<p>"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows."</p> + +<p>"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter—it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up—not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home."</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?"</p> + +<p>The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door.</p> + +<p>"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?"</p> + +<p>"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith."</p> + +<p>"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is."</p> + +<p>She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I—I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me—an old acquaintance—who had—who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is—doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word.</p> + +<p>"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother.</p> + +<p>"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phœbe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_6" id="chapter_6"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="six">VI</abbr>.<br /> +<small>THE NEW POSTMASTER</small></h2> + + +<p>Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this.</p> + +<p>"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village.</p> + +<p>When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect.</p> + +<p>"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey.</p> + +<p>No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement.</p> + +<p>"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather."</p> + +<p>"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't."</p> + +<p>"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so."</p> + +<p>"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself."</p> + +<p>"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage.</p> + +<p>"Brether—I—I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?"</p> + +<p>The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily.</p> + +<p>"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home."</p> + +<p>"Not a mite," was the general verdict.</p> + +<p>"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job."</p> + +<p>He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet.</p> + +<p>"There's the <em>Fidely</em>," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect."</p> + +<p>A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment.</p> + +<p>"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year."</p> + +<p>"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey.</p> + +<p>"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him."</p> + +<p>"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?"</p> + +<p>"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it."</p> + +<p>"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Seth Weaver.</p> + +<p>The others looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him."</p> + +<p>He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently—</p> + +<p>"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this:</p> + +<p>"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone.</p> + +<p>Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it.</p> + +<p>"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?"</p> + +<p>There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic.</p> + +<p>"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before.</p> + +<p>"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on."</p> + +<p>"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver.</p> + +<p>"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?"</p> + +<p>At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,—indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,—but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time."</p> + +<p>"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to—occupy;—to—a—become a holder of."</p> + +<p>"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"I—am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service—to the—amelioration; to +the—mental, moral, and physical well-being—of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose—I believe it is the custom—a—in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?"</p> + +<p>"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but—well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember."</p> + +<p>There was an assenting hum.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly—I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I—he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen—I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow."</p> + +<p>He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders.</p> + +<p>They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary.</p> + +<p>But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail.</p> + +<p>"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly.</p> + +<p>Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it."</p> + +<p>"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'"</p> + +<p>"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on!<br /></span> +<span>Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"—His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly—" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)—"I may say +<em>very</em> strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind."</p> + +<p>There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another.</p> + +<p>"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted."</p> + +<p>"That's so," said the elders.</p> + +<p>"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him—why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned."</p> + +<p>The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes—shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them—roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove.</p> + +<p>"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic."</p> + +<p>"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest."</p> + +<p>"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_7" id="chapter_7"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="seven">VII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP</small></h2> + + +<p>One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone—and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits.</p> + +<p>One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked.</p> + +<p>"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him—well, he always had +that—but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Eheu fugaces</i>," said a harsh voice +from a corner.</p> + +<p>"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"'<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,</i><br /></span> +<span><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Labuntur anni</i>;'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i0">tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly.</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness."</p> + +<p>"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters."</p> + +<p>"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?"</p> + +<p>"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open."</p> + +<p>"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!"</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily.</p> + +<p>Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her."</p> + +<p>"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird—"</p> + +<p>She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes—won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?"</p> + +<p>"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight.</p> + +<p>"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Helen was a beauty,<br /></span> +<span>Xantippe was a shrew;<br /></span> +<span>Medusa was a Gorgon,<br /></span> +<span>And so—are—<em>you</em>!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i0">Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!"</p> + +<p>Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her.</p> + +<p>"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a <em>man</em> in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck."</p> + +<p>Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct.</p> + +<p>"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down.</p> + +<p>"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious <em>I</em> see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way."</p> + +<p>"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom—"</p> + +<p>"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly.</p> + +<p>"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could—"</p> + +<p>She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post.</p> + +<p>"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're <em>real</em> smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here."</p> + +<p>She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure.</p> + +<p>"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!"</p> + +<p>Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!"</p> + +<p>"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phœbe?"</p> + +<p>"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!"</p> + +<div class="center"> + <a name="image_2" id="image_2"></a> + <img src="images/image2.jpg" + width="433" height="600" + alt="A picture of Miss Vesta by Jocko's cage, with Miss Penny looking on" + title=""SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT CEREMONY."" /> + <p class="caption">"SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."</p> +</div> + +<p>She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony.</p> + +<p>"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious."</p> + +<p>"How old <em>is</em> that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny.</p> + +<p>"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection."</p> + +<p>"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many—violent expressions in that +language."</p> + +<p>"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe.</p> + +<p>"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!"</p> + +<p>"<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Arma virumque cano!</i>" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!"</p> + +<p>"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?"</p> + +<p>"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome."</p> + +<p>"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like—a—dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?"</p> + +<p>"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday."</p> + +<p>"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?"</p> + +<p>"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight—"</p> + +<p>"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_8" id="chapter_8"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="eight">VIII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>A TEA-PARTY</small></h2> + + +<p>"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well."</p> + +<p>"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phœbe. "Let me see; one, two, three—six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss—no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening."</p> + +<p>"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phœbe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?"</p> + +<p>The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phœbe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish.</p> + +<p>"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phœbe, gravely; +then she sighed.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes."</p> + +<p>"Surely, Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,—naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,—but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need."</p> + +<p>"Surely, Sister Phœbe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!"</p> + +<p>"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phœbe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?"</p> + +<p>Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phœbe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat.</p> + +<p>"Phœbe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me—yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset.</p> + +<p>"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit."</p> + +<p>"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong—ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up."</p> + +<p>"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phœbe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea."</p> + +<p>"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phœbe?"</p> + +<p>"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phœbe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?"</p> + +<p>"A—it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phœbe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you."</p> + +<p>"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phœbe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice.</p> + +<p>"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious—so harmonious—I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment."</p> + +<p>He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table.</p> + +<p>"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It <em>is</em> the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting."</p> + +<p>Miss Phœbe looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Phœbe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phœbe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable."</p> + +<p>"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phœbe."</p> + +<p>He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey—not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phœbe looked grave.</p> + +<p>"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?"</p> + +<p>"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome.</p> + +<p>"She is a—a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently."</p> + +<p>"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phœbe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case."</p> + +<p>"A—well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"—here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself—"in fact,—a—she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely.</p> + +<p>"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,—'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,—and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word—had +you, John?—when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses—what <em>do</em> you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl—"</p> + +<p>"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree <em>is</em> just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!—no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she <em>is</em> kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us."</p> + +<p>"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer bridled and colored.</p> + +<p>"A—not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my—a—genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek—to employ—to—a—avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It—gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"—he waved his +hands—"circumambiency!"</p> + +<p>His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you."</p> + +<p>"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,—but it was +only seven,—settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile.</p> + +<p>"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom—or more properly which—I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our—a—midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but—shall I say, Cousin Phœbe, a temporary estray from +the—a—star-y-pointing path?"</p> + +<p>"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phœbe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phœbe, sitting erect and rigid—in the rocking-chair, <em>his</em> +rocking-chair! Miss Phœbe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she <em>could</em> rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising—and read as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p>"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND.</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Our beloved William Jaquith<br /></span> +<span>Has resolved henceforth to break with<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Devious ways;<br /></span> +<span>And returning to his mother<br /></span> +<span>Vows he will have ne'er another<br /></span> +<span class="i5">All his days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Husk of swine did not him nourish;<br /></span> +<span>Plant of Virtue could not flourish<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Far from home;<br /></span> +<span>So his heart with longing burnèd,<br /></span> +<span>And his feet with speed returnèd<br /></span> +<span class="i5">To its dome.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Welcome, William, to our village!<br /></span> +<span>Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Cherished son!<br /></span> +<span>On her sightless steps attendant,<br /></span> +<span>Wear a crown of light resplendent,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Duty done!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phœbe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more—a"—he +waved his hands—"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phœbe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_9" id="chapter_9"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="nine">IX</abbr>.<br /> +<small>A GARDEN PARTY</small></h2> + + +<p>It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams.</p> + +<p>No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth.</p> + +<div class="center"> + <a name="image_3" id="image_3"></a> + <img src="images/image3.jpg" + width="378" height="600" + alt="Mrs. Tree sitting in a wicker chair on the porch, talking to William Jaquith" title=""'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"" /> + <p class="caption">"'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"</p> +</div> + +<p>Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw.</p> + +<p>"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats."</p> + +<p>"With Mary—do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up.</p> + +<p>"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent—"</p> + +<p>She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that."</p> + +<p>"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying—something +about Lily Bent?"</p> + +<p>"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tree!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tree,"—the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,—"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting—I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since—why does she stay away +so long?"</p> + +<p>"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and—one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that—of your wife after she +left you."</p> + +<p>"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after—"</p> + +<p>"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you."</p> + +<p>She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But—I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long."</p> + +<p>"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy."</p> + +<p>"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information."</p> + +<p>"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am.</p> + +<p>"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to."</p> + +<p>Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance—but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was."</p> + +<p>"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!"</p> + +<p>Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her.</p> + +<p>With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith.</p> + +<p>"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?"</p> + +<p>Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion.</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together.</p> + +<p>"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,—ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time."</p> + +<p>"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day."</p> + +<p>"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery—and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent—pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then—she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder—h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!"</p> + +<p>His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine.</p> + +<p>"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?"</p> + +<p>A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I—"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback.</p> + +<p>He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"See anything to beat the State of Maine?"</p> + +<p>"I think not. No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good—when it +<em>is</em> good—it's <em>good</em>, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour—"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?"</p> + +<p>"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree."</p> + +<p>He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings.</p> + +<p>"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace."</p> + +<p>The wings were graciously accepted and praised.</p> + +<p>"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny."</p> + +<p>"Was it sudden?"</p> + +<p>"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now."</p> + +<p>"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel—why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'."</p> + +<p>"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you."</p> + +<p>"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!"</p> + +<p>He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago—two +months maybe it was—a man come to the door—back door—and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,—she's terrible skeert of +tramps,—and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door.</p> + +<p>"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he.</p> + +<p>"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short.</p> + +<p>"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.'</p> + +<p>"She questioned him,—Alviry's a master hand at questionin',—and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,—ma'am, I ask your pardon,—he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says.</p> + +<p>"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.'</p> + +<p>"So he told her his name,—Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he <em>has</em> +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,—and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,—ma'am, <em>I</em> should +say,—when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at.</p> + +<p>"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!"</p> + +<p>"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings."</p> + +<p>"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_10" id="chapter_10"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="ten">X</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES</small></h2> + + +<p>After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward.</p> + +<p>"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!"</p> + +<p>Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially.</p> + +<p>"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?"</p> + +<p>"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?"</p> + +<p>"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!"</p> + +<p>"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you."</p> + +<p>"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I don't know what else <em>to</em> do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben."</p> + +<p>"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise?</p> + +<p>"'What have ye done?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else <em>to</em> do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,—or was it oil and +vinegar?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver."</p> + +<p>Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?"</p> + +<p>Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window.</p> + +<p>"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were—adjacent;—a—contiguous;—a—in point +of fact, near together."</p> + +<p>"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way."</p> + +<p>"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I—I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is—a—in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of—a—alienation; +of—a—wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred—"</p> + +<p>Ithuriel Butters looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of—"</p> + +<p>"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer colored painfully.</p> + +<p>"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that—that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters."</p> + +<p>"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't.</p> + +<p>"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?"</p> + +<p>"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters."</p> + +<p>"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal."</p> + +<p>"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,—she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,—but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House—you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house.</p> + +<p>"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too."</p> + +<p>"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You—a—you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so—a—so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth."</p> + +<p>"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em.</p> + +<p>"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_11" id="chapter_11"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="eleven">XI</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MISS PHŒBE PASSES ON</small></h2> + + +<p>Miss Phœbe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way.</p> + +<p>Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phœbe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phœbe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented—linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming.</p> + +<p>"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phœbe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar."</p> + +<p>"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method."</p> + +<p>"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I <em>do</em> +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of—"</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you."</p> + +<p>She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters.</p> + +<p>"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's <em>so</em>! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know—unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning."</p> + +<p>"Well, I—"</p> + +<p>For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly.</p> + +<p>"Girls, I would <em>not</em> have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out—she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?'</p> + +<p>"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?'</p> + +<p>"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me—what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?"</p> + +<p>Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phœbe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'."</p> + +<p>"Miss Phœbe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day."</p> + +<p>"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village—I'll go +further, and say county—that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phœbe, but—there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me—"</p> + +<p>"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms.</p> + +<p>Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue.</p> + +<p>"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea."</p> + +<p>"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire—let us keep things as they +have been—as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"—the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break—"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but—she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them."</p> + +<p>"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,—she's real good,—and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?"</p> + +<p>"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion."</p> + +<p>"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her."</p> + +<p>Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phœbe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure.</p> + +<p>"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I—" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_12" id="chapter_12"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="twelve">XII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>THE PEAK IN DARIEN</small></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then felt I like some watcher of the skies<br /></span> +<span>When a new planet swims into his ken:<br /></span> +<span>Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes<br /></span> +<span>He stared at the Pacific, and all his men<br /></span> +<span>Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—<br /></span> +<span>Silent, upon a peak in Darien.<br /></span> +</div> +<p class="citation">—<i>John Keats.</i></p> +</div> + + +<p>Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phœbe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phœbe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled.</p> + +<p>"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is—a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person."</p> + +<p>After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride.</p> + +<p>"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of—a—song; but I think that looks well, +William?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!"</p> + +<p>"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will—a—wither; will—a—become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to—beat; to—throb; +to—a—palpitate."</p> + +<p>He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued:</p> + +<p>"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our—retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated—a—rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!"</p> + +<p>"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question.</p> + +<p>"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture.</p> + +<p>"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, <em>a</em> +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain <em>is</em> in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one—to me. It represents—a—Woman."</p> + +<p>"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times.</p> + +<p>"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes—a—Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of—a—Woman, through the medium of the—a—Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien—Woman! Guided by the—a—Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and—and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise—silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half—or more than half—in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling.</p> + +<p>Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer!</p> + +<p>The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if—unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture—"How if a man were misled for a time by—I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer—by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than—would he have any right to—what was it you +said, sir?—to try once more to scale those crystal heights?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light—I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided—would again fall +across his path."</p> + +<p>"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath.</p> + +<p>He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien.</p> + +<p>"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith.</p> + +<p>When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant.</p> + +<p>"Have I—have I given satisfaction, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me—on many accounts."</p> + +<p>"Then, you—you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?"</p> + +<p>"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give."</p> + +<p>"Then—then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"—he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,—"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!"</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?"</p> + +<p>"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly.</p> + +<p>"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you."</p> + +<p>"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did."</p> + +<p>The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again.</p> + +<p>"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you—or thank you?"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_13" id="chapter_13"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="thirteen">XIII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>LIFE IN DEATH</small></h2> + + +<p>"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall.</p> + +<p>"To Miss Dane's!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony.</p> + +<p>The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived—"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said—Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,—indeed, report would have her some years +older,—but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one.</p> + +<p>Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy.</p> + +<p>"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it."</p> + +<p>The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony."</p> + +<p>"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?"</p> + +<p>The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light.</p> + +<p>These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths.</p> + +<p>"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?"</p> + +<p>Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat.</p> + +<p>"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met."</p> + +<p>"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away."</p> + +<p>"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me."</p> + +<p>"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned."</p> + +<p>"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking."</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have; years ago."</p> + +<p>"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith—Mary Ashton?"</p> + +<p>"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank."</p> + +<p>"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly."</p> + +<p>"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living."</p> + +<p>"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along—somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But—Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now—they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other.</p> + +<p>"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way."</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first."</p> + +<p>She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention.</p> + +<p>"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred."</p> + +<p>"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane.</p> + +<p>"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally:</p> + +<p>"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phœbe Blyth was dead?"</p> + +<p>"I knew that Phœbe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor."</p> + +<p>She paused a moment, and then added, "Phœbe was with me last night."</p> + +<p>"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phœbe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults."</p> + +<p>"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you."</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said."</p> + +<p>The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame.</p> + +<p>"<em>You dare</em>—" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you—te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times.</p> + +<p>"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.)</p> + +<p>"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; <em>the other +side</em>, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me."</p> + +<p>In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones.</p> + +<p>"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was—"</p> + +<p>"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Tree!"</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is <em>so</em> well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed."</p> + +<p>"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby—I never had but one—was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral."</p> + +<p>She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends.</p> + +<p>"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently.</p> + +<p>"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_14" id="chapter_14"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="fourteen">XIV</abbr>.<br /> +<small>TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT</small></h2> + + +<p>"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are-the-same!" +replied Tommy Candy, in one breath.</p> + +<p>"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy."</p> + +<p>Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin.</p> + +<p>"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair."</p> + +<p>The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair.</p> + +<p>"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did."</p> + +<p>"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there—don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it—and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?"</p> + +<p>"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy.</p> + +<p>"Every word."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said.</p> + +<p>He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale.</p> + +<p>"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him—well, <em>saw</em> him—come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow—yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see—saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight—we was goin' home from school together—I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas—no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off—I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand—thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation.</p> + +<p>"We waited—there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant—I reely did, +Mis' Tree—to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight—he makes me tired!—the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!'</p> + +<p>"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did—did your father whip you well, Tommy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!"</p> + +<p>When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them.</p> + +<p>Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh.</p> + +<p>"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old +block!"</p> + +<p>Then she took up her letter.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phœbe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!"</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria."</p> + +<p>"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<strong class="smcap">My dear Aunt:</strong>—I was much grieved to hear of poor Phœbe's +death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her +illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and +gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and +Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to +overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phœbe sadly, and +be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come +and show you both that to <em>me</em>, at least, blood is thicker than +water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to +establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in +Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet +girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to +their venerable relation. I think you would find them <em>not +inferior</em>, to say the least, to some others who have been more put +forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been +<em>my</em> idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are +so numerous, and they are so much <em>sought after</em>, that it will be +impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to +do so. I propose to divide my visit <em>impartially</em> between you and +poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, +since such we are bidden to visit.</p> + +<p>"Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and +hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of +health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt,</p> + +<p class="quotsig">"Your affectionate niece,<br /> +"<strong class="smcap">Maria Darracott Pryor</strong>."</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta."</p> + +<p>But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,—"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,—and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to—"</p> + +<p>"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman.</p> + +<p>"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house."</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia!"</p> + +<p>"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phœbe! She +must try her best to do as Phœbe would have wished.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear—so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,—especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,—that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are."</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly.</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother."</p> + +<p>"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them—but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her."</p> + +<p>"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quousque tandem, O Catilina?</i> Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta sighed. "Then—what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?"</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly.</p> + +<p>"Surely you must answer her letter, dear."</p> + +<p>"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl."</p> + +<p>"Surely you <em>will</em> answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself."</p> + +<p>"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia."</p> + +<p>"Then she can go without.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">"'Tiddy hi, toddy ho,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Tiddy hi hum,<br /></span> +<span>Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that—"</p> + +<p>"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth—te-hee!—and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_15" id="chapter_15"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="fifteen">XV</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MARIA</small></h2> + + +<p>"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky.</p> + +<p>"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire—Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phœbe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities—"</p> + +<p>"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?"</p> + +<p>"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phœbe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,—no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails—why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home—not an inch but is covered with something bright and æsthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phœbe—in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phœbe's being taken—about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phœbe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,—in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phœbe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever—you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,—but—well—and so—I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen.</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her.</p> + +<p>Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phœbe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister.</p> + +<p>"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her.</p> + +<p>"You have put me in Phœbe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun—oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And <em>how</em> is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure—in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present."</p> + +<p>"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to <em>stay</em> with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound—but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +<em>Good</em>-by!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I—something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phœbe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our—my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?"</p> + +<p>"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?"</p> + +<p>"Hum! yes, I remember <em>her</em>. She hasn't come here, to this house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am—of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but—James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known."</p> + +<p>"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear—"</p> + +<p>"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta—let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit."</p> + +<p>"Go away, James? I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very—everything that is like you—to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this—this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!"</p> + +<p>"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but—but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria—my own +cousin, remember, James—chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it."</p> + +<p>"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely.</p> + +<p>"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,—she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way—though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,—it is a +small matter, but—I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since—I first lighted the lamp. Then—"</p> + +<p>"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet."</p> + +<p>The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before.</p> + +<p>"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but—no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her.</p> + +<p>"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if—Vesta,—may I speak once more?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it."</p> + +<p>"But—you are alone, child. If Phœbe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and—I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed."</p> + +<p>He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his.</p> + +<p>"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never—at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,—for it must fail,—she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning—there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand—or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_16" id="chapter_16"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="sixteen">XVI</abbr>.<br /> +<small>DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT</small></h2> + + +<p>Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking—perhaps with the wind.</p> + +<p>Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,—Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?"</p> + +<p>She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged."</p> + +<p>She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow."</p> + +<p>"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too—stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw.</p> + +<p>"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"—she stretched her neck toward the door—"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her."</p> + +<p>"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within.</p> + +<p>"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor.</p> + +<p>"Scat! <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">quousque tandem, O Catilina?</i> Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was—"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'—good mornin', Mis' Pryor!"</p> + +<p>She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you <em>are</em> a stranger! Step right +in this way!"</p> + +<p>Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room.</p> + +<p>"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl—I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?"</p> + +<p>Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phœbe +Blyth is universally lamented."</p> + +<p>Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years.</p> + +<p>"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?"</p> + +<p>Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips.</p> + +<p>"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to <em>be</em> neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phœbe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phœbe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +<em>can</em> do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in <em>my</em> +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down—Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of—and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than—well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so."</p> + +<p>Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were—oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming!</p> + +<p>"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative <em>of</em> +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and—so +far as might be—in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech.</p> + +<p>"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a—a—mountain; a—a—in +short,—a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it.</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out—"</p> + +<p>"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her."</p> + +<p>Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen.</p> + +<p>Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see."</p> + +<p>"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye.</p> + +<p>"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own.</p> + +<p>"Have you any symptoms for me?"</p> + +<p>"I thought that was your business!" said the patient.</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been—a—feeling like +this?"</p> + +<p>"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for—for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!"</p> + +<p>"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman.</p> + +<p>"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors."</p> + +<p>The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient.</p> + +<div class="center"> + <a name="image_4" id="image_4"></a> + <img src="images/image4.jpg" + width="384" height="600" + alt="Doctor Stedman pouring from the cordial into a tumbler and Mrs. Tree observing from her chair" + title=""'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE SAID."" /> + <p class="caption">"'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE SAID."</p> +</div> + +<p>"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the—a—nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile."</p> + +<p>"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!"</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta."</p> + +<p>"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave.</p> + +<p>"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired—almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this—"</p> + +<p>"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly.</p> + +<p>"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +<em>she</em> is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him.</p> + +<p>At last—"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come."</p> + +<p>"Have you tried again, James?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have tried again, or—tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before."</p> + +<p>"Has the little idiot—has she any reason to give?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and—but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as—that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs."</p> + +<p>"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply.</p> + +<p>"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But—larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter."</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_17" id="chapter_17"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="seventeen">XVII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>NOT YET!</small></h2> + + +<p>How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress.</p> + +<p>"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!"</p> + +<p>Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">"Tiddy hi, toddy ho,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Tiddy hi hum,<br /></span> +<span>Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!"</p> + +<p>At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and—since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out—it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that <em>this</em> duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage.</p> + +<p>"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?"</p> + +<p>"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight.</p> + +<p>"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?"</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it—three minutes ago—with +these eyes! I run all the way—just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect—palpitations—I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa.</p> + +<p>"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?"</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!"</p> + +<p>And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake.</p> + +<p>"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no—my dear heart alive! what has happened?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat.</p> + +<p>"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She—Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I—I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?"</p> + +<p>A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder.</p> + +<p>"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice.</p> + +<p>The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!"</p> + +<p>"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phœbe—"</p> + +<p>"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phœbe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!"</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think—"</p> + +<p>"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!"</p> + +<p>Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house—a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things.</p> + +<p>The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand.</p> + +<p>Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence—was +it the only presence?—of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice.</p> + +<p>"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute."</p> + +<p>"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!"</p> + +<p>"You—oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits <em>this</em> +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree—if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted."</p> + +<p>"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred."</p> + +<p>"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?"</p> + +<p>"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?"</p> + +<p>"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy.</p> + +<p>"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!"</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<h2><small>THE END.</small></h2> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30439 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30439-h/images/image1.jpg b/30439-h/images/image1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3de464 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/images/image1.jpg diff --git a/30439-h/images/image2.jpg b/30439-h/images/image2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c4a3b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/images/image2.jpg diff --git a/30439-h/images/image3.jpg b/30439-h/images/image3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..858e661 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/images/image3.jpg diff --git a/30439-h/images/image4.jpg b/30439-h/images/image4.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd1d9cc --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/images/image4.jpg diff --git a/30439-h/images/logo.png b/30439-h/images/logo.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3066184 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/images/logo.png diff --git a/30439-h/images/title.png b/30439-h/images/title.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..821d1f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439-h/images/title.png diff --git a/30439.txt b/30439.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..582daac --- /dev/null +++ b/30439.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5175 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Tree + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Release Date: November 9, 2009 [EBook #30439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: MRS. TREE.] + + + + +MRS. TREE + +By +Laura E. Richards + +_Author of_ +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc. + +Boston +Dana Estes & Company +Publishers + + + +_Copyright, 1902_ +BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + +_All rights reserved_ + + +MRS. TREE +Published June, 1902 + + +Colonial Press +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + +To +My Daughter Rosalind + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. Wedding Bells 11 + +II. Phoebe's Opinions 25 + +III. Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather 41 + +IV. Old Friends 55 + +V. "But When He Was Yet a Great Way off" 75 + +VI. The New Postmaster 92 + +VII. In Miss Penny's Shop 107 + +VIII. A Tea-party 124 + +IX. A Garden-party 142 + +X. Mr. Butters Discourses 161 + +XI. Miss Phoebe Passes on 175 + +XII. The Peak in Darien 189 + +XIII. Life in Death 201 + +XIV. Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought 217 + +XV. Maria 233 + +XVI. Doctor Stedman's Patient 249 + +XVII. Not Yet! 267 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + PAGE + +Mrs. Tree Frontispiece + +"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony" 119 + +"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'" 143 + +"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said" 262 + + + + +MRS. TREE + +CHAPTER I. + +WEDDING BELLS + + +"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles. + +"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected." + +"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye. + +"I was cleanin' it." + +"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone." + +"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia. + +"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?" + +"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better. + +Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely. + +"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you--what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is." + +Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion. + +"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so." + +She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time. + +"'I ain't no notion!' says he. + +"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says. + +"'Just what I say,' says he. + +"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here. + +"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.' + +"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died--_she_ was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived--died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off--but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty. + +"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in." + +Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phoebe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker. + +But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind. + +Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant. + +"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to." + +"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!" + +"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet. + +"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to--" + +"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?" + +"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health." + +"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know." + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try." + +"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint." + +Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent. + +Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room. + +"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?" + +"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed--Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness--the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!--there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage." + +"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least." + +"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of--of +pride and joy and youth--ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?" + +"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?" + +Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I--I confess--" + +"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?" + +"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking--Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!" + +"Do I look as if I were going to die?" + +"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust." + +"Very well! When I _am_ dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!" + +Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one. + +"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man." + +"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again." + +"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!" + +"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there." + +Miss Vesta looked distressed. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phoebe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and--" + +"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?" + +Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger. + +"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by." + +"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phoebe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now." + +"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!" + +"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MISS PHOEBE'S OPINIONS + + +"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman. + +Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks. + +"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she--that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is." + +Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't." + +"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phoebe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in--one, two, three, purl--in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable." + +"I often think, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young." + +"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phoebe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say." + +"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phoebe." + +"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?" + +After a majestic pause, Miss Phoebe continued, glancing at her other +hearers: + +"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is--I grieve to use +a harsh expression--frivolous." + +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phoebe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phoebe. + +"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits." + +"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one." + +"I--a--was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the--a--pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"--he waved his hands gently +abroad--"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities." + +"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phoebe, with stately courtesy. + +"Certainly, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon." + +It was one of Miss Phoebe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phoebe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother. + +"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and--other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of--mockery; of--derision; +of--contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as--strange; as--singular; +as--extraordinary." + +"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phoebe." + +"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman. + +"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phoebe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?" + +"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phoebe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!" + +Miss Phoebe colored and drew herself up. + +"Sister Phoebe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of--" + +"Vesta, I _think_ I have my senses," said Miss Phoebe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof--I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter--we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"--Miss Phoebe's voice quavered slightly--"he is +a chosen spirit." + +"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta. + +"But in spite of this," Miss Phoebe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend." + +"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly. + +Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows. + +"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best--patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,--whatever it was,--I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking." + +Miss Phoebe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton." + +"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction. + +"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to--a--persons of literary taste. There is"--he +waved his hands--"too much noise; too much--sound; too much--absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats." + +"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose." + +"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was--friendly; that +was--benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I--since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"--his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phoebe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!" + +He shook hands heartily all around and was gone. + +Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits." + +His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes. + +"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phoebe, benevolently. + +Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket. + +"This is--you may be aware, Cousin Phoebe--the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing--I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning--which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phoebe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main--but you shall judge for yourself." + +He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began: + +"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats." + +"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phoebe. + +"By all means, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'--but I +need not repeat the title. + + "I asked the Muse if she had one + Thrice-favored son, + Or if some one poetic brother + Appealed to her more than another. + She gazed on me with aspect high, + And tear in eye, + While musically she repeats, + 'Keats!' + + "She gave me then to understand, + And smiled bland, + On Helicon the sacred Nine + Occasionally ask bards to dine. + 'For most,' she said, 'we do not move, + Though we approve; + For one alone we leave our seats: + "Keats!"'" + +There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now. + +"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry +to speak strongly--shocks me!" + +Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you." + +"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a +few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries." + +"But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him +with a wave of her hand. + +"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER + + +"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air. + +"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there." + +"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners." + +The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own. + +The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers. + +"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said _shake hands_, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?" + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same." + +Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?" + +"_May_ I, not _can_ I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it." + +The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats. + +"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree. + +"Bully!" said Tommy. + +"Now, what do you want to hear?" + +"About Grampy." + +"What about him?" + +"Everything! like what you told me last time." + +There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other. + +"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew." + +Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture. + +"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,--we +wore aprons with big pockets then,--and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!" + +"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!" + +"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?" + +"Yes'm!" + +"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight--the first one--was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called _him_ Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron--or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again. + +"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street--dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them. + +"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still." + +"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room." + +"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?' + +"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits. + +"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.' + +"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?' + +"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.) + +"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.' + +"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?" + +"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly. + +"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?" + +Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't." + +"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous--that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?" + +"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OLD FRIENDS + + +It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would--it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf. + +A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question. + +In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea. + +"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something." + +"Direxia Hawkes!" + +When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant. + +"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone." + +"What does he look like?" + +"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!" + +"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree. + +"What say?" + +"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do." + +"The dogs--I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'--" + +"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?" + +"Well! of all the cantankerous--here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean. + +Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly. + +The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there. + +"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry." + +"Are you a tramp?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Anything else?" + +The man was silent. + +"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you." + +"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman." + +The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again. + +"I--cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me." + +"Why can't you?" + +This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously. + +"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen--or--I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring. + +"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!" + +Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering. + +"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!" + +As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone: + +"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?" + +"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health." + +"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?" + +The man nodded gloomily. + +"That begins it. After awhile--I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit--" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat. + +He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief. + +"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim--and clean. + +"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door. + +"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together. + +Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phoebe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day. + +The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape. + +Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it. + +"Old friends!" said the voice. + +The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held. + +"_My God!_" he said, violently. + +"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!" + +"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!" + +"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?" + +"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am--faint. I must get out into the air." + +The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down." + +"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +_Do as I say!_ There!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot. + + * * * * * + +"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes." + +"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!" + +She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods. + +"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here--hey?" + +The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock. + +"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest." + +He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet. + +"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy." + +"I came--" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came--to rob +you, Mrs. Tree." + +"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that--there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did." + +"God knows! When--how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?" + +"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy." + +"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend--yes, the parrot knew +me!--and let me go!" + +"Hark!" said the old woman. + +She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut. + +"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight." + +She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! _Do as I say!_ Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!" + +She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening. + +Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders. + +"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he--" + +"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono--lands sakes, I don't know what _to_ do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she--" + +"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs. + +"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!" + +She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her. + +"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes. + +"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs. + +"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in." + +Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature. + +"What can I do for you?" she repeated. + +Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant. + +"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect you when need +is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and he's here for no +good." + +"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree. + +"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes." + +"When?" + +"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't." + +"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently. + +"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in +this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats in--and when you're abed +and asleep they'll have your life, them two, and run off with your +worldly goods that you've thought so much of. Would have, that is, if I +hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out of winder. Oh, how +thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, though I was +scairt 'most to death, and am now." + +"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none." + +"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these--" + +"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly. + +"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There _are_ tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away--well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF" + + +"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?" + +"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then--I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp--it was last spring, and warm weather coming on--till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then--in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting--I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it." + +"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick. + +"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only--it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that." + +"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman. + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color--if the light were +not gone out of them. + +"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard--I supposed he was still in Europe." + +"Two years ago." + +"Was it--" something seemed to choke the man. + +"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all." + +Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light. + +"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers." + +"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?" + +William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness. + +"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since--I +don't know when. I feel--almost--like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?" + +"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly. + +"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead." + +"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?" + +Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles. + +"To Mother!" + +"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; _do as I tell +you_! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind." + +"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time." + +"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!" + +The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow. + +"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?" + +She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S. + +"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?" + +He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face. + +"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" + +Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed. + +"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?" + +"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree." + +"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up." + +"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!" + +"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away." + + * * * * * + +The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it. + +This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before. + +She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly. + +Mrs. Weight called over the stairs. + +"Isick, be you there?" + +"Yep!" + +"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her." + +"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac. + +"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking." + +"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door. + +"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you." + +"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows." + +"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter--it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up--not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home." + + * * * * * + +"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit." + +"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?" + +"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?" + +The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door. + +"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?" + +"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith." + +"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is." + +She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale. + +"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me." + +"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I--I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me--an old acquaintance--who had--who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is--doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life--" + +Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word. + +"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her. + + * * * * * + +Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother. + +"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phoebe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE NEW POSTMASTER + + +Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this. + +"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village. + +When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect. + +"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey. + +No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement. + +"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather." + +"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't." + +"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so." + +"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself." + +"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage. + +"Brether--I--I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?" + +The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily. + +"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home." + +"Not a mite," was the general verdict. + +"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job." + +He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet. + +"There's the _Fidely_," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect." + +A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment. + +"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year." + +"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey. + +"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him." + +"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?" + +"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?" + +"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it." + +"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases." + +"Humph!" said Seth Weaver. + +The others looked thoughtful. + +"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him." + +He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently-- + +"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this: + +"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone. + +Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it. + +"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?" + +There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic. + +"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before. + +"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway." + +"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on." + +"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily. + +"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver. + +"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?" + +At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,--indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,--but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily. + +"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly. + +"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time." + +"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey. + +Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie. + +"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to--occupy;--to--a--become a holder of." + +"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly. + +"I--am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service--to the--amelioration; to +the--mental, moral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?" + +"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock. + +"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember." + +There was an assenting hum. + +Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone. + +"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow." + +He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders. + +They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary. + +But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail. + +"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly. + +Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily. + +"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it." + +"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'" + +"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say: + + "'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on! + Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'" + +"--His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly--" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)--"I may say +_very_ strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind." + +There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another. + +"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted." + +"That's so," said the elders. + +"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him--why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned." + +The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes--shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them--roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove. + +"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic." + +"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest." + +"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP + + +One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone--and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits. + +One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked. + +"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him--well, he always had +that--but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?" + +"_Eheu fugaces_," said a harsh voice from a corner. + +"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good." + + "'_Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, + Labuntur anni_;' + +tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly. + +"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness." + +"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters." + +"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?" + +"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?" + +"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open." + +"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!" + +"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily. + +Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf. + +"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her." + +"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird--" + +She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare. + +"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes--won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?" + +"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight. + +"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints." + + "Helen was a beauty, + Xantippe was a shrew; + Medusa was a Gorgon, + And so--are--_you_! + +Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!" + +Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her. + +"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a _man_ in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck." + +Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct. + +"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?" + +Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down. + +"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious _I_ see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em." + +"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way." + +"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!" + +"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom--" + +"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly. + +"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could--" + +She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post. + +"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is." + +"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well." + +"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're _real_ smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here." + +She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song. + +"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure. + +"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!" + +Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phoebe?" + +"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!" + +[Illustration: "SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."] + +She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony. + +"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious." + +"How old _is_ that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny. + +"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection." + +"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many--violent expressions in that +language." + +"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe. + +"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural." + +"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!" + +"_Arma virumque cano!_" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!" + +"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health." + +"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?" + +"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome." + +"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like--a--dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing." + +"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam." + +"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?" + +"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday." + +"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?" + +"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight--" + +"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!" + +"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A TEA-PARTY + + +"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well." + +"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phoebe. "Let me see; one, two, three--six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss--no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening." + +"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phoebe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?" + +The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phoebe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish. + +"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phoebe, gravely; +then she sighed. + +"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies." + +"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,--naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,--but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!" + +"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phoebe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?" + +Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phoebe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat. + +"Phoebe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me--yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?" + +Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset. + +"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit." + +"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong--ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up." + +"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phoebe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea." + +"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table." + +"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phoebe?" + +"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phoebe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?" + +"A--it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phoebe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you." + +"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phoebe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice. + +"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious--so harmonious--I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment." + +He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table. + +"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It _is_ the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting." + +Miss Phoebe looked pleased. + +"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it--" + +"Ah, Phoebe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see." + +"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phoebe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable." + +"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phoebe." + +He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey--not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phoebe looked grave. + +"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?" + +"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome. + +"She is a--a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently." + +"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phoebe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case." + +"A--well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"--here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself--"in fact,--a--she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely. + +"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,--'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,--and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word--had +you, John?--when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses--what _do_ you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl--" + +"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon." + +"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree _is_ just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!--no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she _is_ kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us." + +"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?" + +Mr. Homer bridled and colored. + +"A--not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my--a--genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek--to employ--to--a--avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It--gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"--he waved his +hands--"circumambiency!" + +His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you." + +"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,--but it was +only seven,--settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly. + +Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile. + +"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom--or more properly which--I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our--a--midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but--shall I say, Cousin Phoebe, a temporary estray from +the--a--star-y-pointing path?" + +"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phoebe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention." + +Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phoebe, sitting erect and rigid--in the rocking-chair, _his_ +rocking-chair! Miss Phoebe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she _could_ rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills. + +Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising--and read as follows: + +"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND. + + "Our beloved William Jaquith + Has resolved henceforth to break with + Devious ways; + And returning to his mother + Vows he will have ne'er another + All his days. + + "Husk of swine did not him nourish; + Plant of Virtue could not flourish + Far from home; + So his heart with longing burned, + And his feet with speed returned + To its dome. + + "Welcome, William, to our village! + Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage, + Cherished son! + On her sightless steps attendant, + Wear a crown of light resplendent, + Duty done!" + +There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phoebe. + +"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phoebe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more--a"--he +waved his hands--"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind." + +"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phoebe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A GARDEN PARTY + + +It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams. + +No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth. + +[Illustration: "'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"] + +Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw. + +"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats." + +"With Mary--do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up. + +"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent--" + +She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that." + +"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying--something +about Lily Bent?" + +"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip." + +"Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect." + +"Mrs. Tree,"--the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,--"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting--I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since--why does she stay away +so long?" + +"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and--one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that--of your wife after she +left you." + +"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after--" + +"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you." + +She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled. + +"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But--I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long." + +"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy." + +"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information." + +"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am. + +"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to." + +Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk. + +"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!" + +"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?" + +"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance--but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was." + +"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't--" + +"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!" + +Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her. + +With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith. + +"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?" + +Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion. + +Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together. + +"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,--ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time." + +"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day." + +"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery--and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent--pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then--she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder--h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!" + +His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine. + +"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?" + +A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor. + +"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!" + +"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I--" + +But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback. + +He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes. + +"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?" + +"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow." + +"See anything to beat the State of Maine?" + +"I think not. No, certainly not." + +"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good--when it +_is_ good--it's _good_, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?" + +"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour--" + +"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared. + +"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?" + +"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree." + +He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings. + +"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace." + +The wings were graciously accepted and praised. + +"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman." + +"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny." + +"Was it sudden?" + +"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now." + +"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel--why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'." + +"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you." + +"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!" + +He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes. + +"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago--two +months maybe it was--a man come to the door--back door--and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,--she's terrible skeert of +tramps,--and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door. + +"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he. + +"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short. + +"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.' + +"She questioned him,--Alviry's a master hand at questionin',--and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,--ma'am, I ask your pardon,--he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says. + +"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.' + +"So he told her his name,--Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he _has_ +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,--and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,--ma'am, _I_ should +say,--when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at. + +"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!" + +"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings." + +"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES + + +After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward. + +"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!" + +Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially. + +"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?" + +"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?" + +"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere." + +"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!" + +"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you." + +"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it." + +"Wal, I don't know what else _to_ do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben." + +"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise? + +"'What have ye done?' says I. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else _to_ do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late." + +"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,--or was it oil and +vinegar?" + +Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver." + +Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?" + +Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window. + +"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?" + +"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were--adjacent;--a--contiguous;--a--in point +of fact, near together." + +"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way." + +"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I--I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is--a--in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of--a--alienation; +of--a--wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred--" + +Ithuriel Butters looked at him. + +"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly. + +"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of--" + +"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months." + +Mr. Homer colored painfully. + +"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that--that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters." + +"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't. + +"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?" + +"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters." + +"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal." + +"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously. + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest. + +"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,--she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,--but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House--you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house. + +"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too." + +"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You--a--you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so--a--so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth." + +"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em. + +"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so." + +"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MISS PHOEBE PASSES ON + + +Miss Phoebe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way. + +Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phoebe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phoebe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented--linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming. + +"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'" + +"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phoebe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar." + +"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances. + +"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method." + +"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I _do_ +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of--" + +She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her. + +"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you." + +She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters. + +"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?" + +"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's _so_! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know--unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?" + +"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning." + +"Well, I--" + +For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly. + +"Girls, I would _not_ have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out--she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?' + +"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?' + +"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me--what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?" + +Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phoebe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'." + +"Miss Phoebe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day." + +"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village--I'll go +further, and say county--that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phoebe, but--there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em." + +"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me--" + +"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly." + + * * * * * + +While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms. + +Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue. + +"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea." + +"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire--let us keep things as they +have been--as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"--the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break--"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but--she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them." + +"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,--she's real good,--and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer." + +"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?" + +"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has." + +"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion." + +"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her." + +Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phoebe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure. + +"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I--" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE PEAK IN DARIEN + + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken: + Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes + He stared at the Pacific, and all his men + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + --_John Keats._ + + +Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phoebe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky. + +When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phoebe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled. + +"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?" + +But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly. + +"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is--a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person." + +After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride. + +"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of--a--song; but I think that looks well, +William?" + +"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!" + +"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will--a--wither; will--a--become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to--beat; to--throb; +to--a--palpitate." + +He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued: + +"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our--retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated--a--rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!" + +"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it." + +Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question. + +"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien." + +"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this." + +Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture. + +"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, _a_ +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain _is_ in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one--to me. It represents--a--Woman." + +"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled. + +"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes--a--Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of--a--Woman, through the medium of the--a--Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien--Woman! Guided by the--a--Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and--and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise--silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!" + +Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half--or more than half--in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling. + +Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer! + +The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if--unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture--"How if a man were misled for a time by--I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer--by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than--would he have any right to--what was it you +said, sir?--to try once more to scale those crystal heights?" + +"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light--I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided--would again fall +across his path." + +"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath. + +He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien. + +"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith. + +When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken. + +"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?" + +"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant. + +"Have I--have I given satisfaction, sir?" + +"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me--on many accounts." + +"Then, you--you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?" + +"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give." + +"Then--then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"--he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,--"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!" + + * * * * * + +So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her. + +"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown. + +"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?" + +"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly. + +"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you." + +"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did." + +The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again. + +"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you--or thank you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +LIFE IN DEATH + + +"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall. + +"To Miss Dane's!" + +"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony. + +The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived--"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said--Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,--indeed, report would have her some years +older,--but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one. + +Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested. + +Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy. + +"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use." + +"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it." + +The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint. + +"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony." + +"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand. + +"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?" + +The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light. + +These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths. + +"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?" + +Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat. + +"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met." + +"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away." + +"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me." + +"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned." + +"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking." + +"Certainly I have; years ago." + +"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith--Mary Ashton?" + +"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes. + +"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?" + +There was a pause. + +"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank." + +"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly." + +"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living." + +"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along--somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But--Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now--they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia." + +There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other. + +"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first." + +She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention. + +"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?" + +"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred." + +"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane. + +"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?" + +Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally: + +"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary." + +"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phoebe Blyth was dead?" + +"I knew that Phoebe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor." + +She paused a moment, and then added, "Phoebe was with me last night." + +"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phoebe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults." + +"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you." + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said." + +The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame. + +"_You dare_--" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you--te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!" + +Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times. + +"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.) + +"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; _the other +side_, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me." + +In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones. + +"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?" + +Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was--" + +"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal." + +"Oh, Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?" + +"Oh, he is _so_ well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed." + +"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby--I never had but one--was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral." + +She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends. + +"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently. + +"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT + + +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree. + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same!" replied Tommy Candy, in one breath. + +"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?" + +"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it." + +"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy." + +Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin. + +"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair." + +The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair. + +"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did." + +"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there--don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it--and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?" + +"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy. + +"Every word." + +Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said. + +He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale. + +"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him--well, _saw_ him--come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow--yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see--saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight--we was goin' home from school together--I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas--no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off--I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand--thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation. + +"We waited--there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant--I reely did, +Mis' Tree--to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight--he makes me tired!--the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!' + +"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway." + +"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did--did your father whip you well, Tommy?" + +"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!" + +When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them. + +Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh. + +"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old block!" + +Then she took up her letter. + +Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phoebe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room. + +"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?" + +"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house." + +Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria." + +"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you." + +Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows: + + "MY DEAR AUNT:--I was much grieved to hear of poor Phoebe's + death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her + illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and + gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and + Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to + overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phoebe sadly, and + be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come + and show you both that to _me_, at least, blood is thicker than + water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to + establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in + Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet + girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to + their venerable relation. I think you would find them _not + inferior_, to say the least, to some others who have been more put + forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been + _my_ idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are + so numerous, and they are so much _sought after_, that it will be + impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to + do so. I propose to divide my visit _impartially_ between you and + poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, + since such we are bidden to visit. + + "Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and + hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of + health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt, + + "Your affectionate niece, + "MARIA DARRACOTT PRYOR." + +"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta." + +But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,--"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,--and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!" + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman. + +"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia!" + +"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!" + +Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phoebe! She +must try her best to do as Phoebe would have wished. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear--so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,--especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,--that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are." + +"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother." + +"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them--but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her." + +"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"_Quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!" + +Miss Vesta sighed. "Then--what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?" + +"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly. + +"Surely you must answer her letter, dear." + +"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl." + +"Surely you _will_ answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words. + +"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself." + +"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia." + +"Then she can go without. + + "'Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'" + +Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing. + +"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that--" + +"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth--te-hee!--and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MARIA + + +"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!" + +Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky. + +"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire--Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phoebe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities--" + +"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?" + +"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phoebe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,--no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails--why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home--not an inch but is covered with something bright and aesthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phoebe--in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phoebe's being taken--about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phoebe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,--in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phoebe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever--you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,--but--well--and so--I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?" + +She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen. + +Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her. + +Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phoebe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister. + +"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?" + +Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her. + +"You have put me in Phoebe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun--oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And _how_ is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive." + +"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure--in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present." + +"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to _stay_ with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound--but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +_Good_-by!" + +Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor. + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down. + +"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I--something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phoebe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our--my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon." + +"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?" + +"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?" + +"Hum! yes, I remember _her_. She hasn't come here, to this house?" + +"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am--of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but--James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?" + +Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known." + +"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear--" + +"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta--let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit." + +"Go away, James? I?" + +"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very--everything that is like you--to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this--this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!" + +"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but--but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria--my own +cousin, remember, James--chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it." + +"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta." + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely. + +"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,--she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way--though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,--it is a +small matter, but--I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since--I first lighted the lamp. Then--" + +"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet." + +The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before. + +"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!" + +Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but--no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact. + +Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her. + +"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if--Vesta,--may I speak once more?" + +"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it." + +"But--you are alone, child. If Phoebe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and--I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed." + +He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his. + +"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never--at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,--for it must fail,--she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives." + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning--there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand--or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT + + +Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking--perhaps with the wind. + +Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock. + +"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,--Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?" + +She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding. + +"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said. + +Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged." + +She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir. + +"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow." + +"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too--stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?" + +"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face. + +Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw. + +"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"--she stretched her neck toward the door--"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her." + +"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within. + +"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor. + +"Scat! _quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was--" + +"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'--good mornin', Mis' Pryor!" + +She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway. + +Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand. + +"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you _are_ a stranger! Step right +in this way!" + +Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room. + +"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl--I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?" + +Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phoebe +Blyth is universally lamented." + +Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years. + +"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?" + +Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips. + +"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to _be_ neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phoebe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phoebe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +_can_ do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in _my_ +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body." + +Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down--Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of--and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than--well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so." + +Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were--oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming! + +"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative _of_ +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?" + +Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and--so +far as might be--in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech. + +"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a--a--mountain; a--a--in +short,--a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it. + +Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked. + +"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back." + +"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out--" + +"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her." + +Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen. + +Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower. + +"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see." + +"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?" + +Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye. + +"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do." + +"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own. + +"Have you any symptoms for me?" + +"I thought that was your business!" said the patient. + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been--a--feeling like +this?" + +"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for--for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!" + +"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman. + +"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors." + +The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient. + +[Illustration: "'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE +SAID."] + +"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the--a--nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile." + +"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta." + +"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?" + +Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave. + +"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired--almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this--" + +"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +_she_ is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?" + +"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree. + +The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him. + +At last--"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come." + +"Have you tried again, James?" + +"Yes, I have tried again, or--tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before." + +"Has the little idiot--has she any reason to give?" + +Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and--but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as--that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs." + +"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply. + +"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that." + +"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But--larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +NOT YET! + + +How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection. + +Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress. + +"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!" + +Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song: + + "Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!" + +Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!" + +At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and--since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out--it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that _this_ duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water. + +In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage. + +"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?" + +"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight. + +"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?" + +"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it--three minutes ago--with +these eyes! I run all the way--just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect--palpitations--I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?" + +Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa. + +"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?" + +"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!" + +And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake. + +"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no--my dear heart alive! what has happened?" + +Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat. + +"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She--Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I--I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?" + +A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder. + +"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?" + +"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?" + +"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?" + +"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?" + +"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice. + +The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma. + +"What has happened?" + +"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!" + +"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phoebe--" + +"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning." + +"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!" + +"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think--" + +"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!" + +Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house--a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things. + +The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand. + +Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence--was +it the only presence?--of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice. + +"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute." + +"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!" + +"You--oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits _this_ +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree--if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted." + +"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred." + +"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?" + +"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?" + +"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy. + +"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + +***** This file should be named 30439.txt or 30439.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/3/30439/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/30439.zip b/30439.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ae97f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/30439.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f0a295 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #30439 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30439) diff --git a/old/30439-8.txt b/old/30439-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7ae504 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5175 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Tree + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Release Date: November 9, 2009 [EBook #30439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: MRS. TREE.] + + + + +MRS. TREE + +By +Laura E. Richards + +_Author of_ +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc. + +Boston +Dana Estes & Company +Publishers + + + +_Copyright, 1902_ +BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + +_All rights reserved_ + + +MRS. TREE +Published June, 1902 + + +Colonial Press +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + +To +My Daughter Rosalind + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. Wedding Bells 11 + +II. Phoebe's Opinions 25 + +III. Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather 41 + +IV. Old Friends 55 + +V. "But When He Was Yet a Great Way off" 75 + +VI. The New Postmaster 92 + +VII. In Miss Penny's Shop 107 + +VIII. A Tea-party 124 + +IX. A Garden-party 142 + +X. Mr. Butters Discourses 161 + +XI. Miss Phoebe Passes on 175 + +XII. The Peak in Darien 189 + +XIII. Life in Death 201 + +XIV. Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought 217 + +XV. Maria 233 + +XVI. Doctor Stedman's Patient 249 + +XVII. Not Yet! 267 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + PAGE + +Mrs. Tree Frontispiece + +"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony" 119 + +"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'" 143 + +"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said" 262 + + + + +MRS. TREE + +CHAPTER I. + +WEDDING BELLS + + +"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles. + +"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected." + +"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye. + +"I was cleanin' it." + +"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone." + +"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia. + +"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?" + +"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better. + +Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely. + +"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you--what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is." + +Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion. + +"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so." + +She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time. + +"'I ain't no notion!' says he. + +"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says. + +"'Just what I say,' says he. + +"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here. + +"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.' + +"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died--_she_ was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived--died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off--but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty. + +"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in." + +Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phoebe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker. + +But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind. + +Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant. + +"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to." + +"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!" + +"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet. + +"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to--" + +"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?" + +"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health." + +"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know." + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try." + +"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint." + +Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent. + +Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room. + +"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?" + +"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed--Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness--the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!--there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage." + +"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least." + +"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of--of +pride and joy and youth--ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?" + +"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?" + +Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I--I confess--" + +"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?" + +"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking--Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!" + +"Do I look as if I were going to die?" + +"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust." + +"Very well! When I _am_ dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!" + +Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one. + +"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man." + +"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again." + +"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!" + +"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there." + +Miss Vesta looked distressed. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phoebe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and--" + +"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?" + +Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger. + +"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by." + +"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phoebe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now." + +"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!" + +"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MISS PHOEBE'S OPINIONS + + +"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman. + +Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks. + +"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she--that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is." + +Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't." + +"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phoebe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in--one, two, three, purl--in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable." + +"I often think, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young." + +"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phoebe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say." + +"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phoebe." + +"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?" + +After a majestic pause, Miss Phoebe continued, glancing at her other +hearers: + +"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is--I grieve to use +a harsh expression--frivolous." + +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phoebe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phoebe. + +"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits." + +"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one." + +"I--a--was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the--a--pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"--he waved his hands gently +abroad--"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities." + +"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phoebe, with stately courtesy. + +"Certainly, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon." + +It was one of Miss Phoebe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phoebe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother. + +"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and--other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of--mockery; of--derision; +of--contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as--strange; as--singular; +as--extraordinary." + +"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phoebe." + +"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman. + +"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phoebe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?" + +"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phoebe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!" + +Miss Phoebe colored and drew herself up. + +"Sister Phoebe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of--" + +"Vesta, I _think_ I have my senses," said Miss Phoebe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof--I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter--we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"--Miss Phoebe's voice quavered slightly--"he is +a chosen spirit." + +"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta. + +"But in spite of this," Miss Phoebe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend." + +"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly. + +Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows. + +"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best--patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,--whatever it was,--I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking." + +Miss Phoebe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton." + +"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction. + +"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to--a--persons of literary taste. There is"--he +waved his hands--"too much noise; too much--sound; too much--absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats." + +"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose." + +"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was--friendly; that +was--benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I--since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"--his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phoebe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!" + +He shook hands heartily all around and was gone. + +Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits." + +His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes. + +"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phoebe, benevolently. + +Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket. + +"This is--you may be aware, Cousin Phoebe--the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing--I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning--which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phoebe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main--but you shall judge for yourself." + +He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began: + +"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats." + +"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phoebe. + +"By all means, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'--but I +need not repeat the title. + + "I asked the Muse if she had one + Thrice-favored son, + Or if some one poetic brother + Appealed to her more than another. + She gazed on me with aspect high, + And tear in eye, + While musically she repeats, + 'Keats!' + + "She gave me then to understand, + And smilèd bland, + On Helicon the sacred Nine + Occasionally ask bards to dine. + 'For most,' she said, 'we do not move, + Though we approve; + For one alone we leave our seats: + "Keats!"'" + +There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now. + +"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry +to speak strongly--shocks me!" + +Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you." + +"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a +few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries." + +"But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him +with a wave of her hand. + +"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER + + +"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air. + +"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there." + +"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners." + +The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own. + +The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers. + +"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said _shake hands_, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?" + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same." + +Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?" + +"_May_ I, not _can_ I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it." + +The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats. + +"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree. + +"Bully!" said Tommy. + +"Now, what do you want to hear?" + +"About Grampy." + +"What about him?" + +"Everything! like what you told me last time." + +There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other. + +"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew." + +Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture. + +"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,--we +wore aprons with big pockets then,--and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!" + +"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!" + +"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?" + +"Yes'm!" + +"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight--the first one--was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called _him_ Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron--or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again. + +"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street--dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them. + +"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still." + +"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room." + +"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?' + +"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits. + +"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.' + +"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?' + +"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.) + +"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.' + +"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?" + +"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly. + +"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?" + +Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't." + +"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous--that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?" + +"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OLD FRIENDS + + +It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would--it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf. + +A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question. + +In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea. + +"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something." + +"Direxia Hawkes!" + +When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant. + +"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone." + +"What does he look like?" + +"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!" + +"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree. + +"What say?" + +"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do." + +"The dogs--I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'--" + +"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?" + +"Well! of all the cantankerous--here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean. + +Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly. + +The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there. + +"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry." + +"Are you a tramp?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Anything else?" + +The man was silent. + +"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you." + +"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman." + +The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again. + +"I--cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me." + +"Why can't you?" + +This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously. + +"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen--or--I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring. + +"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!" + +Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering. + +"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!" + +As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone: + +"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?" + +"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health." + +"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?" + +The man nodded gloomily. + +"That begins it. After awhile--I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit--" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat. + +He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief. + +"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim--and clean. + +"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door. + +"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together. + +Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phoebe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day. + +The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape. + +Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it. + +"Old friends!" said the voice. + +The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held. + +"_My God!_" he said, violently. + +"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!" + +"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!" + +"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?" + +"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am--faint. I must get out into the air." + +The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down." + +"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +_Do as I say!_ There!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot. + + * * * * * + +"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes." + +"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!" + +She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods. + +"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here--hey?" + +The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock. + +"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest." + +He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet. + +"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy." + +"I came--" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came--to rob +you, Mrs. Tree." + +"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that--there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did." + +"God knows! When--how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?" + +"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy." + +"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend--yes, the parrot knew +me!--and let me go!" + +"Hark!" said the old woman. + +She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut. + +"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight." + +She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! _Do as I say!_ Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!" + +She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening. + +Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders. + +"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he--" + +"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono--lands sakes, I don't know what _to_ do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she--" + +"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs. + +"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!" + +She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her. + +"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes. + +"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs. + +"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in." + +Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature. + +"What can I do for you?" she repeated. + +Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant. + +"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect you when need +is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and he's here for no +good." + +"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree. + +"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes." + +"When?" + +"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't." + +"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently. + +"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in +this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats in--and when you're abed +and asleep they'll have your life, them two, and run off with your +worldly goods that you've thought so much of. Would have, that is, if I +hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out of winder. Oh, how +thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, though I was +scairt 'most to death, and am now." + +"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none." + +"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these--" + +"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly. + +"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There _are_ tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away--well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF" + + +"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?" + +"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then--I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp--it was last spring, and warm weather coming on--till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then--in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting--I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it." + +"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick. + +"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only--it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that." + +"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman. + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color--if the light were +not gone out of them. + +"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard--I supposed he was still in Europe." + +"Two years ago." + +"Was it--" something seemed to choke the man. + +"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all." + +Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light. + +"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers." + +"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?" + +William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness. + +"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since--I +don't know when. I feel--almost--like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?" + +"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly. + +"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead." + +"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?" + +Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles. + +"To Mother!" + +"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; _do as I tell +you_! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind." + +"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time." + +"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!" + +The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow. + +"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?" + +She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S. + +"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?" + +He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face. + +"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" + +Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed. + +"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?" + +"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree." + +"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up." + +"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!" + +"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away." + + * * * * * + +The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it. + +This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before. + +She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly. + +Mrs. Weight called over the stairs. + +"Isick, be you there?" + +"Yep!" + +"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her." + +"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac. + +"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking." + +"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door. + +"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you." + +"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows." + +"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter--it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up--not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home." + + * * * * * + +"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit." + +"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?" + +"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?" + +The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door. + +"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?" + +"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith." + +"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is." + +She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale. + +"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me." + +"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I--I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me--an old acquaintance--who had--who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is--doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life--" + +Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word. + +"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her. + + * * * * * + +Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother. + +"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phoebe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE NEW POSTMASTER + + +Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this. + +"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village. + +When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect. + +"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey. + +No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement. + +"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather." + +"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't." + +"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so." + +"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself." + +"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage. + +"Brether--I--I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?" + +The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily. + +"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home." + +"Not a mite," was the general verdict. + +"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job." + +He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet. + +"There's the _Fidely_," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect." + +A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment. + +"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year." + +"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey. + +"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him." + +"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?" + +"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?" + +"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it." + +"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases." + +"Humph!" said Seth Weaver. + +The others looked thoughtful. + +"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him." + +He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently-- + +"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this: + +"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone. + +Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it. + +"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?" + +There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic. + +"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before. + +"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway." + +"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on." + +"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily. + +"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver. + +"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?" + +At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,--indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,--but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily. + +"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly. + +"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time." + +"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey. + +Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie. + +"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to--occupy;--to--a--become a holder of." + +"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly. + +"I--am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service--to the--amelioration; to +the--mental, moral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?" + +"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock. + +"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember." + +There was an assenting hum. + +Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone. + +"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow." + +He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders. + +They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary. + +But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail. + +"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly. + +Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily. + +"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it." + +"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'" + +"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say: + + "'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on! + Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'" + +"--His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly--" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)--"I may say +_very_ strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind." + +There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another. + +"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted." + +"That's so," said the elders. + +"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him--why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned." + +The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes--shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them--roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove. + +"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic." + +"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest." + +"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP + + +One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone--and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits. + +One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked. + +"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him--well, he always had +that--but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?" + +"_Eheu fugaces_," said a harsh voice from a corner. + +"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good." + + "'_Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, + Labuntur anni_;' + +tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly. + +"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness." + +"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters." + +"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?" + +"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?" + +"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open." + +"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!" + +"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily. + +Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf. + +"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her." + +"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird--" + +She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare. + +"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes--won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?" + +"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight. + +"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints." + + "Helen was a beauty, + Xantippe was a shrew; + Medusa was a Gorgon, + And so--are--_you_! + +Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!" + +Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her. + +"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a _man_ in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck." + +Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct. + +"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?" + +Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down. + +"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious _I_ see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em." + +"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way." + +"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!" + +"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom--" + +"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly. + +"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could--" + +She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post. + +"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is." + +"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well." + +"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're _real_ smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here." + +She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song. + +"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure. + +"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!" + +Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phoebe?" + +"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!" + +[Illustration: "SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."] + +She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony. + +"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious." + +"How old _is_ that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny. + +"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection." + +"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many--violent expressions in that +language." + +"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe. + +"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural." + +"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!" + +"_Arma virumque cano!_" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!" + +"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health." + +"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?" + +"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome." + +"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like--a--dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing." + +"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam." + +"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?" + +"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday." + +"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?" + +"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight--" + +"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!" + +"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A TEA-PARTY + + +"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well." + +"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phoebe. "Let me see; one, two, three--six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss--no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening." + +"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phoebe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?" + +The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phoebe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish. + +"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phoebe, gravely; +then she sighed. + +"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies." + +"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,--naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,--but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!" + +"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phoebe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?" + +Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phoebe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat. + +"Phoebe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me--yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?" + +Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset. + +"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit." + +"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong--ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up." + +"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phoebe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea." + +"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table." + +"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phoebe?" + +"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phoebe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?" + +"A--it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phoebe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you." + +"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phoebe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice. + +"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious--so harmonious--I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment." + +He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table. + +"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It _is_ the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting." + +Miss Phoebe looked pleased. + +"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it--" + +"Ah, Phoebe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see." + +"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phoebe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable." + +"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phoebe." + +He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey--not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phoebe looked grave. + +"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?" + +"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome. + +"She is a--a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently." + +"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phoebe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case." + +"A--well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"--here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself--"in fact,--a--she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely. + +"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,--'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,--and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word--had +you, John?--when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses--what _do_ you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl--" + +"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon." + +"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree _is_ just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!--no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she _is_ kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us." + +"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?" + +Mr. Homer bridled and colored. + +"A--not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my--a--genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek--to employ--to--a--avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It--gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"--he waved his +hands--"circumambiency!" + +His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you." + +"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,--but it was +only seven,--settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly. + +Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile. + +"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom--or more properly which--I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our--a--midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but--shall I say, Cousin Phoebe, a temporary estray from +the--a--star-y-pointing path?" + +"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phoebe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention." + +Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phoebe, sitting erect and rigid--in the rocking-chair, _his_ +rocking-chair! Miss Phoebe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she _could_ rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills. + +Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising--and read as follows: + +"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND. + + "Our beloved William Jaquith + Has resolved henceforth to break with + Devious ways; + And returning to his mother + Vows he will have ne'er another + All his days. + + "Husk of swine did not him nourish; + Plant of Virtue could not flourish + Far from home; + So his heart with longing burnèd, + And his feet with speed returnèd + To its dome. + + "Welcome, William, to our village! + Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage, + Cherished son! + On her sightless steps attendant, + Wear a crown of light resplendent, + Duty done!" + +There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phoebe. + +"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phoebe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more--a"--he +waved his hands--"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind." + +"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phoebe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A GARDEN PARTY + + +It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams. + +No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth. + +[Illustration: "'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"] + +Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw. + +"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats." + +"With Mary--do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up. + +"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent--" + +She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that." + +"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying--something +about Lily Bent?" + +"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip." + +"Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect." + +"Mrs. Tree,"--the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,--"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting--I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since--why does she stay away +so long?" + +"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and--one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that--of your wife after she +left you." + +"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after--" + +"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you." + +She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled. + +"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But--I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long." + +"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy." + +"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information." + +"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am. + +"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to." + +Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk. + +"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!" + +"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?" + +"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance--but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was." + +"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't--" + +"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!" + +Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her. + +With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith. + +"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?" + +Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion. + +Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together. + +"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,--ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time." + +"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day." + +"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery--and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent--pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then--she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder--h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!" + +His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine. + +"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?" + +A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor. + +"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!" + +"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I--" + +But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback. + +He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes. + +"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?" + +"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow." + +"See anything to beat the State of Maine?" + +"I think not. No, certainly not." + +"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good--when it +_is_ good--it's _good_, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?" + +"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour--" + +"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared. + +"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?" + +"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree." + +He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings. + +"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace." + +The wings were graciously accepted and praised. + +"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman." + +"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny." + +"Was it sudden?" + +"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now." + +"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel--why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'." + +"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you." + +"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!" + +He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes. + +"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago--two +months maybe it was--a man come to the door--back door--and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,--she's terrible skeert of +tramps,--and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door. + +"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he. + +"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short. + +"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.' + +"She questioned him,--Alviry's a master hand at questionin',--and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,--ma'am, I ask your pardon,--he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says. + +"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.' + +"So he told her his name,--Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he _has_ +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,--and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,--ma'am, _I_ should +say,--when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at. + +"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!" + +"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings." + +"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES + + +After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward. + +"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!" + +Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially. + +"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?" + +"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?" + +"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere." + +"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!" + +"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you." + +"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it." + +"Wal, I don't know what else _to_ do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben." + +"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise? + +"'What have ye done?' says I. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else _to_ do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late." + +"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,--or was it oil and +vinegar?" + +Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver." + +Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?" + +Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window. + +"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?" + +"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were--adjacent;--a--contiguous;--a--in point +of fact, near together." + +"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way." + +"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I--I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is--a--in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of--a--alienation; +of--a--wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred--" + +Ithuriel Butters looked at him. + +"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly. + +"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of--" + +"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months." + +Mr. Homer colored painfully. + +"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that--that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters." + +"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't. + +"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?" + +"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters." + +"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal." + +"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously. + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest. + +"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,--she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,--but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House--you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house. + +"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too." + +"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You--a--you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so--a--so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth." + +"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em. + +"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so." + +"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MISS PHOEBE PASSES ON + + +Miss Phoebe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way. + +Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phoebe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phoebe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented--linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming. + +"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'" + +"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phoebe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar." + +"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances. + +"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method." + +"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I _do_ +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of--" + +She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her. + +"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you." + +She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters. + +"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?" + +"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's _so_! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know--unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?" + +"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning." + +"Well, I--" + +For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly. + +"Girls, I would _not_ have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out--she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?' + +"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?' + +"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me--what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?" + +Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phoebe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'." + +"Miss Phoebe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day." + +"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village--I'll go +further, and say county--that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phoebe, but--there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em." + +"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me--" + +"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly." + + * * * * * + +While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms. + +Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue. + +"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea." + +"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire--let us keep things as they +have been--as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"--the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break--"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but--she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them." + +"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,--she's real good,--and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer." + +"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?" + +"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has." + +"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion." + +"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her." + +Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phoebe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure. + +"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I--" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE PEAK IN DARIEN + + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken: + Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes + He stared at the Pacific, and all his men + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + --_John Keats._ + + +Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phoebe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky. + +When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phoebe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled. + +"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?" + +But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly. + +"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is--a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person." + +After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride. + +"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of--a--song; but I think that looks well, +William?" + +"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!" + +"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will--a--wither; will--a--become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to--beat; to--throb; +to--a--palpitate." + +He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued: + +"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our--retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated--a--rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!" + +"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it." + +Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question. + +"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien." + +"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this." + +Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture. + +"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, _a_ +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain _is_ in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one--to me. It represents--a--Woman." + +"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled. + +"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes--a--Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of--a--Woman, through the medium of the--a--Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien--Woman! Guided by the--a--Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and--and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise--silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!" + +Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half--or more than half--in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling. + +Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer! + +The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if--unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture--"How if a man were misled for a time by--I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer--by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than--would he have any right to--what was it you +said, sir?--to try once more to scale those crystal heights?" + +"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light--I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided--would again fall +across his path." + +"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath. + +He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien. + +"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith. + +When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken. + +"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?" + +"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant. + +"Have I--have I given satisfaction, sir?" + +"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me--on many accounts." + +"Then, you--you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?" + +"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give." + +"Then--then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"--he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,--"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!" + + * * * * * + +So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her. + +"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown. + +"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?" + +"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly. + +"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you." + +"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did." + +The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again. + +"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you--or thank you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +LIFE IN DEATH + + +"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall. + +"To Miss Dane's!" + +"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony. + +The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived--"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said--Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,--indeed, report would have her some years +older,--but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one. + +Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested. + +Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy. + +"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use." + +"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it." + +The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint. + +"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony." + +"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand. + +"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?" + +The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light. + +These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths. + +"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?" + +Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat. + +"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met." + +"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away." + +"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me." + +"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned." + +"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking." + +"Certainly I have; years ago." + +"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith--Mary Ashton?" + +"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes. + +"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?" + +There was a pause. + +"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank." + +"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly." + +"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living." + +"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along--somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But--Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now--they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia." + +There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other. + +"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first." + +She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention. + +"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?" + +"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred." + +"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane. + +"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?" + +Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally: + +"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary." + +"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phoebe Blyth was dead?" + +"I knew that Phoebe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor." + +She paused a moment, and then added, "Phoebe was with me last night." + +"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phoebe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults." + +"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you." + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said." + +The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame. + +"_You dare_--" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you--te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!" + +Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times. + +"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.) + +"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; _the other +side_, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me." + +In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones. + +"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?" + +Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was--" + +"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal." + +"Oh, Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?" + +"Oh, he is _so_ well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed." + +"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby--I never had but one--was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral." + +She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends. + +"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently. + +"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT + + +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree. + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same!" replied Tommy Candy, in one breath. + +"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?" + +"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it." + +"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy." + +Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin. + +"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair." + +The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair. + +"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did." + +"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there--don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it--and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?" + +"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy. + +"Every word." + +Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said. + +He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale. + +"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him--well, _saw_ him--come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow--yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see--saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight--we was goin' home from school together--I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas--no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off--I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand--thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation. + +"We waited--there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant--I reely did, +Mis' Tree--to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight--he makes me tired!--the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!' + +"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway." + +"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did--did your father whip you well, Tommy?" + +"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!" + +When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them. + +Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh. + +"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old block!" + +Then she took up her letter. + +Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phoebe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room. + +"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?" + +"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house." + +Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria." + +"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you." + +Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows: + + "MY DEAR AUNT:--I was much grieved to hear of poor Phoebe's + death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her + illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and + gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and + Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to + overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phoebe sadly, and + be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come + and show you both that to _me_, at least, blood is thicker than + water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to + establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in + Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet + girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to + their venerable relation. I think you would find them _not + inferior_, to say the least, to some others who have been more put + forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been + _my_ idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are + so numerous, and they are so much _sought after_, that it will be + impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to + do so. I propose to divide my visit _impartially_ between you and + poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, + since such we are bidden to visit. + + "Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and + hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of + health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt, + + "Your affectionate niece, + "MARIA DARRACOTT PRYOR." + +"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta." + +But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,--"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,--and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!" + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman. + +"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia!" + +"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!" + +Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phoebe! She +must try her best to do as Phoebe would have wished. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear--so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,--especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,--that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are." + +"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother." + +"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them--but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her." + +"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"_Quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!" + +Miss Vesta sighed. "Then--what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?" + +"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly. + +"Surely you must answer her letter, dear." + +"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl." + +"Surely you _will_ answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words. + +"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself." + +"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia." + +"Then she can go without. + + "'Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'" + +Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing. + +"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that--" + +"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth--te-hee!--and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MARIA + + +"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!" + +Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky. + +"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire--Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phoebe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities--" + +"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?" + +"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phoebe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,--no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails--why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home--not an inch but is covered with something bright and æsthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phoebe--in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phoebe's being taken--about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phoebe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,--in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phoebe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever--you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,--but--well--and so--I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?" + +She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen. + +Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her. + +Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phoebe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister. + +"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?" + +Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her. + +"You have put me in Phoebe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun--oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And _how_ is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive." + +"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure--in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present." + +"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to _stay_ with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound--but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +_Good_-by!" + +Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor. + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down. + +"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I--something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phoebe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our--my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon." + +"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?" + +"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?" + +"Hum! yes, I remember _her_. She hasn't come here, to this house?" + +"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am--of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but--James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?" + +Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known." + +"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear--" + +"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta--let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit." + +"Go away, James? I?" + +"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very--everything that is like you--to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this--this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!" + +"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but--but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria--my own +cousin, remember, James--chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it." + +"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta." + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely. + +"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,--she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way--though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,--it is a +small matter, but--I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since--I first lighted the lamp. Then--" + +"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet." + +The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before. + +"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!" + +Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but--no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact. + +Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her. + +"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if--Vesta,--may I speak once more?" + +"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it." + +"But--you are alone, child. If Phoebe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and--I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed." + +He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his. + +"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never--at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,--for it must fail,--she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives." + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning--there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand--or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT + + +Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking--perhaps with the wind. + +Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock. + +"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,--Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?" + +She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding. + +"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said. + +Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged." + +She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir. + +"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow." + +"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too--stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?" + +"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face. + +Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw. + +"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"--she stretched her neck toward the door--"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her." + +"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within. + +"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor. + +"Scat! _quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was--" + +"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'--good mornin', Mis' Pryor!" + +She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway. + +Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand. + +"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you _are_ a stranger! Step right +in this way!" + +Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room. + +"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl--I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?" + +Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phoebe +Blyth is universally lamented." + +Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years. + +"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?" + +Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips. + +"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to _be_ neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phoebe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phoebe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +_can_ do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in _my_ +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body." + +Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down--Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of--and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than--well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so." + +Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were--oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming! + +"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative _of_ +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?" + +Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and--so +far as might be--in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech. + +"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a--a--mountain; a--a--in +short,--a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it. + +Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked. + +"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back." + +"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out--" + +"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her." + +Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen. + +Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower. + +"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see." + +"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?" + +Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye. + +"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do." + +"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own. + +"Have you any symptoms for me?" + +"I thought that was your business!" said the patient. + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been--a--feeling like +this?" + +"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for--for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!" + +"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman. + +"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors." + +The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient. + +[Illustration: "'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE +SAID."] + +"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the--a--nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile." + +"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta." + +"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?" + +Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave. + +"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired--almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this--" + +"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +_she_ is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?" + +"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree. + +The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him. + +At last--"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come." + +"Have you tried again, James?" + +"Yes, I have tried again, or--tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before." + +"Has the little idiot--has she any reason to give?" + +Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and--but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as--that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs." + +"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply. + +"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that." + +"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But--larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +NOT YET! + + +How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection. + +Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress. + +"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!" + +Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song: + + "Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!" + +Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!" + +At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and--since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out--it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that _this_ duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water. + +In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage. + +"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?" + +"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight. + +"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?" + +"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it--three minutes ago--with +these eyes! I run all the way--just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect--palpitations--I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?" + +Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa. + +"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?" + +"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!" + +And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake. + +"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no--my dear heart alive! what has happened?" + +Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat. + +"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She--Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I--I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?" + +A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder. + +"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?" + +"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?" + +"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?" + +"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?" + +"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice. + +The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma. + +"What has happened?" + +"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!" + +"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phoebe--" + +"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning." + +"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!" + +"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think--" + +"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!" + +Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house--a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things. + +The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand. + +Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence--was +it the only presence?--of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice. + +"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute." + +"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!" + +"You--oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits _this_ +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree--if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted." + +"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred." + +"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?" + +"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?" + +"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy. + +"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + +***** This file should be named 30439-8.txt or 30439-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/3/30439/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/30439-8.zip b/old/30439-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..748d1b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-8.zip diff --git a/old/30439-h.zip b/old/30439-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a26ac6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h.zip diff --git a/old/30439-h/30439-h.htm b/old/30439-h/30439-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2a820f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/30439-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5313 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +body { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; clear: both; } + +p { margin: .75em 0; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em; } + +p.i0 { text-indent: 0; } + +hr { width: 65%; margin: 2em auto; clear: both; } + +hr.thoughtbreak { width: 45%; } + +blockquote { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + +abbr { text-decoration: none !important; border-bottom: none !important; } + +a:focus, a:active { outline:#ffee66 solid 2px; background-color:#ffee66;} + +.center { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal; } + +.caption { font-size: smaller; margin-top: 0em; text-align: center; } + +.citation { text-align: right; } + +.quotsig { margin-left: 35%; text-indent: -4em; text-align: left; } + +.transnote {background-color: #e6e6fa; color: #000000; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding: 0.5em;} + +/* Front Matter */ +.bbox { border: solid 2px; margin: 3px; } + +.frontmatter { width: 411px; margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; } + +.frontmatter p { text-indent: 0; padding-left: 2em; } + + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left; } + +.poem br { display: none; } + +.poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + +.poem span { display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; } + +.poem span.i2 { margin-left: 2em; } + +.poem span.i5 { margin-left: 5em; } + +.poem span.i6 { margin-left: 6em; } + +.poem p { font-size: smaller; text-indent: 0; } + +.poem { max-width: 30em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + +/* Contents and List of Illustrations */ +div.contents { position: relative; width: 85%; padding: 1em;} +span.ralign { position: absolute; right: 0; top: auto; } +ol.loi { list-style-type: none; } +ol.toc { list-style-type: upper-roman; } + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Tree + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Release Date: November 9, 2009 [EBook #30439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="transnote">Transcriber's Note: Punctuation errors have been corrected, but suspected misprints retained as possible dialect.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/image1.jpg" + width="364" height="600" + alt="Frontispiece featuring Mrs. Tree sitting in the chair, knitting" + title="MRS. TREE" /> + <p class="caption">MRS. TREE</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="bbox frontmatter"> +<div class="bbox"> + <a name="image_1" id="image_1"></a> + <img src="images/title.png" + width="399" height="163" + alt="Decorative title: MRS. TREE" + title="MRS. TREE" /> +</div> + +<div class="bbox"> +<p><big>By<br /> +Laura E. Richards</big><br /> + +<small><i>Author of</i><br /> +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc.</small></p> +</div> + +<div class="bbox center"> + <img src="images/logo.png" + width="150" height="177" + alt="An ovaloid logo featuring a picture of a tree and inscription 'D E & Co / INTER FOLIA FRUCTUS'" + title="D E & Co / INTER FOLIA FRUCTUS" /> +</div> + +<div class="bbox"> +<p>Boston<br /> +Dana Estes & Company<br /> +Publishers</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1902</i><br /> +<b class="smcap">By Dana Estes & Company</b><br /> +——<br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<pre style="height: 3em;"> + + + +</pre> + +<p class="center"><small>MRS. TREE</small><br /> +Published June, 1902</p> + +<pre style="height: 3em;"> + + + +</pre> + +<p class="center"><b><i>Colonial Press</i></b><br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & <abbr title="Company">Co.</abbr><br /> +Boston, <abbr title="Massachusetts">Mass.</abbr>, <abbr title="United States of America">U. S. A.</abbr></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><small>TO</small><br /> +<b><i>My Daughter Rosalind</i></b></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="contents"> +<ol class="toc"> +<li><a href="#chapter_1">Wedding Bells</a> <span class="ralign">11</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_2">Phœbe's Opinions</a> <span class="ralign">25</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_3">Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather</a> <span class="ralign">41</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_4">Old Friends</a> <span class="ralign">55</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_5">"But When He Was Yet a Great Way off"</a> <span class="ralign">75</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_6">The New Postmaster</a> <span class="ralign">92</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_7">In Miss Penny's Shop</a> <span class="ralign">107</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_8">A Tea-party</a> <span class="ralign">124</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_9">A Garden-party</a> <span class="ralign">142</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_10">Mr. Butters Discourses</a> <span class="ralign">161</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_11">Miss Phœbe Passes on</a> <span class="ralign">175</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_12">The Peak in Darien</a> <span class="ralign">189</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_13">Life in Death</a> <span class="ralign">201</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_14">Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought</a> <span class="ralign">217</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_15">Maria</a> <span class="ralign">233</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_16">Doctor Stedman's Patient</a> <span class="ralign">249</span></li> +<li><a href="#chapter_17">Not Yet!</a> <span class="ralign">267</span></li> +</ol> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="illustrations" id="illustrations"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<div class="contents"> +<ol class="loi"> +<li><a href="#image_1">Mrs. Tree</a> <span class="ralign">Frontispiece</span></li> +<li><a href="#image_2">"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony"</a> <span class="ralign">119</span></li> +<li><a href="#image_3">"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'"</a> <span class="ralign">143</span></li> +<li><a href="#image_4">"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said"</a> <span class="ralign">262</span></li> +</ol> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h1><a name="MRS_TREE" id="MRS_TREE"></a>MRS. TREE</h1> + +<h2><a name="chapter_1" id="chapter_1"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="one">I</abbr>.<br /> +<small>WEDDING BELLS</small></h2> + + +<p>"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected."</p> + +<p>"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye.</p> + +<p>"I was cleanin' it."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone."</p> + +<p>"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia.</p> + +<p>"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?"</p> + +<p>"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better.</p> + +<p>Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely.</p> + +<p>"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you—what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is."</p> + +<p>Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion.</p> + +<p>"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so."</p> + +<p>She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phœbe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time.</p> + +<p>"'I ain't no notion!' says he.</p> + +<p>"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says.</p> + +<p>"'Just what I say,' says he.</p> + +<p>"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here.</p> + +<p>"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.'</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died—<em>she</em> was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived—died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off—but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phœbe 'n' Vesty.</p> + +<p>"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phœbe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker.</p> + +<p>But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind.</p> + +<p>Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant.</p> + +<p>"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia."</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!"</p> + +<p>"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet.</p> + +<p>"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to—"</p> + +<p>"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed—Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness—the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!—there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage."</p> + +<p>"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of—of +pride and joy and youth—ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?"</p> + +<p>"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I—I confess—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking—Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division—"</p> + +<p>"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!"</p> + +<p>"Do I look as if I were going to die?"</p> + +<p>"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust."</p> + +<p>"Very well! When I <em>am</em> dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one.</p> + +<p>"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man."</p> + +<p>"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!"</p> + +<p>"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta looked distressed.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phœbe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and—"</p> + +<p>"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger.</p> + +<p>"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phœbe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now."</p> + +<p>"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!"</p> + +<p>"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_2" id="chapter_2"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="two">II</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MISS PHŒBE'S OPINIONS</small></h2> + + +<p>"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman.</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she—that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is."</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't."</p> + +<p>"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phœbe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in—one, two, three, purl—in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable."</p> + +<p>"I often think, Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young."</p> + +<p>"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phœbe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phœbe."</p> + +<p>"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?"</p> + +<p>After a majestic pause, Miss Phœbe continued, glancing at her other +hearers:</p> + +<p>"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is—I grieve to use +a harsh expression—frivolous."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phœbe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one."</p> + +<p>"I—a—was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the—a—pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"—he waved his hands gently +abroad—"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities."</p> + +<p>"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phœbe, with stately courtesy.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Cousin Phœbe. I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>It was one of Miss Phœbe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phœbe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother.</p> + +<p>"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and—other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of—mockery; of—derision; +of—contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as—strange; as—singular; +as—extraordinary."</p> + +<p>"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phœbe."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman.</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phœbe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phœbe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!"</p> + +<p>Miss Phœbe colored and drew herself up.</p> + +<p>"Sister Phœbe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of—"</p> + +<p>"Vesta, I <em>think</em> I have my senses," said Miss Phœbe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof—I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter—we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"—Miss Phœbe's voice quavered slightly—"he is +a chosen spirit."</p> + +<p>"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta.</p> + +<p>"But in spite of this," Miss Phœbe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly.</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best—patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,—whatever it was,—I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking."</p> + +<p>Miss Phœbe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction.</p> + +<p>"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to—a—persons of literary taste. There is"—he +waved his hands—"too much noise; too much—sound; too much—absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats."</p> + +<p>"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose."</p> + +<p>"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was—friendly; that +was—benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I—since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"—his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phœbe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>He shook hands heartily all around and was gone.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits."</p> + +<p>His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phœbe, benevolently.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"This is—you may be aware, Cousin Phœbe—the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing—I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning—which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phœbe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main—but you shall judge for yourself."</p> + +<p>He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began:</p> + +<p>"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats."</p> + +<p>"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"By all means, Cousin Phœbe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'—but I +need not repeat the title.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"I asked the Muse if she had one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrice-favored son,<br /></span> +<span>Or if some one poetic brother<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appealed to her more than another.<br /></span> +<span>She gazed on me with aspect high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tear in eye,<br /></span> +<span>While musically she repeats,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Keats!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"She gave me then to understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smilèd bland,<br /></span> +<span>On Helicon the sacred Nine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Occasionally ask bards to dine.<br /></span> +<span>'For most,' she said, 'we do not move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though we approve;<br /></span> +<span>For one alone we leave our seats:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Keats!"'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phœbe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phœbe was ready now.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression—I am sorry +to speak strongly—shocks me!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times.</p> + +<p>"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phœbe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you."</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phœbe. "The poets—with a +few notable exceptions—are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries."</p> + +<p>"But Keats, Cousin Phœbe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phœbe checked him +with a wave of her hand.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_3" id="chapter_3"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="three">III</abbr>.<br /> +<small>INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER</small></h2> + + +<p>"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air.</p> + +<p>"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there."</p> + +<p>"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners."</p> + +<p>The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own.</p> + +<p>The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers.</p> + +<p>"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said <em>shake hands</em>, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?"</p> + +<p>"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are-the-same."</p> + + +<p>Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?"</p> + +<p>"<em>May</em> I, not <em>can</em> I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it."</p> + +<p>The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats.</p> + +<p>"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Bully!" said Tommy.</p> + +<p>"Now, what do you want to hear?"</p> + +<p>"About Grampy."</p> + +<p>"What about him?"</p> + +<p>"Everything! like what you told me last time."</p> + +<p>There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other.</p> + +<p>"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew."</p> + +<p>Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture.</p> + +<p>"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,—we +wore aprons with big pockets then,—and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!"</p> + +<p>"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!"</p> + +<p>"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm!"</p> + +<p>"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight—the first one—was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called <em>him</em> Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron—or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street—dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,—his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,—and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them.</p> + +<p>"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study—it was dusk by now—and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room."</p> + +<p>"<em>Saw</em>, not <em>see</em>!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear—he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?'</p> + +<p>"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.'</p> + +<p>"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?'</p> + +<p>"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.)</p> + +<p>"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.'</p> + +<p>"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?"</p> + +<p>"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly.</p> + +<p>"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?"</p> + +<p>Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't."</p> + +<p>"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous—that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_4" id="chapter_4"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="four">IV.</abbr><br /> +<small>OLD FRIENDS</small></h2> + + +<p>It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would—it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf.</p> + +<p>A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question.</p> + +<p>In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea.</p> + +<p>"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something."</p> + +<p>"Direxia Hawkes!"</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant.</p> + +<p>"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone."</p> + +<p>"What does he look like?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!"</p> + +<p>"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"What say?"</p> + +<p>"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do."</p> + +<p>"The dogs—I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'—"</p> + +<p>"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?"</p> + +<p>"Well! of all the cantankerous—here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there.</p> + +<p>"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry."</p> + +<p>"Are you a tramp?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam."</p> + +<p>"Anything else?"</p> + +<p>The man was silent.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you."</p> + +<p>"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman."</p> + +<p>The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again.</p> + +<p>"I—cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you?"</p> + +<p>This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously.</p> + +<p>"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen—or—I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring.</p> + +<p>"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!"</p> + +<p>Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering.</p> + +<p>"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!"</p> + +<p>As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone:</p> + +<p>"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health."</p> + +<p>"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?"</p> + +<p>The man nodded gloomily.</p> + +<p>"That begins it. After awhile—I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit—"</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat.</p> + +<p>He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim—and clean.</p> + +<p>"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door.</p> + +<p>"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phœbe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day.</p> + +<p>The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it.</p> + +<p>"Old friends!" said the voice.</p> + +<p>The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held.</p> + +<p>"<em>My God!</em>" he said, violently.</p> + +<p>"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!"</p> + +<p>"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!"</p> + +<p>"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am—faint. I must get out into the air."</p> + +<p>The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down."</p> + +<p>"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!"</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +<em>Do as I say!</em> There!"</p> + +<p>"Old friends!" said the parrot.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes."</p> + +<p>"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!"</p> + +<p>She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods.</p> + +<p>"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here—hey?"</p> + +<p>The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock.</p> + +<p>"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest."</p> + +<p>He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet.</p> + +<p>"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy."</p> + +<p>"I came—" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came—to rob +you, Mrs. Tree."</p> + +<p>"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that—there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did."</p> + +<p>"God knows! When—how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?"</p> + +<p>"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy."</p> + +<p>"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend—yes, the parrot knew +me!—and let me go!"</p> + +<p>"Hark!" said the old woman.</p> + +<p>She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut.</p> + +<p>"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight."</p> + +<p>She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! <em>Do as I say!</em> Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!"</p> + +<p>She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono—lands sakes, I don't know what <em>to</em> do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she—"</p> + +<p>"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs.</p> + +<p>"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!"</p> + +<p>She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes.</p> + +<p>"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature.</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect +you when need is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and +he's here for no good."</p> + +<p>"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't."</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently.</p> + +<p>"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats +in—and when you're abed and asleep they'll have your life, them two, +and run off with your worldly goods that you've thought so much of. +Would have, that is, if I hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out +of winder. Oh, how thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, +though I was scairt 'most to death, and am now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none."</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these—"</p> + +<p>"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There <em>are</em> tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away—well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_5" id="chapter_5"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="five">V</abbr>.<br /> +<small>"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF"</small></h2> + + +<p>"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then—I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp—it was last spring, and warm weather coming on—till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then—in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting—I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it."</p> + +<p>"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only—it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman.</p> + +<p>She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color—if the light were +not gone out of them.</p> + +<p>"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard—I supposed he was still in Europe."</p> + +<p>"Two years ago."</p> + +<p>"Was it—" something seemed to choke the man.</p> + +<p>"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all."</p> + +<p>Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light.</p> + +<p>"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?"</p> + +<p>William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since—I +don't know when. I feel—almost—like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead."</p> + +<p>"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?"</p> + +<p>Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles.</p> + +<p>"To Mother!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; <em>do as I tell +you</em>! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time."</p> + +<p>"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!"</p> + +<p>The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?"</p> + +<p>She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S.</p> + +<p>"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?"</p> + +<p>He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face.</p> + +<p>"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree."</p> + +<p>"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up."</p> + +<p>"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!"</p> + +<p>"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away."</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it.</p> + +<p>This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before.</p> + +<p>She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight called over the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Isick, be you there?"</p> + +<p>"Yep!"</p> + +<p>"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her."</p> + +<p>"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac.</p> + +<p>"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking."</p> + +<p>"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you."</p> + +<p>"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows."</p> + +<p>"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter—it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up—not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home."</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?"</p> + +<p>The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door.</p> + +<p>"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?"</p> + +<p>"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith."</p> + +<p>"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is."</p> + +<p>She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I—I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me—an old acquaintance—who had—who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is—doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word.</p> + +<p>"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother.</p> + +<p>"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phœbe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_6" id="chapter_6"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="six">VI</abbr>.<br /> +<small>THE NEW POSTMASTER</small></h2> + + +<p>Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this.</p> + +<p>"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village.</p> + +<p>When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect.</p> + +<p>"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey.</p> + +<p>No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement.</p> + +<p>"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather."</p> + +<p>"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't."</p> + +<p>"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so."</p> + +<p>"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself."</p> + +<p>"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage.</p> + +<p>"Brether—I—I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?"</p> + +<p>The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily.</p> + +<p>"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home."</p> + +<p>"Not a mite," was the general verdict.</p> + +<p>"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job."</p> + +<p>He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet.</p> + +<p>"There's the <em>Fidely</em>," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect."</p> + +<p>A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment.</p> + +<p>"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year."</p> + +<p>"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey.</p> + +<p>"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him."</p> + +<p>"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?"</p> + +<p>"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it."</p> + +<p>"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Seth Weaver.</p> + +<p>The others looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him."</p> + +<p>He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently—</p> + +<p>"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this:</p> + +<p>"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone.</p> + +<p>Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it.</p> + +<p>"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?"</p> + +<p>There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic.</p> + +<p>"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before.</p> + +<p>"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on."</p> + +<p>"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver.</p> + +<p>"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?"</p> + +<p>At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,—indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,—but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time."</p> + +<p>"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to—occupy;—to—a—become a holder of."</p> + +<p>"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"I—am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service—to the—amelioration; to +the—mental, moral, and physical well-being—of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose—I believe it is the custom—a—in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?"</p> + +<p>"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but—well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember."</p> + +<p>There was an assenting hum.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly—I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I—he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen—I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow."</p> + +<p>He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders.</p> + +<p>They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary.</p> + +<p>But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail.</p> + +<p>"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly.</p> + +<p>Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it."</p> + +<p>"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'"</p> + +<p>"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on!<br /></span> +<span>Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"—His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly—" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)—"I may say +<em>very</em> strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind."</p> + +<p>There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another.</p> + +<p>"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted."</p> + +<p>"That's so," said the elders.</p> + +<p>"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him—why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned."</p> + +<p>The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes—shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them—roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove.</p> + +<p>"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic."</p> + +<p>"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest."</p> + +<p>"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_7" id="chapter_7"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="seven">VII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP</small></h2> + + +<p>One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone—and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits.</p> + +<p>One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked.</p> + +<p>"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him—well, he always had +that—but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Eheu fugaces</i>," said a harsh voice +from a corner.</p> + +<p>"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"'<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,</i><br /></span> +<span><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Labuntur anni</i>;'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i0">tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly.</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness."</p> + +<p>"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters."</p> + +<p>"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?"</p> + +<p>"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open."</p> + +<p>"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!"</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily.</p> + +<p>Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her."</p> + +<p>"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird—"</p> + +<p>She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes—won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?"</p> + +<p>"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight.</p> + +<p>"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Helen was a beauty,<br /></span> +<span>Xantippe was a shrew;<br /></span> +<span>Medusa was a Gorgon,<br /></span> +<span>And so—are—<em>you</em>!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="i0">Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!"</p> + +<p>Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her.</p> + +<p>"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a <em>man</em> in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck."</p> + +<p>Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct.</p> + +<p>"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down.</p> + +<p>"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious <em>I</em> see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way."</p> + +<p>"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom—"</p> + +<p>"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly.</p> + +<p>"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could—"</p> + +<p>She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post.</p> + +<p>"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're <em>real</em> smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here."</p> + +<p>She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure.</p> + +<p>"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!"</p> + +<p>Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!"</p> + +<p>"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phœbe?"</p> + +<p>"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!"</p> + +<div class="center"> + <a name="image_2" id="image_2"></a> + <img src="images/image2.jpg" + width="433" height="600" + alt="A picture of Miss Vesta by Jocko's cage, with Miss Penny looking on" + title=""SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT CEREMONY."" /> + <p class="caption">"SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."</p> +</div> + +<p>She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony.</p> + +<p>"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious."</p> + +<p>"How old <em>is</em> that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny.</p> + +<p>"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection."</p> + +<p>"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many—violent expressions in that +language."</p> + +<p>"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe.</p> + +<p>"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!"</p> + +<p>"<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Arma virumque cano!</i>" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!"</p> + +<p>"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?"</p> + +<p>"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome."</p> + +<p>"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like—a—dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?"</p> + +<p>"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday."</p> + +<p>"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?"</p> + +<p>"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight—"</p> + +<p>"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_8" id="chapter_8"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="eight">VIII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>A TEA-PARTY</small></h2> + + +<p>"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well."</p> + +<p>"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phœbe. "Let me see; one, two, three—six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss—no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening."</p> + +<p>"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phœbe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?"</p> + +<p>The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phœbe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish.</p> + +<p>"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phœbe, gravely; +then she sighed.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes."</p> + +<p>"Surely, Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,—naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,—but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need."</p> + +<p>"Surely, Sister Phœbe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!"</p> + +<p>"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phœbe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?"</p> + +<p>Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phœbe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat.</p> + +<p>"Phœbe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me—yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset.</p> + +<p>"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit."</p> + +<p>"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong—ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up."</p> + +<p>"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phœbe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea."</p> + +<p>"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phœbe?"</p> + +<p>"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phœbe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?"</p> + +<p>"A—it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phœbe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you."</p> + +<p>"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phœbe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice.</p> + +<p>"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious—so harmonious—I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment."</p> + +<p>He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table.</p> + +<p>"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It <em>is</em> the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting."</p> + +<p>Miss Phœbe looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Phœbe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phœbe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable."</p> + +<p>"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phœbe."</p> + +<p>He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey—not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phœbe looked grave.</p> + +<p>"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?"</p> + +<p>"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome.</p> + +<p>"She is a—a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently."</p> + +<p>"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phœbe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case."</p> + +<p>"A—well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"—here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself—"in fact,—a—she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely.</p> + +<p>"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,—'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,—and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word—had +you, John?—when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses—what <em>do</em> you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl—"</p> + +<p>"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree <em>is</em> just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!—no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she <em>is</em> kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us."</p> + +<p>"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer bridled and colored.</p> + +<p>"A—not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my—a—genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek—to employ—to—a—avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It—gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"—he waved his +hands—"circumambiency!"</p> + +<p>His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you."</p> + +<p>"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,—but it was +only seven,—settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile.</p> + +<p>"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom—or more properly which—I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our—a—midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but—shall I say, Cousin Phœbe, a temporary estray from +the—a—star-y-pointing path?"</p> + +<p>"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phœbe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phœbe, sitting erect and rigid—in the rocking-chair, <em>his</em> +rocking-chair! Miss Phœbe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she <em>could</em> rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills.</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising—and read as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p>"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND.</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span>"Our beloved William Jaquith<br /></span> +<span>Has resolved henceforth to break with<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Devious ways;<br /></span> +<span>And returning to his mother<br /></span> +<span>Vows he will have ne'er another<br /></span> +<span class="i5">All his days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Husk of swine did not him nourish;<br /></span> +<span>Plant of Virtue could not flourish<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Far from home;<br /></span> +<span>So his heart with longing burnèd,<br /></span> +<span>And his feet with speed returnèd<br /></span> +<span class="i5">To its dome.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Welcome, William, to our village!<br /></span> +<span>Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Cherished son!<br /></span> +<span>On her sightless steps attendant,<br /></span> +<span>Wear a crown of light resplendent,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Duty done!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phœbe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more—a"—he +waved his hands—"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phœbe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_9" id="chapter_9"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="nine">IX</abbr>.<br /> +<small>A GARDEN PARTY</small></h2> + + +<p>It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams.</p> + +<p>No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth.</p> + +<div class="center"> + <a name="image_3" id="image_3"></a> + <img src="images/image3.jpg" + width="378" height="600" + alt="Mrs. Tree sitting in a wicker chair on the porch, talking to William Jaquith" title=""'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"" /> + <p class="caption">"'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"</p> +</div> + +<p>Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw.</p> + +<p>"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats."</p> + +<p>"With Mary—do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up.</p> + +<p>"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent—"</p> + +<p>She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that."</p> + +<p>"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying—something +about Lily Bent?"</p> + +<p>"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tree!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tree,"—the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,—"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting—I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since—why does she stay away +so long?"</p> + +<p>"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and—one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that—of your wife after she +left you."</p> + +<p>"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after—"</p> + +<p>"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you."</p> + +<p>She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But—I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long."</p> + +<p>"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy."</p> + +<p>"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information."</p> + +<p>"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am.</p> + +<p>"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to."</p> + +<p>Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance—but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was."</p> + +<p>"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!"</p> + +<p>Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her.</p> + +<p>With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith.</p> + +<p>"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?"</p> + +<p>Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion.</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together.</p> + +<p>"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,—ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time."</p> + +<p>"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day."</p> + +<p>"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery—and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent—pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then—she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder—h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!"</p> + +<p>His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine.</p> + +<p>"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?"</p> + +<p>A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I—"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback.</p> + +<p>He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"See anything to beat the State of Maine?"</p> + +<p>"I think not. No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good—when it +<em>is</em> good—it's <em>good</em>, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour—"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?"</p> + +<p>"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree."</p> + +<p>He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings.</p> + +<p>"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace."</p> + +<p>The wings were graciously accepted and praised.</p> + +<p>"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny."</p> + +<p>"Was it sudden?"</p> + +<p>"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now."</p> + +<p>"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel—why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'."</p> + +<p>"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you."</p> + +<p>"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!"</p> + +<p>He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago—two +months maybe it was—a man come to the door—back door—and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,—she's terrible skeert of +tramps,—and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door.</p> + +<p>"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he.</p> + +<p>"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short.</p> + +<p>"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.'</p> + +<p>"She questioned him,—Alviry's a master hand at questionin',—and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,—ma'am, I ask your pardon,—he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says.</p> + +<p>"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.'</p> + +<p>"So he told her his name,—Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he <em>has</em> +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,—and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,—ma'am, <em>I</em> should +say,—when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at.</p> + +<p>"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!"</p> + +<p>"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings."</p> + +<p>"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_10" id="chapter_10"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="ten">X</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES</small></h2> + + +<p>After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward.</p> + +<p>"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!"</p> + +<p>Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially.</p> + +<p>"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?"</p> + +<p>"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?"</p> + +<p>"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!"</p> + +<p>"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you."</p> + +<p>"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I don't know what else <em>to</em> do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben."</p> + +<p>"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise?</p> + +<p>"'What have ye done?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else <em>to</em> do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,—or was it oil and +vinegar?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver."</p> + +<p>Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?"</p> + +<p>Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window.</p> + +<p>"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were—adjacent;—a—contiguous;—a—in point +of fact, near together."</p> + +<p>"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way."</p> + +<p>"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I—I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is—a—in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of—a—alienation; +of—a—wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred—"</p> + +<p>Ithuriel Butters looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of—"</p> + +<p>"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer colored painfully.</p> + +<p>"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that—that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters."</p> + +<p>"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't.</p> + +<p>"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?"</p> + +<p>"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters."</p> + +<p>"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal."</p> + +<p>"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,—she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,—but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House—you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house.</p> + +<p>"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too."</p> + +<p>"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You—a—you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so—a—so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth."</p> + +<p>"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em.</p> + +<p>"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_11" id="chapter_11"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="eleven">XI</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MISS PHŒBE PASSES ON</small></h2> + + +<p>Miss Phœbe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way.</p> + +<p>Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phœbe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phœbe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented—linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming.</p> + +<p>"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phœbe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar."</p> + +<p>"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method."</p> + +<p>"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I <em>do</em> +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of—"</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you."</p> + +<p>She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters.</p> + +<p>"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's <em>so</em>! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know—unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning."</p> + +<p>"Well, I—"</p> + +<p>For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly.</p> + +<p>"Girls, I would <em>not</em> have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out—she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?'</p> + +<p>"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?'</p> + +<p>"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me—what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?"</p> + +<p>Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phœbe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'."</p> + +<p>"Miss Phœbe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day."</p> + +<p>"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village—I'll go +further, and say county—that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phœbe, but—there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me—"</p> + +<p>"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms.</p> + +<p>Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue.</p> + +<p>"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea."</p> + +<p>"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire—let us keep things as they +have been—as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"—the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break—"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but—she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them."</p> + +<p>"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,—she's real good,—and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?"</p> + +<p>"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion."</p> + +<p>"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her."</p> + +<p>Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phœbe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure.</p> + +<p>"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I—" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_12" id="chapter_12"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="twelve">XII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>THE PEAK IN DARIEN</small></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then felt I like some watcher of the skies<br /></span> +<span>When a new planet swims into his ken:<br /></span> +<span>Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes<br /></span> +<span>He stared at the Pacific, and all his men<br /></span> +<span>Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—<br /></span> +<span>Silent, upon a peak in Darien.<br /></span> +</div> +<p class="citation">—<i>John Keats.</i></p> +</div> + + +<p>Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phœbe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phœbe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled.</p> + +<p>"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is—a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person."</p> + +<p>After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride.</p> + +<p>"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of—a—song; but I think that looks well, +William?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!"</p> + +<p>"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will—a—wither; will—a—become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to—beat; to—throb; +to—a—palpitate."</p> + +<p>He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued:</p> + +<p>"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our—retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated—a—rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!"</p> + +<p>"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question.</p> + +<p>"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this."</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture.</p> + +<p>"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, <em>a</em> +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain <em>is</em> in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one—to me. It represents—a—Woman."</p> + +<p>"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times.</p> + +<p>"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes—a—Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of—a—Woman, through the medium of the—a—Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien—Woman! Guided by the—a—Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and—and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise—silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half—or more than half—in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling.</p> + +<p>Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer!</p> + +<p>The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if—unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture—"How if a man were misled for a time by—I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer—by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than—would he have any right to—what was it you +said, sir?—to try once more to scale those crystal heights?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light—I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided—would again fall +across his path."</p> + +<p>"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath.</p> + +<p>He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien.</p> + +<p>"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith.</p> + +<p>When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant.</p> + +<p>"Have I—have I given satisfaction, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me—on many accounts."</p> + +<p>"Then, you—you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?"</p> + +<p>"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give."</p> + +<p>"Then—then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"—he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,—"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!"</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p>So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?"</p> + +<p>"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly.</p> + +<p>"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you."</p> + +<p>"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did."</p> + +<p>The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again.</p> + +<p>"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you—or thank you?"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_13" id="chapter_13"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="thirteen">XIII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>LIFE IN DEATH</small></h2> + + +<p>"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall.</p> + +<p>"To Miss Dane's!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony.</p> + +<p>The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived—"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said—Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,—indeed, report would have her some years +older,—but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one.</p> + +<p>Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy.</p> + +<p>"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it."</p> + +<p>The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony."</p> + +<p>"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?"</p> + +<p>The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light.</p> + +<p>These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths.</p> + +<p>"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?"</p> + +<p>Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat.</p> + +<p>"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met."</p> + +<p>"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away."</p> + +<p>"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me."</p> + +<p>"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned."</p> + +<p>"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking."</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have; years ago."</p> + +<p>"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith—Mary Ashton?"</p> + +<p>"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank."</p> + +<p>"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly."</p> + +<p>"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living."</p> + +<p>"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along—somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But—Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now—they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other.</p> + +<p>"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way."</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first."</p> + +<p>She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention.</p> + +<p>"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred."</p> + +<p>"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane.</p> + +<p>"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally:</p> + +<p>"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phœbe Blyth was dead?"</p> + +<p>"I knew that Phœbe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor."</p> + +<p>She paused a moment, and then added, "Phœbe was with me last night."</p> + +<p>"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phœbe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults."</p> + +<p>"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you."</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said."</p> + +<p>The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame.</p> + +<p>"<em>You dare</em>—" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you—te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times.</p> + +<p>"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.)</p> + +<p>"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; <em>the other +side</em>, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me."</p> + +<p>In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones.</p> + +<p>"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was—"</p> + +<p>"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Tree!"</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is <em>so</em> well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed."</p> + +<p>"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby—I never had but one—was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral."</p> + +<p>She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends.</p> + +<p>"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently.</p> + +<p>"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_14" id="chapter_14"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="fourteen">XIV</abbr>.<br /> +<small>TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT</small></h2> + + +<p>"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are-the-same!" +replied Tommy Candy, in one breath.</p> + +<p>"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy."</p> + +<p>Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin.</p> + +<p>"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair."</p> + +<p>The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair.</p> + +<p>"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did."</p> + +<p>"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there—don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it—and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?"</p> + +<p>"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy.</p> + +<p>"Every word."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said.</p> + +<p>He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale.</p> + +<p>"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him—well, <em>saw</em> him—come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow—yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see—saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight—we was goin' home from school together—I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas—no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off—I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand—thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation.</p> + +<p>"We waited—there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant—I reely did, +Mis' Tree—to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight—he makes me tired!—the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!'</p> + +<p>"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did—did your father whip you well, Tommy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!"</p> + +<p>When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them.</p> + +<p>Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh.</p> + +<p>"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old +block!"</p> + +<p>Then she took up her letter.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phœbe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!"</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria."</p> + +<p>"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you."</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<strong class="smcap">My dear Aunt:</strong>—I was much grieved to hear of poor Phœbe's +death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her +illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and +gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and +Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to +overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phœbe sadly, and +be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come +and show you both that to <em>me</em>, at least, blood is thicker than +water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to +establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in +Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet +girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to +their venerable relation. I think you would find them <em>not +inferior</em>, to say the least, to some others who have been more put +forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been +<em>my</em> idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are +so numerous, and they are so much <em>sought after</em>, that it will be +impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to +do so. I propose to divide my visit <em>impartially</em> between you and +poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, +since such we are bidden to visit.</p> + +<p>"Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and +hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of +health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt,</p> + +<p class="quotsig">"Your affectionate niece,<br /> +"<strong class="smcap">Maria Darracott Pryor</strong>."</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta."</p> + +<p>But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,—"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,—and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to—"</p> + +<p>"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman.</p> + +<p>"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house."</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia!"</p> + +<p>"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phœbe! She +must try her best to do as Phœbe would have wished.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear—so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,—especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,—that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are."</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly.</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother."</p> + +<p>"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them—but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her."</p> + +<p>"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quousque tandem, O Catilina?</i> Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta sighed. "Then—what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?"</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly.</p> + +<p>"Surely you must answer her letter, dear."</p> + +<p>"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl."</p> + +<p>"Surely you <em>will</em> answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself."</p> + +<p>"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia."</p> + +<p>"Then she can go without.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">"'Tiddy hi, toddy ho,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Tiddy hi hum,<br /></span> +<span>Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that—"</p> + +<p>"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth—te-hee!—and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_15" id="chapter_15"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="fifteen">XV</abbr>.<br /> +<small>MARIA</small></h2> + + +<p>"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky.</p> + +<p>"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire—Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phœbe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities—"</p> + +<p>"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?"</p> + +<p>"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phœbe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,—no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails—why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home—not an inch but is covered with something bright and æsthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phœbe—in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phœbe's being taken—about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phœbe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,—in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phœbe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever—you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,—but—well—and so—I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen.</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her.</p> + +<p>Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phœbe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister.</p> + +<p>"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her.</p> + +<p>"You have put me in Phœbe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun—oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And <em>how</em> is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure—in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present."</p> + +<p>"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to <em>stay</em> with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound—but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +<em>Good</em>-by!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I—something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phœbe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our—my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?"</p> + +<p>"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?"</p> + +<p>"Hum! yes, I remember <em>her</em>. She hasn't come here, to this house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am—of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but—James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known."</p> + +<p>"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear—"</p> + +<p>"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta—let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit."</p> + +<p>"Go away, James? I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very—everything that is like you—to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this—this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!"</p> + +<p>"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but—but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria—my own +cousin, remember, James—chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it."</p> + +<p>"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely.</p> + +<p>"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,—she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way—though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,—it is a +small matter, but—I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since—I first lighted the lamp. Then—"</p> + +<p>"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet."</p> + +<p>The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before.</p> + +<p>"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but—no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her.</p> + +<p>"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if—Vesta,—may I speak once more?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it."</p> + +<p>"But—you are alone, child. If Phœbe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and—I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed."</p> + +<p>He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his.</p> + +<p>"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never—at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,—for it must fail,—she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning—there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand—or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_16" id="chapter_16"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="sixteen">XVI</abbr>.<br /> +<small>DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT</small></h2> + + +<p>Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking—perhaps with the wind.</p> + +<p>Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,—Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?"</p> + +<p>She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged."</p> + +<p>She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow."</p> + +<p>"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too—stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw.</p> + +<p>"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"—she stretched her neck toward the door—"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her."</p> + +<p>"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within.</p> + +<p>"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor.</p> + +<p>"Scat! <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">quousque tandem, O Catilina?</i> Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was—"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'—good mornin', Mis' Pryor!"</p> + +<p>She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you <em>are</em> a stranger! Step right +in this way!"</p> + +<p>Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room.</p> + +<p>"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl—I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?"</p> + +<p>Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phœbe +Blyth is universally lamented."</p> + +<p>Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years.</p> + +<p>"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?"</p> + +<p>Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips.</p> + +<p>"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to <em>be</em> neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phœbe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phœbe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +<em>can</em> do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in <em>my</em> +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down—Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of—and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than—well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so."</p> + +<p>Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were—oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming!</p> + +<p>"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative <em>of</em> +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and—so +far as might be—in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech.</p> + +<p>"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a—a—mountain; a—a—in +short,—a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it.</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out—"</p> + +<p>"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her."</p> + +<p>Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen.</p> + +<p>Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see."</p> + +<p>"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye.</p> + +<p>"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own.</p> + +<p>"Have you any symptoms for me?"</p> + +<p>"I thought that was your business!" said the patient.</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been—a—feeling like +this?"</p> + +<p>"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for—for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!"</p> + +<p>"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman.</p> + +<p>"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors."</p> + +<p>The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient.</p> + +<div class="center"> + <a name="image_4" id="image_4"></a> + <img src="images/image4.jpg" + width="384" height="600" + alt="Doctor Stedman pouring from the cordial into a tumbler and Mrs. Tree observing from her chair" + title=""'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE SAID."" /> + <p class="caption">"'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE SAID."</p> +</div> + +<p>"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the—a—nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile."</p> + +<p>"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!"</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta."</p> + +<p>"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave.</p> + +<p>"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired—almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this—"</p> + +<p>"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly.</p> + +<p>"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +<em>she</em> is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<p>The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him.</p> + +<p>At last—"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come."</p> + +<p>"Have you tried again, James?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have tried again, or—tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before."</p> + +<p>"Has the little idiot—has she any reason to give?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and—but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as—that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs."</p> + +<p>"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply.</p> + +<p>"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But—larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter."</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="chapter_17" id="chapter_17"></a>CHAPTER <abbr title="seventeen">XVII</abbr>.<br /> +<small>NOT YET!</small></h2> + + +<p>How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress.</p> + +<p>"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!"</p> + +<p>Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">"Tiddy hi, toddy ho,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Tiddy hi hum,<br /></span> +<span>Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!"</p> + +<p>At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and—since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out—it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that <em>this</em> duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage.</p> + +<p>"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?"</p> + +<p>"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight.</p> + +<p>"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?"</p> + +<p>"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it—three minutes ago—with +these eyes! I run all the way—just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect—palpitations—I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa.</p> + +<p>"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?"</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!"</p> + +<p>And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake.</p> + +<p>"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no—my dear heart alive! what has happened?"</p> + +<p>Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat.</p> + +<p>"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She—Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I—I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?"</p> + +<p>A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder.</p> + +<p>"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice.</p> + +<p>The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!"</p> + +<p>"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phœbe—"</p> + +<p>"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phœbe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!"</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think—"</p> + +<p>"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!"</p> + +<p>Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house—a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things.</p> + +<p>The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand.</p> + +<p>Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence—was +it the only presence?—of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice.</p> + +<p>"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute."</p> + +<p>"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!"</p> + +<p>"You—oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits <em>this</em> +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree—if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted."</p> + +<p>"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred."</p> + +<p>"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?"</p> + +<p>"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?"</p> + +<p>"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy.</p> + +<p>"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!"</p> + +<p>"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree.</p> + +<h2><small>THE END.</small></h2> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + +***** This file should be named 30439-h.htm or 30439-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/3/30439/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/30439-h/images/image1.jpg b/old/30439-h/images/image1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3de464 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/images/image1.jpg diff --git a/old/30439-h/images/image2.jpg b/old/30439-h/images/image2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c4a3b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/images/image2.jpg diff --git a/old/30439-h/images/image3.jpg b/old/30439-h/images/image3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..858e661 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/images/image3.jpg diff --git a/old/30439-h/images/image4.jpg b/old/30439-h/images/image4.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd1d9cc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/images/image4.jpg diff --git a/old/30439-h/images/logo.png b/old/30439-h/images/logo.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3066184 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/images/logo.png diff --git a/old/30439-h/images/title.png b/old/30439-h/images/title.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..821d1f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439-h/images/title.png diff --git a/old/30439.txt b/old/30439.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..582daac --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5175 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Tree + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Release Date: November 9, 2009 [EBook #30439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: MRS. TREE.] + + + + +MRS. TREE + +By +Laura E. Richards + +_Author of_ +"Captain January," "Melody," "Marie," etc. + +Boston +Dana Estes & Company +Publishers + + + +_Copyright, 1902_ +BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + +_All rights reserved_ + + +MRS. TREE +Published June, 1902 + + +Colonial Press +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + +To +My Daughter Rosalind + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. Wedding Bells 11 + +II. Phoebe's Opinions 25 + +III. Introducing Tommy Candy and Solomon, his Grandfather 41 + +IV. Old Friends 55 + +V. "But When He Was Yet a Great Way off" 75 + +VI. The New Postmaster 92 + +VII. In Miss Penny's Shop 107 + +VIII. A Tea-party 124 + +IX. A Garden-party 142 + +X. Mr. Butters Discourses 161 + +XI. Miss Phoebe Passes on 175 + +XII. The Peak in Darien 189 + +XIII. Life in Death 201 + +XIV. Tommy Candy, and the Letter He Brought 217 + +XV. Maria 233 + +XVI. Doctor Stedman's Patient 249 + +XVII. Not Yet! 267 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + PAGE + +Mrs. Tree Frontispiece + +"She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony" 119 + +"'Careful with that Bride Blush, Willy'" 143 + +"'Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!' he said" 262 + + + + +MRS. TREE + +CHAPTER I. + +WEDDING BELLS + + +"Well, they're gone!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +Direxia had been to market, and, it was to be supposed, had brought +home, beside the chops and the soup-piece, all the information the +village afforded. She had now, after putting away her austere little +bonnet and cape, brought a china basin, and a mystic assortment of white +cloths, and was polishing the window-panes, which did not need +polishing. From time to time she glanced at her mistress, who sat bolt +upright in her chair, engaged on a severe-looking piece of knitting. +Mrs. Tree detested knitting, and it was always a bad sign when she put +away her book and took up the needles. + +"Yes'm; they're gone. I see 'em go. Ithuriel Butters drove 'em over to +the Junction; come in yesterday o' purpose, and put up his team at +Doctor Stedman's. Ithuriel thinks a sight of Doctor Strong. Yes'm; folks +was real concerned to see him go, and her too. They made a handsome +couple, if they be both light-complected." + +"What are you doing to that window, Direxia Hawkes?" demanded Mrs. Tree, +looking up from her knitting with a glittering eye. + +"I was cleanin' it." + +"I'm glad to hear it. I never should have supposed so from looking at +it. Perhaps you'd better let it alone." + +"You're a terrible tedious woman to live with, Mis' Tree!" said +Direxia. + +"You're welcome to go any minute," replied Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm," said Direxia. "What kind of sauce would you like for tea?" + +"Any kind except yours," said Mrs. Tree; and then both smiled grimly, +and felt better. + +Direxia polished away, still with an anxious eye on the old woman whom +she loved fiercely. + +"He sent a message to you, last thing before he drove off. He wanted I +should tell you--what's this now he said? 'Tell her to keep on growing +young till I come back,' that was it. Well, he's a perfect gentleman, +that's what he is." + +Something clicked in Mrs. Tree's throat, but she said nothing. Mrs. Tree +was over ninety, but apart from an amazing reticulation of wrinkles, +netted fine and close as a brown veil, she showed little sign of her +great age. As she herself said, she had her teeth and her wits, and she +did not see what more any one wanted. In her morning gown of white +dimity, with folds of soft net about her throat, and a turban of the +same material on her head, she was a pleasant and picturesque figure. +For the afternoon she affected satin, either plum-colored, or of the +cinnamon shade in which some of my readers may have seen her elsewhere, +with slippers to match, and a cap suggesting the Corinthian order. In +this array, majesty replaced picturesqueness, and there were those in +Elmerton who quailed at the very thought of this tiny old woman, upright +in her ebony chair, with the acanthus-leaf in finest Brussels nodding +over her brows. The last touch of severity was added when Mrs. Tree was +found knitting, as on the present occasion. + +"Ithuriel Butters is a sing'lar man!" Direxia went on, investigating +with exquisite nicety the corner of a pane. "He gave me a turn just now, +he did so." + +She waited a moment, but no sign coming, continued. "I was to Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty's when he druv up, and we passed the time o' day. I +said, 'How's Mis' Butters now, Ithuriel?' I said. I knew she'd been re'l +poorly a spell back, but I hadn't heard for a consid'able time. + +"'I ain't no notion!' says he. + +"'What do you mean, Ithuriel Butters?' I says. + +"'Just what I say,' says he. + +"'Why, where is she?' I says. I thought she might be visitin', you know. +She has consid'able kin round here. + +"'I ain't no idee,' says he. 'I left her in the bur'in'-ground, that's +all I know.' + +"Mis' Tree, that woman has been dead a month, and I never knew the first +word about it. They're all sing'lar people, them Butterses. She was a +proper nice woman, though, this Mis' Butters. He had hopes of Di-plomy +one spell, after his last died--_she_ was a reg'lar fire-skull; he +didn't have much peace while she lived--died in a tantrum too, they say; +scol't so hard she bust a vessel, and it run all through her, and car'd +her off--but Di-plomy couldn't seem to change her state, no more'n Miss +Phoebe 'n' Vesty. + +"My sakes! if there ain't Miss Vesty comin' now. I'll hasten and put +away these things, Mis' Tree, and be back to let her in." + +Miss Vesta Blyth came soberly along the street and up the garden path. +She was a quaint and pleasant picture, in her gown of gray and white +foulard, with her little black silk mantle and bonnet. Some thirty years +ago Miss Vesta and her sister Miss Phoebe had decided that fashion was +a snare; and since then they had always had their clothes made on the +same model, to the despair of Prudence Pardon, the dressmaker. + +But when one looked at Vesta Blyth's face, one was not apt to think +about her clothes; one rather thought, what a pity one must look away +from her presently! At least, that was what Geoffrey Strong used to say, +a young man who loved Miss Vesta, and who was now gone away with his +young wife, leaving sore hearts behind. + +Direxia Hawkes came out on the porch to meet the visitor, closing the +door behind her for an instant. + +"I'm terrible glad you've come," she said. "She's lookin' for you, too, +I expect, though she won't say a word. There! she's fairly rusted with +grief. It'll do her good to have somebody new to chaw on; she's been +chawin' on me till she's tired, and she's welcome to." + +"Yes, Direxia, I know; you are most faithful and patient," said Miss +Vesta, gently. "You know we all appreciate it, don't you, my good +Direxia? I have brought a little sweetbread for Aunt Marcia's supper. +Diploma cooked it the way she likes it, with a little cream, and just a +spoonful of white wine. There! now I will go in. Thank you, Direxia." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," the little lady said as she entered the room, "how +do you do to-day? You are looking so well!" + +"I've got the plague," announced Mrs. Tree, with deadly quiet. + +"Dearest Aunt Marcia! what can you mean? The plague! Surely you must +have mistaken the symptoms. That terrible disease is happily, I think, +restricted to--" + +"I've got twenty plagues!" exclaimed the old lady. "First there's +Direxia Hawkes, who torments my life out all day long; and then you, +Vesta, who might know better, coming every day and asking how I am. How +should I be? Have you ever known me to be anything but perfectly well +since you were born?" + +"No, dear Aunt Marcia, I am thankful to say I have not. It is such a +singular blessing, that you have this wonderful health." + +"Well, then, why can't you let my health alone? When it fails, I'll let +you know." + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia, I will try." + +"Bah!" said Mrs. Tree. "You are a good girl, Vesta, but you would +exasperate a saint. I am not a saint." + +Miss Vesta, too polite to assent to this statement, and too truthful to +contradict it, gazed mildly at her aunt, and was silent. + +Mrs. Tree, after five minutes of vengeful knitting, rolled up her work +deliberately, stabbed it through with the needles, and tossed it across +the room. + +"Well!" she said, "have you anything else to say, Vesta? I am cross, but +I am not hungry, and if I were I would not eat you. Tell me something, +can't you? Isn't there any gossip in this tiresome place?" + +"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I cannot think of anything but our dear children, +Geoffrey and Vesta. We have just seen them off, you know. Indeed, I came +on purpose to tell you about their departure, but you seemed--Aunt +Marcia, they were sad at going, I truly think they were. It was here +they first met, and found their young happiness--the Lord preserve them +in it all their lives long!--there were tears in Little Vesta's eyes, +dear child! but still, they are going to their own home, and of course +they were full of joy too. Oh, Aunt Marcia, I must say, dear Geoffrey +looked like a prince as he handed his bride into the carriage." + +"Was he in red velvet and feathers?" asked Mrs. Tree. "It wouldn't +surprise me in the least." + +"Oh, no, dear Aunt Marcia! Nothing, I assure you, gaudy or striking, in +the very least. He wore the ordinary dress of a gentleman, not +conspicuous in any way. It was his air I meant, and the look of--of +pride and joy and youth--ah! it was very beautiful. Vesta was beautiful +too; you saw her travelling-dress, Aunt Marcia. Did you not think it +charming?" + +"The child looked well enough," said Mrs. Tree. "Lord knows what sort of +wife she'll make, with her head stuffed full of all kinds of notions, +but she looks well, and she means well. I gave her my diamonds; did she +tell you that?" + +Miss Vesta's smooth brow clouded. "Yes, Aunt Marcia, she told me, and +showed them to me. I had not seen them for years. They are very +beautiful. I--I confess--" + +"Well, what's the matter?" demanded her aunt, sharply. "You didn't want +them yourself, did you?" + +"Oh! surely not, dear Aunt Marcia. I was only thinking--Maria might +feel, with her two daughters, that there should have been some +division--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, slowly, "am I dead?" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia! what a singular question!" + +"Do I look as if I were going to die?" + +"Surely not! I have rarely seen you looking more robust." + +"Very well! When I _am_ dead, you may talk to me about Maria and her two +daughters; I sha'n't mind it then. What else have you got to say? I am +going to take my nap soon, so if you have anything more, out with it!" + +Miss Vesta, after a hurried mental review of subjects that might be +soothing, made a snatch at one. + +"Doctor Stedman came to see the children off. I think he is almost as +sorry to lose Geoffrey as we are. It is a real pleasure to see him +looking so well and vigorous. He really looks like a young man." + +"Don't speak to me of James Stedman!" exclaimed Mrs. Tree. "I never +wish to hear his name again." + +"Aunt Marcia! dear James Stedman! Our old and valued friend!" + +"Old and valued fiddlestick! Who wanted him to come back? Why couldn't +he stay where he was, and poison the foreigners? He might have been of +some use there." + +Miss Vesta looked distressed. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, gently, "I cannot feel as if I ought to let +even you speak slightingly of Doctor Stedman. Of course we all feel +deeply the loss of dear Geoffrey; I am sure no one can feel it more +deeply than Phoebe and I do. The house is so empty without him; he +kept it full of sunshine and joy. But that should not make us forgetful +of Doctor Stedman's life-long devotion and--" + +"Speaking of devotion," said Mrs. Tree, "has he asked you to marry him +yet? How many times does that make?" + +Miss Vesta went very pink, and rose from her seat with a gentle dignity +which was her nearest approach to anger. + +"I think I will leave you now, Aunt Marcia," she said. "I will come +again to-morrow, when you are more composed. Good-by." + +"Yes, run along!" said Mrs. Tree, and her voice softened a little. "I +don't want you to-day, Vesta, that's the truth. Send me Phoebe, or +Malvina Weight. I want something to 'chaw on,' as Direxia said just +now." + +"The dogs! I was going to say," exclaimed Direxia, using one of her +strongest expressions. "You never heard me, now, Mis' Tree!" + +"I never hear anything else!" said the old lady. "Go away, both of you, +and let me hear myself think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MISS PHOEBE'S OPINIONS + + +"I cannot see that your aunt looks a day older than she did twenty years +ago," said Dr. James Stedman. + +Miss Vesta Blyth looked up in some trepidation, and the soft color came +into her cheeks. + +"You have called on her, then, James," she said. "I am truly glad. How +did she--that is, I am sure she was rejoiced to see you, as every one in +the village is." + +Doctor Stedman chuckled, and pulled his handsome gray beard. "She may +have been rejoiced," he said; "I trust she was. She said first that she +hoped I had come back wiser than I went, and when I replied that I hoped +I had learned a little, she said she could not abide new-fangled +notions, and that if I expected to try any experiments on her I would +find myself mistaken. Yes, I find her quite unchanged, and wholly +delightful. What amazing vigor! I am too old for her, that's the +trouble. Young Strong is far more her contemporary than I am. Why, she +is as much interested in every aspect of life as any boy in the village. +Before I left I had told her all that I knew, and a good deal that I +didn't." + +"It is greatly to be regretted," said Miss Phoebe Blyth, pausing in an +intricate part of her knitting, and looking over her glasses with mild +severity, "it is greatly to be regretted that Aunt Marcia occupies +herself so largely with things temporal. At her advanced age, her acute +interest in--one, two, three, purl--in worldly matters, appears to me +lamentable." + +"I often think, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, timidly, "that it is +her interest in little things that keeps Aunt Marcia so wonderfully +young." + +"My dear Vesta," replied Miss Phoebe, impressively, "at ninety-one, +with eternity, if I may use the expression, sitting in the next room, +the question is whether any assumption of youthfulness is desirable. For +my own part, I cannot feel that it is. I said something of the sort to +Aunt Marcia the other day, and she replied that she was having all the +eternity she desired at that moment. The expression shocked me, I am +bound to say." + +"Aunt Marcia does not always mean what she says, Sister Phoebe." + +"My dear Vesta, if she does not mean what she says at her age, the +question is, when will she mean it?" + +After a majestic pause, Miss Phoebe continued, glancing at her other +hearers: + +"I should be the last, the very last, to reflect upon my mother's +sister in general conversation; but Doctor Stedman being our family +physician as well as our lifelong friend, and Cousin Homer one of the +family, I may without impropriety, I trust, dwell on a point which +distresses me in our venerable relation. Aunt Marcia is--I grieve to use +a harsh expression--frivolous." + +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, responding to Miss Phoebe's glance, cleared his +throat and straightened his long back. He was a little gentleman, and +most of what height he had was from the waist upward; his general aspect +was one of waviness. His hair was long and wavy; so was his nose, and +his throat, and his shirt-collar. In his youth some one had told him +that he resembled Keats. This utterance, taken with the name bestowed on +him by an ambitious mother with literary tastes, had colored his whole +life. He was assistant in the post-office, and lived largely on the +imaginary romance of the letters which passed through his hands; he +also played the flute, wrote verses, and admired his cousin Phoebe. + +"I have often thought it a pity," said Mr. Homer, "that Cousin Marcia +should not apply herself more to literary pursuits." + +"I don't know what you mean by literary pursuits, Homer," said Doctor +Stedman, rather gruffly. "I found her the other day reading Johnson's +Dictionary by candlelight, without glasses. I thought that was doing +pretty well for ninety-one." + +"I--a--was thinking more about other branches of literature," Mr. Homer +admitted. "The Muse, James, the Muse! Cousin Marcia takes little +interest in poetry. If she could sprinkle the--a--pathway to the tomb +with blossoms of poesy, it would be"--he waved his hands gently +abroad--"smoother; less rough; more devoid of irregularities." + +"Cousin Homer, could you find it convenient not to rock?" asked Miss +Phoebe, with stately courtesy. + +"Certainly, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon." + +It was one of Miss Phoebe's crosses that Mr. Homer would always sit in +this particular chair, and would rock; the more so that when not engaged +in conversation he was apt to open and shut his mouth in unison with the +motion of the rockers. Miss Phoebe disapproved of rocking-chairs, and +would gladly have banished this one, had it not belonged to her mother. + +"I have occasionally offered to read to Cousin Marcia," Mr. Homer +continued, "from the works of Keats and--other bards; but she has +uniformly received the suggestion in a spirit of--mockery; of--derision; +of--contumely. The last time I mentioned it, she exclaimed 'Cat's foot!' +The expression struck me, I confess, as--strange; as--singular; +as--extraordinary." + +"It is an old-fashioned expression, Cousin Homer," Miss Vesta put in, +gently. "I have heard our Grandmother Darracott use it, Sister +Phoebe." + +"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman. + +"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phoebe, bending a literally awful +brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the +conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?" + +"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you +were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, +Phoebe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to +hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That +young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart +in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!" + +Miss Phoebe colored and drew herself up. + +"Sister Phoebe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in +jest. He has the highest opinion of--" + +"Vesta, I _think_ I have my senses," said Miss Phoebe, kindly. "I have +heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, +James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of +Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his +conduct while under our roof--I will say no more, having reconciled +myself entirely to the outcome of the matter--we have become deeply +attached to him. He is"--Miss Phoebe's voice quavered slightly--"he is +a chosen spirit." + +"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta. + +"But in spite of this," Miss Phoebe continued, graciously, "we feel +the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must +always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend." + +"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly. + +Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he +looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows. + +"Good girls!" he said. "I couldn't afford to lose my best--patients." He +straightened his broad shoulders and looked round the room. "When I saw +anything new over there," he said, "castle or picture-gallery or +cathedral,--whatever it was,--I always compared it with this room, and +it never stood the comparison for an instant. Pleasantest place in the +world, to my thinking." + +Miss Phoebe beamed over her spectacles. "You pay us a high compliment, +James," she said. "It is pleasant indeed to feel that home still seems +best to you. I confess that, great as are the treasures of art, and +magnificent as are the monuments in the cities of Europe, I have always +felt that as places of residence they would not compare favorably with +Elmerton." + +"Quite right," said Doctor Stedman, "quite right!" and though his eyes +twinkled, he spoke with conviction. + +"The cities of Europe," Mr. Homer observed, "can hardly be suited, as +places of residence, to--a--persons of literary taste. There is"--he +waved his hands--"too much noise; too much--sound; too much--absence of +tranquillity. I could wish, though, to have seen the grave of Keats." + +"I brought you a leaf from his grave, Homer," said Doctor Stedman, +kindly. "I have it at home, in my pocketbook. I'll bring it down to the +office to-morrow. I went to the burying-ground on purpose." + +"Did you so?" exclaimed Mr. Homer, his mild face growing radiant with +pleasure. "That was kind, James; that was--friendly; that +was--benevolent! I shall value it highly, highly. I thank you, James. +I--since you are interested in the lamented Keats, perhaps you would +like"--his hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I must go now," said Doctor Stedman, hastily. "I've stayed too long +already, but I never know how to get away from this house. Good night, +Phoebe! Good night, Vesta! You are looking a little tired; take care +of yourself. 'Night, Homer; see you to-morrow!" + +He shook hands heartily all around and was gone. + +Mr. Homer sighed gently. "It is a great pity," he said, "with his +excellent disposition, that James will never interest himself in +literary pursuits." + +His hand was still fluttering about his pocket, and there was an +unspoken appeal in his mild brown eyes. + +"Have you brought something to read to us, Cousin Homer?" asked Miss +Phoebe, benevolently. + +Mr. Homer with alacrity drew a folded paper from his pocket. + +"This is--you may be aware, Cousin Phoebe--the anniversary of the +birth of the lamented Keats. I always like to pay some tribute to his +memory on these occasions, and I have here a slight thing--I tossed it +off after breakfast this morning--which I confess I should like to read +to you. You know how highly I value your opinion, Cousin Phoebe, and +some criticism may suggest itself to you, though I trust that in the +main--but you shall judge for yourself." + +He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and began: + +"Thoughts suggested by the Anniversary of the Natal Day of the poet +Keats." + +"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss +Phoebe. + +"By all means, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'--but I +need not repeat the title. + + "I asked the Muse if she had one + Thrice-favored son, + Or if some one poetic brother + Appealed to her more than another. + She gazed on me with aspect high, + And tear in eye, + While musically she repeats, + 'Keats!' + + "She gave me then to understand, + And smiled bland, + On Helicon the sacred Nine + Occasionally ask bards to dine. + 'For most,' she said, 'we do not move, + Though we approve; + For one alone we leave our seats: + "Keats!"'" + +There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly +flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat +very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that +of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, +yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very +genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now. + +"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to +give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me +to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should +be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry +to speak strongly--shocks me!" + +Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he +said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you." + +"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a +few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If +you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of +such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you +would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries." + +"But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him +with a wave of her hand. + +"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, +that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is +considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age +without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the +most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for +ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, +let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your +poem." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER + + +"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes. + +"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and +she laid down her book with an expectant air. + +"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, +but he's there." + +"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here +and make your manners." + +The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking +child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes +that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own. + +The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension. +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her +little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was +dressed to receive callers. + +"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said _shake hands_, not flap +flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do, +Thomas Candy?" + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same." + +Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew +a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and +hear 'bout Grampy; can I?" + +"_May_ I, not _can_ I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having +his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your +grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if +there is anything in it." + +The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood +table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened, +proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer +full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find +words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance, +then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats. + +"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree. + +"Bully!" said Tommy. + +"Now, what do you want to hear?" + +"About Grampy." + +"What about him?" + +"Everything! like what you told me last time." + +There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the +other. + +"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever +knew." + +Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled +his spiky hair with a delighted gesture. + +"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went +on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school +together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the +academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never +played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the +bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a +fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her +desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,--we +wore aprons with big pockets then,--and she screamed so she had to be +taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of +his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and +every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep +every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs, +how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!" + +"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes +brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The +apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!" + +"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?" + +"Yes'm!" + +"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is +named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight--the first one--was called +Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand +Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called _him_ Meal-bag, and he +looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of +castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my +brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was +great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband. +The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little +of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights +were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they +had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held +here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that +could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions +began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been +made of iron--or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again. + +"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew +the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife +(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been +for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they +kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping +up the street--dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored +coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes. +He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he +washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very +particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller. +Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother), +watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then +they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and +at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon, +well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every +one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead, +our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down +fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and +wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out +his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always +kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them +up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they +would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the +parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window +unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's +study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the +Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the +afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes +Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her +room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and +mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol +Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles +off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for +she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those +two Limbs went, and left their works behind them. + +"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the +squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal +head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and +grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his +study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to +sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never +noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a +thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the +first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I +suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of +him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing, +with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked +round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to +his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three +chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of +Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures, +weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in +worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very +likely they are there still." + +"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room." + +"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better +English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or +you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in +my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and +in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked +over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and +cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?' + +"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was +that the squire had lost his wits. + +"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.' + +"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted +out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering +gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?' + +"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a +great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him, +and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a +devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was +senior deacon at that time.) + +"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire +Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine +own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.' + +"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy. +Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well +deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a +third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do +the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?" + +"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly. + +"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to +give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with +his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?" + +Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys +don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't; +nor I don't." + +"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer. +Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon +was a kind boy, only mischievous--that was all the harm there was to +him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no +harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to +make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any +such things, do you hear?" + +"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OLD FRIENDS + + +It was drawing on toward supper-time, of a chill October day. Mrs. Tree +was sitting in the twilight, as she loved to do, her little feet on the +fender, her satin skirt tucked up daintily, a Chinese hand-screen in her +hand. It seemed unlikely that the moderate heat of the driftwood fire +would injure her complexion, which consisted chiefly of wrinkles, as has +been said; but she always had shielded her face from the fire, and she +always would--it was the proper thing to do. The parlor gloomed and +lightened around her, the shifting light touching here a bit of gold +lacquer, there a Venetian mirror or an ivory statuette. The fire purred +and crackled softly; there was no other sound. The tiny figure in the +ebony chair was as motionless as one of the Indian idols that grinned at +her from her mantelshelf. + +A ring at the door-bell, the shuffling sound of Direxia's soft shoes; +then the opening door, and a man's voice asking some question. + +In an instant Mrs. Tree sat live and alert, her ears pricked, her eyes +black points of attention. Direxia's voice responded, peevish and +resistant, refusing something. The man spoke again, urging some plea. + +"Direxia!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Yes'm. Jest a minute. I'm seeing to something." + +"Direxia Hawkes!" + +When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared +at the parlor door, flushed and defiant. + +"How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, +and I don't want to leave him alone." + +"What does he look like?" + +"I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to +eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!" + +"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree. + +"What say?" + +"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well +as I do." + +"The dogs--I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. +He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'--" + +"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?" + +"Well! of all the cantankerous--here! come in, you! she wants to see +you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to +some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man +appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the +ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate +pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something +fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes +were clean. + +Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she +asked, abruptly. + +The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass +fender, and stopped there. + +"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry." + +"Are you a tramp?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Anything else?" + +The man was silent. + +"There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the +kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with +you." + +"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old +lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this +gentleman." + +The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept +half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again. + +"I--cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must +excuse me." + +"Why can't you?" + +This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested +there curiously. + +"You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will +give me a morsel in the kitchen--or--I'd better go at once!" he said, +breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. +There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring. + +"Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!" + +Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, +muttering. + +"Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come +here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead +puppy on it. There!" + +As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, +she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential +tone: + +"I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I shall turn to wood. I +like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson who used to live with +me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you like tramping, now?" + +"Pretty well," said the man. He spoke over his shoulder, and kept his +face toward the fire; it was a chilly evening. "It's all right in +summer, or when a man has his health." + +"See things, hey?" said the old lady. "New folks, new faces? Get ideas; +is that it?" + +The man nodded gloomily. + +"That begins it. After awhile--I really think I must go!" he said, +breaking off short. "You are very kind, madam, but I prefer to go. I am +not fit--" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, and watched him like a cat. + +He fell into a fit of helpless laughter, and laughed till the tears ran +down his cheeks. He felt for a pocket-handkerchief. + +"Here's one!" said Mrs. Tree, and handed him a gossamer square. He took +it mechanically. His hand was long and slim--and clean. + +"Supper's ready!" snapped Direxia, glowering in at the door. + +"I will take your arm, if you please!" said Mrs. Tree to the tramp, and +they went in to supper together. + +Mrs. Tree's dining-room, like her parlor, was a treasury of rare woods. +The old mahogany, rich with curious brass-work, shone darkly brilliant +against the panels of satin-wood; the floor was a mosaic of bits from +Captain Tree's woodpile, as he had been used to call the tumbled heap of +precious fragments which grew after every voyage to southern or eastern +islands. The room was lighted by candles; Mrs. Tree would have no other +light. Kerosene she called nasty, smelly stuff, and gas a stinking +smother. She liked strong words, especially when they shocked Miss +Phoebe's sense of delicacy. As for electricity, Elmerton knew it not +in her day. + +The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream. Half unconsciously he put the +old lady into her seat and pushed her chair up to the table; then at a +sign from her he took the seat opposite. He laid the damask napkin +across his knees, and winced at the touch of it, as at the caress of a +long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked on easily, asking questions about +the roads he travelled and the people he met. He answered as briefly as +might be, and ate sparingly. Still in a dream, he took the cup of tea +she handed him, and setting it down, passed his finger over the handle. +It was a tiny gold Mandarin, clinging with hands and feet to the side of +the cup. The man gave another helpless laugh, and looked about him as if +for a door of escape. + +Suddenly, close at his elbow, a voice spoke; a harsh, rasping voice, +with nothing human in it. + +"Old friends!" said the voice. + +The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held. + +"_My God!_" he said, violently. + +"It's only the parrot!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Sit down again. +There he is at your elbow. Jocko is his name. He does my swearing for +me. My grandson and a friend of his taught him that, and I have taught +him a few other things beside. Good Jocko! speak up, boy!" + +"Old friends to talk!" said the parrot. "Old books to read; old wine to +drink! Zooks! hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!" + +"That was my grandson and his friend," said the old lady, never taking +her eyes from the man's face. "What's the matter? feel faint, hey?" + +"Yes," said the man. He was leaning on the back of his chair, fighting +some spasm of feeling. "I am--faint. I must get out into the air." + +The old lady rose briskly and came to his side. "Nothing of the sort!" +she said. "You'll come up-stairs and lie down." + +"No! no! no!" cried the man, and with each word his voice rang out +louder and sharper as the emotion he was fighting gripped him closer. +"Not in this house. Never! Never!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! +_Do as I say!_ There!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot. + + * * * * * + +"I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree," said Direxia, from the foot +of the stairs; "and Deacon Weight says he'll be over in two minutes." + +"There isn't any dog in the house," said Mrs. Tree, over the balusters, +"and Deacon Weight is at Conference, and won't be back till the last of +the week. That will do, Direxia; you mean well, but you are a +ninnyhammer. This way!" + +She twitched the reluctant arm that held hers, and they entered a small +bedroom, hung with guns and rods. + +"My grandson's room!" said Mrs. Tree. "He died here--hey?" + +The stranger had dropped her arm and stood shaking, staring about him +with wild eyes. The ancient woman laid her hand on his, and he started +as at an electric shock. + +"Come, Willy," she said, "lie down and rest." + +He was at her feet now, half-crouching, half-kneeling, holding the hem +of her satin gown in his shaking clutch, sobbing aloud, dry-eyed as yet. + +"Come, Willy," she repeated, "lie down and rest on Arthur's bed. You are +tired, boy." + +"I came--" the shaking voice steadied itself into words, "I came--to rob +you, Mrs. Tree." + +"Why, so I supposed, Will; at least, I thought it likely. You can have +all you want, without that--there's plenty for you and me. Folks call me +close, and I like to do what I like with my own money. There's plenty, I +tell you, for you and me and the bird. Do you think he knew you, Willy? +I believe he did." + +"God knows! When--how did you know me, Mrs. Tree?" + +"Get up, Willy Jaquith, and I'll tell you. Sit down; there's the chair +you made together, when you were fifteen. Remember, hey? I knew your +voice at the door, or I thought I did. Then when you wouldn't look at +the bead puppy, I hadn't much doubt; and when I said 'Cat's foot!' and +you laughed, I knew for sure. You've had a hard time, Willy, but you're +the same boy." + +"If you would not be kind," said the man, "I think it would be easier. +You ought to give me up, you know, and let me go to jail. I'm no good. +I'm a vagrant and a drunkard, and worse. But you won't, I know that; so +now let me go. I'm not fit to stay in Arthur's room or lie on his bed. +Give me a little money, my dear old friend--yes, the parrot knew +me!--and let me go!" + +"Hark!" said the old woman. + +She went to the door and listened. Her keen old face had grown +wonderfully soft in the last hour, but now it sharpened and hardened to +the likeness of a carved hickory-nut. + +"Somebody at the door," she said, speaking low. "Malvina Weight." + +She came back swiftly into the room. "That press is full of Arthur's +clothes; take a bath and dress yourself, and rest awhile; then come down +and talk to me. Yes, you will! _Do as I say!_ Willy Jaquith, if you try +to leave this house, I'll set the parrot on you. Remember the day he bit +you for stealing his apple, and served you right? There's the scar +still on your cheek. Greatest wonder he didn't put your eyes out!" + +She slipped out and closed the door after her; then stood at the head of +the stairs, listening. + +Mrs. Ephraim Weight, a ponderous woman with a chronic tremolo, was in +the hall, a knitted shawl over her head and shoulders. + +"I've waited 'most an hour to see that tramp come out," she was saying. +"Deacon's away, and I was scairt to death, but I'm a mother, and I had +to come. How I had the courage I don't know, when I thought you and Mis' +Tree might meet my eyes both layin' dead in this entry. Where is he? +Don't you help or harbor him now, Direxia Hawkes! I saw his evil eye as +he stood on the doorstep, and I knew by the way he peeked and peered +that he was after no good. Where is he? I know he didn't go out. Hush! +don't say a word! I'll slip out and round and get Hiram Sawyer. My boys +is to singing-school, and it was a Special Ordering that I happened to +look out of window just that moment of time. Where did you say he--" + +"Oh, do let me speak, Mis' Weight!" broke in Direxia, in a shrill +half-whisper. "Don't speak so loud! She'll hear ye, and she's in one of +her takings, and I dono--lands sakes, I don't know what _to_ do! I dono +who he is, or whence he comes, but she--" + +"Direxia Hawkes!" barked Mrs. Tree from the head of the stairs. + +"There! you hear her!" murmured Direxia. "Oh, she is the beat of all! +I'm comin', Mis' Tree!" + +She fled up the stairs; her mistress, bending forward, darted a +whispered arrow at her. + +"Oh, my Solemn Deliverance!" cried Direxia Hawkes. + +"Hot water, directly, and don't make a fool of yourself!" said Mrs. +Tree; and her stick tapped its way down-stairs. + +"Good evening, Malvina. What can I do for you? Pray step in." + +Mrs. Weight sidled into the parlor before a rather awful wave of the +ebony stick, and sat down on the edge of a chair near the door. Mrs. +Tree crossed the room to her own high-backed armchair, took her seat +deliberately, put her feet on the crimson hassock, and leaned forward, +resting her hands on the crutch-top of her stick, and her chin on her +hands. In this attitude she looked more elfin than human, and the light +that danced in her black eyes was not of a reassuring nature. + +"What can I do for you?" she repeated. + +Mrs. Weight bridled, and spoke in a tone half-timid, half-defiant. + +"I'm sure, Mis' Tree, it's not on my own account I come. I'm the last +one to intrude, as any one in this village can tell you. But you are an +anncient woman, and your neighbors are bound to protect you when need +is. I see that tramp come in here with my own eyes, and he's here for no +good." + +"What tramp?" asked Mrs. Tree. + +"Good land, Mis' Tree, didn't you see him? He slipped right in past +Direxia. I see him with these eyes." + +"When?" + +"'Most an hour ago. I've been watching ever since. Don't tell me you +didn't know about him bein' here, Mis' Tree, now don't." + +"I won't," said Mrs. Tree, benevolently. + +"He's hid away somewheres!" Mrs. Weight continued, with rising +excitement. "Direxia Hawkes has hid him; he's an accomplish of hers. +You've always trusted that woman, Mis' Tree, but I tell you I've had my +eye on her these ten years, and now I've found her out. She's hid him +away somewheres, I tell you. There's cupboards and clusets enough in +this house to hide a whole gang of cutthroats in--and when you're abed +and asleep they'll have your life, them two, and run off with your +worldly goods that you've thought so much of. Would have, that is, if I +hadn't have had a Special Ordering to look out of winder. Oh, how +thankful should I be that I kep' the use of my limbs, though I was +scairt 'most to death, and am now." + +"Yes, they might be useful to you," said Mrs. Tree, "to get home with, +for instance. There, that will do, Malvina Weight. There is no tramp +here. Your eyesight is failing; there were always weak eyes in your +family. There's no tramp here, and there has been none." + +"Mis' Tree! I tell you I see him with these--" + +"Bah! don't talk to me!" Mrs. Tree blazed into sudden wrath. But next +instant she straightened herself over her cane, and spoke quietly. + +"Good night, Malvina. You mean well, and I bear no malice. I'm obliged +to you for your good intentions. What you took for a tramp was a +gentleman who has come to stay overnight with me. He's up-stairs now. +Did you lock your door when you came out? There _are_ tramps about, so +I've heard, and if Ephraim is away--well, good night, if you must hurry. +Direxia, lock the door and put the chain up; and if anybody else calls +to-night, set the bird on 'em." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"BUT WHEN HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF" + + +"And so when she ran away and left you, you took to drink, Willy. That +wasn't very sensible, was it?" + +"I didn't care," said William Jaquith. "It helped me to forget for a bit +at a time. I thought I could give it up any day, but I didn't. Then--I +lost my place, of course, and started to come East, and had my pocket +picked in Denver, every cent I had. I tried for work there, but between +sickness and drink I wasn't good for much. I started tramping. I thought +I would tramp--it was last spring, and warm weather coming on--till I'd +got my health back, and then I'd steady down and get some work, and +come back to Mother when I was fit to look her in the face. Then--in +some place, I forget what, though I know the pattern of the wall-paper +by the table where I was sitting--I came upon a King's County paper with +Mother's death in it." + +"What!" said Mrs. Tree, straightening herself over her stick. + +"Oh, it didn't make so much difference," Jaquith went on, dreamily. "I +wasn't fit to see her, I knew that well enough; only--it was a green +paper, with splotchy yellow flowers on it. Fifteen flowers to a row; I +counted them over seven times before I could be sure. Well, I was sick +again after that, I don't know how long; some kind of fever. When I got +up again something was gone out of me, something that had kept me honest +till then. I made up my mind that I would get money somehow, I didn't +much care how. I thought of you, and the gold counters you used to let +Arthur and me play with, so that we might learn not to think too much of +money. You remember? I thought I might get some of those, and you might +not miss them. You didn't need them, anyhow, I thought. Yes, I knew you +would give them to me if I asked for them, but I wasn't going to ask. I +came here to-night to see if there was any man or dog about the house. +If not, I meant to slip in by and by at the pantry window; I remembered +the trick of the spring. I forgot Jocko. There! now you know all. You +ought to give me up, Mrs. Tree, but you won't do that." + +"No, I won't do that!" said the old woman. + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were wandering about the room, +a painful pleasure growing in them as they rested on one object after +another. Beautiful eyes they were, in shape and color--if the light were +not gone out of them. + +"The bead puppy!" he said, presently. "I can remember when we wondered +if it could bark. We must have been pretty small then. When did Arthur +die, Mrs. Tree? I hadn't heard--I supposed he was still in Europe." + +"Two years ago." + +"Was it--" something seemed to choke the man. + +"Fretting for her?" said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "No, it wasn't. He found +her out before you did, Willy. He knew you'd find out, too; he knew who +was to blame, and that she turned your head and set you crazy. 'Be good +to old Will if you ever have a chance!' that was one of the last things +he said. He had grippe, and pneumonia after it, only a week in all." + +Jaquith turned his head away. For a time neither spoke. The fire purred +and crackled comfortably in the wide fireplace. The heat brought out the +scent of the various woods, and the air was alive with warm perfume. +The dim, antique richness of the little parlor seemed to come to a point +in the small, alert figure, upright in the ebony chair. The firelight +played on her gleaming satin and misty laces, and lighted the fine lines +of her wrinkled face. Very soft the lines seemed now, but it might be +the light. + +"Arthur Blyth taken and Will Jaquith left!" said the young man, softly. +"I wonder if God always knows what he is about, Mrs. Tree. Are there +still candied cherries in the sandalwood cupboard? I know the orange +cordial is there in the gold-glass decanter with the little fat gold +tumblers." + +"Yes, the cordial is there," said Mrs. Tree. "It's a pity I can't give +you a glass, Willy; you'll need it directly, but you can't have it. Feel +better, hey?" + +William Jaquith raised his head, and met the keen kindness of her eyes; +for the first time a smile broke over his face, a smile of singular +sweetness. + +"Why, yes, Mrs. Tree!" he said. "I feel better than I have since--I +don't know when. I feel--almost--like a man again. It's better than the +cordial just to look at you, and smell the wood, and feel the fire. What +a pity one cannot die when one wants to. This would be ceasing on the +midnight without pain, wouldn't it?" + +"Why don't you give up drink?" asked Mrs. Tree, abruptly. + +"Where's the use?" said Jaquith. "I would if there were any use, but +Mother's dead." + +"Cat'sfoot-fiddlestick-folderol-fudge!" blazed the old woman. "She's no +more dead than I am. Don't talk to me! hold on to yourself now, Willy +Jaquith, and don't make a scene; it is a thing I cannot abide. It was +Maria Jaquith that died, over at East Corners. Small loss she was, too. +None of that family was ever worth their salt. The fool who writes for +the papers put her in 'Mary,' and gave out that she died here in +Elmerton just because they brought her here to bury. They've always +buried here in the family lot, as if they were of some account. I was +afraid you might hear of it, Willy, and wrote to the last place I heard +of you in, but of course it was no use. Mary Jaquith is alive, I tell +you. Now where are you going?" + +Jaquith had started to his feet, dead white, his eyes shining like +candles. + +"To Mother!" + +"Yes, I would! wake her up out of a sound sleep at ten o'clock at night, +and scare her into convulsions. Sit down, Willy Jaquith; _do as I tell +you_! There! feel pretty well, hey? Your mother is blind." + +"Oh, Mother! Mother! and I have left her alone all this time." + +"Exactly! now don't go into a caniption, for it won't do any good. You +must go to bed now, and, what's more, go to sleep; and we'll go down +together in the morning. Here's Direxia now with the gruel. There! hush! +don't say a word!" + +The old serving-woman entered bearing a silver tray, on which was a +covered bowl of India china, a small silver saucepan, and something +covered with a napkin. William Jaquith went to a certain corner and +brought out a teapoy of violet wood, which he set down at the old lady's +elbow. + +"There!" said Direxia Hawkes. "Did you ever?" + +She was shaking all over, but she set the tray down carefully. Jaquith +took the saucepan from her hand and set it on the hob. Then he lifted +the napkin. Under it were two plates, one of biscuits, the other of +small cakes shaped like a letter S. + +"Snaky cakies!" said Will Jaquith. "Oh, Direxia! give me a cake and +I'll give you a kiss! Is that right, you dear old thing?" + +He stooped to kiss the withered brown cheek; the old woman caught up her +apron to her face. + +"It's him! it's him! it's one of my little boys, but where's the other? +Oh, Mis' Tree, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" + +Mrs. Tree watched her, dry-eyed. + +"Cry away, so long as you don't cry into the gruel," she said, kindly. +"You are an old goose, Direxia Hawkes. I haven't been able to cry for +ten years, Willy. Here! take the 'postle spoon and stir it. Has she +brought a cup for you?" + +"Well, I should hope I had!" said Direxia, drying her eyes. "I ain't +quite lost my wits, Mis' Tree." + +"You never had enough to lose!" retorted her mistress. "Hark! there's +Jocko wanting his gruel. Bring him in; and mind you take a sup yourself +before you go to bed, Direxia! You're all shaken up." + +"Gadzooks!" said the parrot. "The cup that cheers! Go to bed, Direxia! +Direxia Hawkes, wife of Guy Fawkes!" + +"Now look at that!" said Direxia. "Ain't you ashamed, Willy Jaquith? He +ain't said that since you went away." + + * * * * * + +The next morning was bright and clear. Mrs. Malvina Weight, sweeping her +front chamber, with an anxious eye on the house opposite, saw the door +open and Mrs. Tree come out, followed by a tall young man. The old lady +wore the huge black velvet bonnet, surmounted by a bird of paradise, +which she had brought from Paris forty years before, and an India shawl +which had pointed a moral to the pious of Elmerton for more than that +length of time. "Adorning her perishing back with what would put food in +the mouth of twenty Christian heathens for a year!" was the way Mrs. +Weight herself expressed it. + +This morning, however, Mrs. Weight had no eyes for her aged neighbor. +Every faculty she possessed was bent on proving the identity of the +stranger. He kept his face turned from her in a way that was most +exasperating. Could it be the man she saw last night? If her eyes were +going as bad as that, she must see the optician next time he came +through the village, and be fitted a new pair of glasses; it was +scandalous, after paying him the price she did no more than five years +ago, and him saying they'd last her lifetime. Why, this was a gentleman, +sure enough. It must be the same, and them shadows, looking like rags, +deceived her. Well, anybody living, except Mis' Tree, would have said +his name, if it wasn't but just for neighborliness. Who could it be? Not +that Doctor Strong back again, just when they were well rid of him? No, +this man was taller, and stoop-shouldered. Seemed like she had seen that +back before. + +She gazed with passionate yearning till the pair passed out of sight, +the ancient woman leaning on the young man's arm, yet stepping briskly +along, her ebony staff tapping the sidewalk smartly. + +Mrs. Weight called over the stairs. + +"Isick, be you there?" + +"Yep!" + +"Why ain't you to school, I'd like to know? Since you be here, jest run +round through Candy's yard and come back along the street, that's a good +boy, and see who that is Mis' Tree's got with her." + +"I can't! I got the teethache!" whined Isaac. + +"It won't hurt your teethache any. Run now, and I'll make you a +saucer-pie next time I'm baking." + +"You allers say that, and then you never!" grumbled Isaac, dragging +reluctant feet toward the door. + +"Isick Weight, don't you speak to me like that! I'll tell your pa, if +you don't do as I tell you." + +"Well, ain't I goin', quick as I can? I won't go through Candy's yard, +though; that mean Tom Candy's waitin' for me now with a big rock, 'cause +I got him sent home for actin' in school. I'll go and ask the man who he +is. S'pose he knows." + +"You won't do nothing of the sort. There! no matter--it's too late now. +You're a real aggravatin', naughty-actin' boy, Isick Weight, and I +believe you've been sent home your own self for cuttin' up--not that I +doubt Tommy Candy was, too. I shall ask your father to whip you good +when he gits home." + + * * * * * + +"Well, Mary Jaquith, here you sit." + +"Mrs. Tree! Is this you? My dear soul, what brings you out so early in +the morning? Come in! come in! Who is with you?" + +"I didn't say any one was with me!" snapped Mrs. Tree. "Don't you go to +setting up double-action ears like mine, Mary, because you are not old +enough. How are you? obstinate as ever?" + +The blind woman smiled. In her plain print dress, she had the air of a +masquerading duchess, and her blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as +those which were watching her from the door. + +"Take this chair," she said, pushing forward a straight-backed armchair. +"It's the one you always like. How am I obstinate, dear Mrs. Tree?" + +"If I've asked you once to come and live with me, I've asked you fifty +times," grumbled the old lady, sitting down with a good deal of flutter +and rustle. "There I must stay, left alone at my age, with nobody but +that old goose of a Direxia Hawkes to look after me. And all because you +like to be independent. Set you up! Well, I sha'n't ask you again, and +so I've come to tell you, Mary Jaquith." + +"Dear old friend, you forgive me, I know. You never can have thought for +a moment, seriously, that I could be a burden on your kind hands. There +surely is some one with you, Mrs. Tree! Is it Direxia? Please be seated, +whoever it is." + +She turned her beautiful face and clear, quiet eyes toward the door. +There was a slight sound, as of a sob checked in the outbreak. Mrs. Tree +shook her head, fiercely. The blind woman rose from her seat, very pale. + +"Who is it?" she said. "Be kind, please, and tell me." + +"I'm going to tell you," said Mrs. Tree, "if you will have patience for +two minutes, and not drive every idea out of my head with your +questions. Mary, I--I had a visitor last night. Some one came to see +me--an old acquaintance--who had--who had heard of Willy lately. Willy +is--doing well, my dear. Now, Mary Jaquith, if you don't sit down, I +won't say another word. Of all the unreasonable women I ever saw in my +life--" + +Mrs. Tree stopped, and rose abruptly from her seat. The blind woman was +holding out her arms with a heavenly gesture of appeal, of welcome, of +love unutterable: her face was the face of an angel. Another moment, and +her son's arms were round her, and her head on his bosom, and he was +crying over and over again, "Mother! mother! mother!" as if he could not +have enough of the word. + +"Arthur was a nice boy, too!" said Mrs. Tree, as she closed the door +behind her. + + * * * * * + +Five minutes later, Mrs. Weight, hurrying up the plank walk which led to +the Widow Jaquith's door, was confronted by the figure of her opposite +neighbor, sitting on the front doorstep, leaning her chin on her stick, +and looking, as Mrs. Weight told the deacon afterward, like Satan's +grandmother. + +"Want to see Mary Jaquith?" asked Mrs. Tree. "Well, she's engaged, and +you can't. Here! give me your arm, Viny, and take me over to the girls'. +I want to see how Phoebe is this morning. She was none too spry +yesterday." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE NEW POSTMASTER + + +Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public +interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled +it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she +told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when +Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this. + +"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village. + +When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty +in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders +assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This +was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office +building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along +the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use +of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs +the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect. + +"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey. + +No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement. + +"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o' +weather." + +"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a +change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't." + +"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, +"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had +a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so." + +"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I +ain't fond of committin' myself." + +"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary +badinage. + +"Brether--I--I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a +postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What +is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, +hadn't he?" + +The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought +to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily. + +"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over +the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you +got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home." + +"Not a mite," was the general verdict. + +"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows +the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else +doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job." + +He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; +but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet. + +"There's the _Fidely_," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I +expect." + +A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a +salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat +in acknowledgment. + +"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year." + +"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey. + +"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river +used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. +She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's +time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be +one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right +on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They +are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him." + +"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a +vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?" + +"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I +dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?" + +"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here +twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of +it." + +"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is +some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such +cases." + +"Humph!" said Seth Weaver. + +The others looked thoughtful. + +"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked +Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. +Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor +to him." + +He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The +others waited. Presently-- + +"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to +me I should say something like this: + +"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work +faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful +sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in +a lower tone. + +Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it. + +"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want +Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! +We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have +for an assistant?" + +There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic. + +"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the +end of the row, who had not spoken before. + +"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work +with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough +in there to set a hen, anyway." + +"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. +"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the +size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs +to set on." + +"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, +uneasily. + +"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth +Weaver. + +"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question +is, who to have?" + +At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. +Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window. + +"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone +in his mild brown eyes,--indeed, he must have heard every word that had +been spoken,--but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily +after he had spoken. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily. + +"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted +approvingly. + +"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, +kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of +time." + +"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey. + +Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie. + +"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining +strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am +deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am +called upon to fill; to--occupy;--to--a--become a holder of." + +"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly. + +"I--am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly +flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, +shall be henceforth devoted to the service--to the--amelioration; to +the--mental, moral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow +citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I +at liberty to choose an assistant?" + +"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock. + +"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to +choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has +generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, +just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us +about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? +Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember." + +There was an assenting hum. + +Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone. + +"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly +desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me +a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will +agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow." + +He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders. + +They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far +as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that +they might command a view of their beneficiary. + +But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to +all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail. + +"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated, +earnestly. + +Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily. + +"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture +than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a +question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a +crooked stick, and you know it." + +"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I +grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has +suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be +his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and +talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet +says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'" + +"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its +back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. +Old man Butters used to say: + + "'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on! + Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'" + +"--His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I +have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. +Tree, expressed herself strongly--" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three +times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)--"I may say +_very_ strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the +first place from her, though I had also had it in mind." + +There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set +of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their +feet, and glanced one at another. + +"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's +ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted." + +"That's so," said the elders. + +"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we +can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, +and if Mis' Tree answers for him--why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose +it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned." + +The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of +congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone +lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes--shrewd blue eyes, with +a twinkle in them--roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its +two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove. + +"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' +peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth +hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic." + +"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought +your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were +offered partly in jest." + +"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP + + +One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. +Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as +there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy +at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as +we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one +passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and +stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly +dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in +their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by +various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas +so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few +small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone--and there were +a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss +Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, +it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom +less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted +to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present +it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and +mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may +not have tended to raise their spirits. + +One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds +and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. +She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and +bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had +of cocking her head on one side as she talked. + +"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be +company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear +that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed +about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and +the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; +it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old +Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you +was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing +young man now, and has such a pretty way with him--well, he always had +that--but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had +any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith +had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she +married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't +she?" + +"_Eheu fugaces_," said a harsh voice from a corner. + +"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak +French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll +get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed +him something real good." + + "'_Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, + Labuntur anni_;' + +tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright +yellow eye on her knowingly. + +"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your +advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had +a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of +Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could +see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this +bird for knowingness." + +"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's +voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in +'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters." + +"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, +Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, +Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this +mornin'?" + +"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I +feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go +out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my +brown skirt. Is she in?" + +"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open." + +"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!" + +"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily. + +Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf. + +"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. +You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor +to her." + +"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. +"But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd +die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not +one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird--" + +She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned +upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare. + +"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as +pretty sometimes--won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't +you, Beauty Boy?" + +"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes +still fixed on Mrs. Weight. + +"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do +you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except +Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints." + + "Helen was a beauty, + Xantippe was a shrew; + Medusa was a Gorgon, + And so--are--_you_! + +Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a +thousand pound. Screeeeeee!" + +Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a +blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into +the inner room, slamming the door violently after her. + +"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can +understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a _man_ in this +village, he'd wring that bird's neck." + +Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, +when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the +parrot's misconduct. + +"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't +mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur +Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it +to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he +would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they +didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?" + +Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat +down. + +"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but +little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my +shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur +Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this +village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank +Gracious _I_ see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not +one of 'em." + +"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, +still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, +everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and +they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always +thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though +he never said anything. It's not his way." + +"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, +breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her +steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to +business, if you have any!" + +"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. +"I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if +I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the +frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom--" + +"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, +grimly. + +"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, +and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could--" + +She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the +shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post. + +"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the +saying is." + +"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta +Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well." + +"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago +some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on +it none too lively, but other ways we're _real_ smart. I expect you've +come to see about Darlin' here." + +She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was +a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of +its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song. + +"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure. + +"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, +Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these +few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!" + +Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she +said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was +when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters +right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess +you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!" + +"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at +Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phoebe?" + +"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!" + +[Illustration: "SHE PUT OUT A FINGER, AND JOCKO CLAWED IT WITHOUT +CEREMONY."] + +She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony. + +"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad +she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of +course, even a slight ailment may prove serious." + +"How old _is_ that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny. + +"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of +Direxia; she might think it was a reflection." + +"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I +used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The +story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the +Revolution; he certainly knew many--violent expressions in that +language." + +"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot +with something like admiring awe. + +"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He +does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a +mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded +real Scriptural." + +"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt +Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything +unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes +very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! +good boy!" + +"_Arma virumque cano!_" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri +fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!" + +"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! +it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take +little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a +day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I +don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm +told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his +health." + +"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely +would not think of dyeing a living bird?" + +"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my +bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so +till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's +health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real +handsome." + +"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. +"Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would +shock me very much. It would be like--a--dyeing one's own hair to give +it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would +not seriously think of such a thing." + +"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an +upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and +gleam." + +"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and +by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in +Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?" + +"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment +Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him +and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it +bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a +picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green +paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be +sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday." + +"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, +Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble +lately?" + +"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two +visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle +her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like +she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The +Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight--" + +"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss +Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!" + +"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A TEA-PARTY + + +"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It +would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well." + +"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss +Phoebe. "Let me see; one, two, three--six cups and saucers, if you +please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is +just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and +trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. +and Mrs. Bliss--no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have +been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the +office at once, so early in the evening." + +"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine +jelly, Sister Phoebe? I think the color shows best in this plain one +with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?" + +The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously +down at Miss Phoebe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her +rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or +dish. + +"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phoebe, gravely; +then she sighed. + +"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the +eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no +harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, +and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies." + +"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, +and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is +no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt +Marcia surpasses us,--naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of +the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than +is ours by right,--but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it +may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all +save the few pieces which we actually need." + +"Surely, Sister Phoebe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, +aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!" + +"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phoebe, sadly; "and that shows the +snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put +the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the +silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, +for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our +pastor?" + +Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a +vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite +features of Miss Phoebe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she +said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her +teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was +beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. +Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty +service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant +cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round +her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest +that she did not expect they were fit to eat. + +"Phoebe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years +old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me--yes, this is +my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?" + +Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset. + +"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit." + +"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. +Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great +deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always +cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a +shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left +a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that +if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked +what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt +Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile +child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have +understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would +happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of +a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, +I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to +pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian +gong--ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the +moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my +opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on +the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss +Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I +spent most of the next week standing up." + +"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss +Phoebe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary +person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most +devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea." + +"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, +Sister Phoebe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a +valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general +thing, though of course it was a pity about the table." + +"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got +Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, +Phoebe?" + +"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phoebe, with bland +severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I +give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?" + +"A--it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phoebe," said Mr. +Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The +inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you." + +"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phoebe, and you have cruelly +interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly +malice. + +"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines +were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the +case, when my surroundings are so gracious--so harmonious--I may say so +inspiring, as at the present moment." + +He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal +and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table. + +"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, +heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I +could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It _is_ the +prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting." + +Miss Phoebe looked pleased. + +"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate +to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we +value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing +brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It +is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, +Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect +condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it--" + +"Ah, Phoebe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor +Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I +see." + +"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phoebe, +graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no +dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor +have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than +the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating +nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made +by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A +little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes +it more palatable." + +"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little +minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. +"Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not +a snare of the flesh, Miss Phoebe." + +He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey--not +the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, +rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss +Phoebe looked grave. + +"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my +sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, +however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts +of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, +may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of +sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? +Then shall we return to the parlor?" + +"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when +they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, +the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome. + +"She is a--a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what +readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put +me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently." + +"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr. +Bliss?" asked Miss Phoebe, with a slight indication of frost in her +tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case." + +"A--well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister, +smiling and blushing. "In fact,"--here he caught his wife's eye, and +checked himself--"in fact,--a--she is an extremely interesting person!" +he concluded, lamely. + +"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the +Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than +we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight +had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual +matters,--'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no +wrestler,--and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word--had +you, John?--when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or +the musical glasses--what _do_ you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And +when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and +Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little +girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight +was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl--" + +"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget +yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon." + +"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree _is_ just as kind as she can be," the +little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!--no, I won't +tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she +would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out +of my wits. But she _is_ kind, and I never shall forget all she has done +for us." + +"I understand that you are a poet, sir," the minister said, turning to +Mr. Homer Hollopeter, and evidently desirous of changing the subject. +"May I ask if the sonnet is your favorite form of verse?" + +Mr. Homer bridled and colored. + +"A--not at present, sir," he replied, modestly. "For some years I +did feel that my--a--genius, if I may call it so, moved most freely +in the fetters of the sonnet; but of late I have thought it well to +seek--to employ--to--a--avail myself of the various forms in which +the Muse enshrines herself. It--gives, if I may so express myself, +more breadth of wing; more scope; more freedom; more"--he waved his +hands--"circumambiency!" + +His hand went with a fluttering motion to his pocket. + +"I am sure, Cousin Homer," said Miss Vesta, "our friends would be glad +to hear some of your poetry, if you happen to have any with you." + +"Very glad," echoed Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, heartily. Doctor Stedman, after +a thoughtful glance at the door, and another at the clock,--but it was +only seven,--settled himself resignedly in his chair and said, "Fire +away, Homer!" quite kindly. + +Mr. Homer drew forth a folded paper, and gazed on the company with a +pensive smile. + +"I confess," he said, "the thought had occurred to me that, if so +desired, I might read these few lines to the choice circle before +whom--or more properly which--I find myself this evening. An episode has +recently occurred in our--a--midst, Mrs. Bliss, which is of deep +interest to us Elmertonians. The return of a youth, always cherished, +but--shall I say, Cousin Phoebe, a temporary estray from +the--a--star-y-pointing path?" + +"It is a graceful way of putting it, Cousin Homer," said Miss Phoebe, +with some austerity. "I trust it may be justified. Proceed, if you +please. We are all attention." + +Mr. Homer unfolded his paper, and opened his lips to read; but some +uneasiness seemed to strike him. He moved in his seat, as if missing +something, and glanced round the room. His eye fell and rested on Miss +Phoebe, sitting erect and rigid--in the rocking-chair, _his_ +rocking-chair! Miss Phoebe would not have rocked a quarter of an inch +for a fortune; every line of her figure protested against its being +supposed possible that she _could_ rock in company; but there she sat, +and her seat was firm as the enduring hills. + +Mr. Homer sighed; pushed his chair back a little, only to find its legs +wholly uncompromising--and read as follows: + +"LINES ON THE RETURN OF A YOUTHFUL AND VALUED FRIEND. + + "Our beloved William Jaquith + Has resolved henceforth to break with + Devious ways; + And returning to his mother + Vows he will have ne'er another + All his days. + + "Husk of swine did not him nourish; + Plant of Virtue could not flourish + Far from home; + So his heart with longing burned, + And his feet with speed returned + To its dome. + + "Welcome, William, to our village! + Peaceful dwell, devoid of pillage, + Cherished son! + On her sightless steps attendant, + Wear a crown of light resplendent, + Duty done!" + +There was a soft murmur of appreciation from Miss Vesta and Mrs. Bliss, +followed by silence. Mr. Homer glanced anxiously at Miss Phoebe. + +"I should be glad of your opinion as to the third line, Cousin +Phoebe," he said. "I had it 'Satan's ways,' in my first draught, but +the expression appeared strong, especially for this choice circle, so I +substituted 'devious' as being more gentle, more mild, more--a"--he +waved his hands--"more devoid of elements likely to produce discord in +the mind." + +"Quite so, Cousin Homer!" replied Miss Phoebe, with a stately bend of +her head. "I congratulate you upon the alteration. Satan has no place in +an Elmerton parlor, especially when honored by the presence of its +pastor." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A GARDEN PARTY + + +It was a golden morning in mid-October; one of those mornings when +Summer seems to turn in her footsteps, and come back to search for +something she had left behind. Wherever one looked was gold: gold of +maple and elm leaves, gold of late-lingering flowers, gold of +close-shorn fields. Over and in and through it all, airy gold of +quivering, dancing sunbeams. + +No spot in all Elmerton was brighter than Mrs. Tree's garden, which took +the morning sun full in the face. Here were plenty of flowers still, +marigolds, coreopsis, and chrysanthemums, all drinking in the sun-gold +and giving it out again, till the whole place quivered with light and +warmth. + +[Illustration: "'CAREFUL WITH THAT BRIDE BLUSH, WILLY.'"] + +Mrs. Tree, clad in an antique fur-trimmed pelisse, with an amazing +garden hat surmounting her cap, sat in a hooded wicker chair on the +porch talking to William Jaquith, who was tying up roses and covering +them with straw. + +"Yes; such things mostly go crisscross," she was saying. "Careful with +that Bride Blush, Willy; that young scamp of a Geoffrey Strong gave it +to me, and I suppose I shall have to tend it the rest of my days. Humph! +pity you didn't know him; he might have done something for that cough. +He got the girl he wanted, but more often they don't. Look at James +Stedman! and there's Homer Hollopeter has been in love with Mary Ashton +ever since he was in petticoats." + +"With Mary--do you mean my mother?" said Jaquith, looking up. + +"She wasn't your mother when he began!" said the old lady, tartly. "He +couldn't foresee that she was going to be, could he? If he had he might +have asked your permission. She preferred George Jaquith, naturally. +Women mostly prefer a handsome scamp. Not that Homer ever looked like +anything but a sheep. Then there was Lily Bent--" + +She broke off suddenly. "You're tying that all crooked, Will Jaquith. +I'll come and do it myself if you can't do better than that." + +"I'll have it right in a moment, Mrs. Tree. You were saying--something +about Lily Bent?" + +"There are half a dozen lilies bent almost double!" Mrs. Tree declared, +peevishly. "Careless! I paid five dollars for that Golden Lily, young +man, and you handle it as if it were a yellow turnip." + +"Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, what is it? It's time for me to have my nap, I expect." + +"Mrs. Tree,"--the young man's voice was earnest and pleading,--"I +brought you a letter from Lily Bent this morning. I have been waiting--I +want to hear something about her. I know she has been an angel of +tenderness and goodness to my mother ever since--why does she stay away +so long?" + +"Because she's having a good time, I suppose," said Mrs. Tree, dryly. +"She's been tied close enough these last three years, what with her +grandmother and--one thing and another. The old woman's dead now, and +small loss. Everybody's dead, I believe, except me and a parcel of silly +children. I forget what you said became of that--of your wife after she +left you." + +"She died," said Jaquith, abstractedly. "Didn't I tell you? They went +South, and she took yellow fever. It was only a month after--" + +"No, you did not!" cried Mrs. Tree, sitting bolt upright. "You never +told me a word, Willy Jaquith. What Providence was thinking of when it +made this generation, passes me to conceive. If I couldn't make a better +one out of fish-glue and calico, I'd give up. Bah! I've no patience with +you." + +She struck her stick sharply on the floor, and her little hands +trembled. + +"I am sorry we don't amount to more," said Jaquith, smiling, "But--I +think my glue is hardening, Mrs. Tree. Tell me where Lily Bent is, +that's a dear good soul, and why she stays away so long." + +"I can't!" cried the old woman, and she wrung her hands. "I cannot, +Willy." + +"You cannot, and my mother will not," repeated William Jaquith, slowly. +"And there is no one else I can or will ask. Why can you not tell me, +Mrs. Tree? I think you have no right to refuse me so much information." + +"Because I promised not to tell you!" cried Mrs. Tree. "There! don't +speak to me, or I shall go into a caniption! If I had known, I never +would have promised. I never made a promise yet that I wasn't sorry for. +Dear me, Sirs! I wonder if ever anybody was so pestered as I am. + +"There! there's James Stedman. Call him over here! and don't you speak a +word to me, Willy Jaquith, but finish those plants, if you are ever +going to." + +Obeying Jaquith's hail, Doctor Stedman, who had been for passing with a +bow and a wave of the hand, turned and came up the garden walk. + +"Good morning, James Stedman," said Mrs. Tree. "You haven't been near me +for a month. I might be dead and buried twenty times over for all you +know or care about me. A pretty kind of doctor you are!" + +"What do you want of me, Mrs. Tree?" asked Doctor Stedman, laughing, and +shaking the little brown hand held out to him. "I'll come once a week, +if you don't take care, and then what would you say? What do you want of +me, my lady?" + +"I don't want my bones crushed, just for the sake of giving you the job +of mending them," said the old lady. "I'd as lief shake paws with a +grizzly bear. You are getting to look rather like one, my poor James. +I've always told you that if you would only shave, you might have a +better chance--but never mind about that now. You were wanting to know +where Lily Bent was." + +"Was I?" said Doctor Stedman, wondering. "Lily Bent! why, I haven't--" + +"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Tree, sharply. "Or if you haven't, you ought +to be ashamed of yourself. She is staying with George Greenwell's folks, +over at Parsonsbridge; his wife was her father's sister, a wall-eyed +woman with crockery teeth. George Greenwell, Parsonsbridge, do you +hear? There! now I must go and take my nap, and plague take everybody, I +say. Good morning to you!" + +Rising from her seat with amazing celerity, she whisked into the house +before Doctor Stedman's astonished eyes, and closed the door smartly +after her. + +With a low whistle, Doctor Stedman turned to William Jaquith. + +"Our old friend seems agitated," he said. "What has happened to distress +her?" + +Jaquith made no reply. He was tying up a rosebush with shaking fingers, +and his usually pale face was flushed, perhaps with exertion. + +Doctor Stedman's bushy eyebrows came together. + +"Hum!" he said, half aloud. "Lily Bent! why,--ha! yes. How is your +mother, Will? I have not seen her for some time." + +"She's very well, thank you, sir!" said Will Jaquith, hurrying on his +coat, and gathering up his gardening tools. "If you will excuse me, +Doctor Stedman, I must get back to the office; Mr. Homer will be looking +for me; he gave me this hour off, to see to Mrs. Tree's roses. Good +day." + +"Now, what is going on here?" said James Stedman to himself, as, still +standing on the porch, he watched the young man going off down the +street with long strides. "The air is full of mystery--and prickles. And +why is Lily Bent--pretty creature! Why, I haven't seen her since I came +back, haven't laid eyes on her! Why is she brought into it? H'm! let me +see! Wasn't there a boy and girl attachment between her and Willy +Jaquith? To be sure there was! I can see them now going to school +together, he carrying her satchel. Then--she had a long bout of slow +fever, I remember. Pottle attended her, and it's a wonder--h'm! But +wasn't that about the time when that little witch, Ada Vere, came here, +and turned both the boys' heads, and carried off poor Willy, and half +broke Arthur's heart? H'm! Well, I don't know what I can do about it. +Hum! pretty it all looks here! If there isn't the strawberry bush, grown +out of all knowledge! We were big children, Vesta and I, before we gave +up hoping that it would bear strawberries. How we used to play here!" + +His eyes wandered about the pleasant place, resting with friendly +recognition on every knotty shrub and ancient vine. + +"The snowball is grown a great tree. How long is it since I have really +been in this garden? Passing through in a hurry, one doesn't see things. +That must be the rose-flowered hawthorn. My dear little Vesta! I can see +her now with the wreath I made for her one day. She was a little pink +rose then under the rosy wreath; now she is a white one, but more a +rose than ever. Whom have we here?" + +A wagon had drawn up by the garden gate with two sleepy white horses. A +brown, white-bearded face was turned toward the doctor. + +"Hello, doc'," said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!" + +"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you +coming in, or shall I--" + +But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and +now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of +patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in +flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a +chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was, +he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback. + +He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly +eyes. + +"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come +back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral +as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?" + +"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow." + +"See anything to beat the State of Maine?" + +"I think not. No, certainly not." + +"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his +eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good--when it +_is_ good--it's _good_, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I +should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear +ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume +likely?" + +"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down +just now. Perhaps in half an hour--" + +"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and +here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman +stared. + +"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am +glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if +you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?" + +"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I +brought you a present, Mis' Tree." + +He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings. + +"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers +meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got +round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy +round a fireplace." + +The wings were graciously accepted and praised. + +"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I +am told she was a most excellent woman." + +"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a +smart one. Pleasant to live with, too, which they ain't all. Yes, I met +with a loss surely in Loviny." + +"Was it sudden?" + +"P'ralsis! She only lived two days after she was called, and I was glad, +for she'd lost her speech, and no woman can stand that. She knowed +things, you understand, she knowed things, but she couldn't free her +mind. 'Loviny,' I says, 'if you know me,' I says, 'jam my hand!' She +jammed it, but she never spoke. Yes'm, 'twas a visitation. I dono as I +shall git me another now." + +"Well, I should hope not, Ithuriel Butters!" said Mrs. Tree, with some +asperity. "Why, you are nearly as old as I am, you ridiculous creature, +and you have had three wives already. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +"Wal, I dono as I be, Mis' Tree," said Mr. Butters, sturdily. "Age goes +by feelin's, 'pears to me, more'n by Family Bibles. Take the Bible, and +you'd think mebbe I warn't so young as some; but take the way I +feel--why, I'm as spry as any man of sixty I know, and spryer than most +of 'em. I like the merried state, and it suits me. Men-folks is like +pickles, some; women-folks is the brine they're pickled in; they don't +keep sweet without 'em. Besides, it's terrible lon'some on a farm, now I +tell ye, with none but hired help, and them so poor you can't tell 'em +from the broomstick hardly, except for their eatin'." + +"Where is your stepdaughter? I thought she lived with you." + +"Alviry? She's merried!" Mr. Butters threw his head back with a huge +laugh. "Ain't you heerd about Alviry's gittin' merried, Mis' Tree? Wal, +wal!" + +He settled back in his seat, and the light of the story-teller came into +his eyes. + +"I expect I'll have to tell you about that. 'Bout six weeks ago--two +months maybe it was--a man come to the door--back door--and knocked. +Alviry peeked through the kitchen winder,--she's terrible skeert of +tramps,--and she see 'twas a decent-appearin' man, so she went to the +door. + +"'Miss Alviry Wilcox to home?' says he. + +"'You see her before ye!' says Alviry, speakin' kind o' short. + +"'I want to know!' says he. 'I was lookin' for a housekeeper, and you +was named,' he says, 'so I thought I'd come out and see ye.' + +"She questioned him,--Alviry's a master hand at questionin',--and he +said he was a farmer livin' down East Parsonsbridge way; a hundred +acres, and a wood-lot, and six cows, and I dono what all. Wal, Alviry's +ben kind o' uneasy, and lookin' for a change, for quite a spell back. I +suspicioned she'd be movin' on, fust chance she got. I s'pose she +thought mebbe Parsonsbridge butter would churn easier than Shellback; I +dono. Anyhow, she said mebbe she'd try it for a spell, and he might +expect her next week. Wal, sir,--ma'am, I ask your pardon,--he'd got his +answer, and yet he didn't seem ready to go. He kind o' shuffled his +feet, Alviry said, and stood round, and passed remarks on the weather +and sich; and she was jest goin' to say she must git back to her +ironin', when he hums and haws, and says he: 'I dono but 'twould be full +as easy if we was to git merried. I'm a single man, and a good +character. If you've no objections, we might fix it up that way,' he +says. + +"Wal! Alviry was took aback some at that, and she said she'd have to +consider of it, and ask my advice and all. 'Why, land sake!' she says, +'I don't know what your name is,' she says, 'let alone marryin' of ye.' + +"So he told her his name,--Job Weezer it was; I know his folks; he _has_ +got a wood-lot, I guess he's all right,--and she said if he'd come back +next day she'd give him his answer. Wal, sir,--ma'am, _I_ should +say,--when I come in from milkin' she told me. I laughed till I surely +thought I'd shake to pieces; and Alviry sittin' there, as sober as a +jedge, not able to see what in time I was laughin' at. + +"Wal, all about it was, he come back next day, and she said yes; and +they was merried in a week's time by Elder Tyson, and off they went. I +believe they're doin' well, and both parties satisfied; but if it ain't +the beat of anything ever I see!" + +"It is quite scandalous, if that is what you mean!" said Mrs. Tree. "I +never heard of such heathen doings." + +"That ain't the p'int!" said Mr. Butters, chuckling. "They ain't no +spring goslin's, neither one on 'em; old enough to know their own minds. +What gits me is, what he see in Alviry!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. BUTTERS DISCOURSES + + +After leaving Mrs. Tree's house, Mr. Ithuriel Butters drove slowly along +the village street toward the post-office. He jerked the reins loosely +once or twice, but for the most part let the horses take their own way; +he seemed absorbed in thought, and now and then he shook his head and +muttered to himself, his bright blue eyes twinkling, the humorous lines +of his strong old face deepening into smiling furrows. Passing the +Temple of Vesta, he looked up sharply at the windows, seemed half +inclined to check his horses; but no one was to be seen, and he let them +take their sleepy way onward. + +"I d'no as 'twould be best," he said to himself. "Diplomy's a fine +woman, I wouldn't ask to see a finer; but there, I d'no how 'tis. When +you've had pie you don't hanker after puddin', even when it's good +puddin'; and Loviny was pie; yes, sir! she was, no mistake; mince, and +no temperance mince neither. Guess I'll get along someways the rest of +the time. Seems as if some of Alviry's talk must have got lodged in the +cracks or somewhere; there's ben enough of it these three months. Mebbe +that'll last me through. Git ap, you!" + +Arrived at the post-office, Mr. Butters quitted his perch once more, and +with a word to the old horses (which they did not hear, being already +asleep) made his way into the outer room. Seth Weaver, who was leaning +on the ledge of the delivery window, turned and greeted the old man +cordially. + +"Well, Uncle Ithe, how goes it?" + +"H'are ye, Seth?" replied Mr. Butters, "How's the folks? Mornin', +Homer! anything for out our way? How's Mother gettin' on, Seth?" + +"She's slim," replied his nephew, "real slim, Mother is. She's ben +doctorin' right along, too, but it don't seem to help her any. I'm goin' +to get her some new stuff this mornin' that she heard of somewhere." + +"Help her? No, nor it ain't goin' to help her," said Mr. Butters, with +some heat; "it's goin' to hender her. Parcel o' fools! She's taken +enough physic now to pison a four-year-old gander. Don't you get her no +more!" + +"Wal," said Weaver, easily, "I dono as it really henders her any, Uncle +Ithe; and it takes up her mind, gives her something to think about. She +doctored Father so long, you know, and she's used to messin' with roots +and herbs; and now her sight's failin', I tell ye, come medicine time, +she brightens up and goes for it same as if it was new cider. I don't +know as I feel like denyin' her a portion o' physic, seein' she appears +to crave it. She thought this sounded like good searchin' medicine, too. +Them as told her about it said you feel it all through you." + +"I should think you would!" retorted Mr. Butters. "So you would a quart +of turpentine if you took and swallered it." + +"Wal, I don't know what else _to_ do, that's the fact!" Weaver admitted. +"Mother's slim, I tell ye. I do gredge seein' her grouchin' round, smart +a woman as she's ben." + +"You make me think of Sile Stover, out our way," said Mr. Butters. "He +sets up to be a hoss doctor, ye know; hosses and stock gen'lly. Last +week he called me in to see a hog that was failin' up. Said he'd done +all he could do, and the critter didn't seem to be gettin' no better, +and what did I advise? + +"'What have ye done?' says I. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'I've cut his tail, and drawed two of his teeth, and I +dono what else _to_ do,' he says. Hoss doctor! A clo'es-hoss is the only +kind he knows much about, I calc'late." + +"Wasn't he the man that tried to cure Peckham's cow of the horn ail, +bored a hole in her horn and put in salt and pepper,--or was it oil and +vinegar?" + +Mr. Butters nodded. "Same man! Now that kind of a man will always find +folks enough to listen to him and take up his dum notions. I tell ye +what it is! You can have drought, and you can have caterpillars, and you +can have frost. You can lose your hay crop, and your apple crop, and +your potato crop; but there's one crop there can't nothin' touch, and +that's the fool crop. You can count on that, sartin as sin. I tell ye, +Seth, don't you fill your mother up with none of that pison stuff. She's +a good woman, if she did marry a Weaver." + +Seth's eyes twinkled. "Well, Uncle Ithe, seein' you take it so hard," +he said, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'd kind o' thought the matter +out for myself; and it 'peared to me that a half a pint o' molasses +stirred up with a gre't spoonful o' mustard and a small one of red +pepper would look about the same, and taste jest as bad, and wouldn't do +her a mite of harm. I ain't all Weaver now, be I?" + +Uncle and nephew exchanged a sympathetic chuckle. At this moment Mr. +Homer's meek head appeared at the window. + +"There are no letters for you to-day, Mr. Butters," he said, +deprecatingly; "but here is one for Miss Leora Pitcher; she is in your +neighborhood, I believe?" + +"Wal, depends upon what you call neighborhood," Mr. Butters replied. +"It's two miles by the medders, and four by the ro'd." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Homer, still more deprecatingly; "I was not aware that +the distance was so considerable, Mr. Butters. I conceived that Miss +Pitcher's estate and yours were--adjacent;--a--contiguous;--a--in point +of fact, near together." + +"Wal, they ain't," said Mr. Butters; "but if it's anyways important, +mebbe I could fetch a compass round that way." + +"I should be truly grateful if you could do so, Mr. Butters!" said Mr. +Homer, eagerly. "I--I feel as if this letter might be of importance, I +confess. Miss Pitcher has sent in several times by various neighbors, +and I have felt an underlying anxiety in her inquiries. I was rejoiced +this morning when the expected letter came. It is--a--in a masculine +hand, you will perceive, Mr. Butters, and the postmark is that of the +town to which Miss Pitcher's own letters were sent. I do not wish to +seem indelicately intrusive, but I confess it has occurred to me that +this might be a case of possible misunderstanding; of--a--alienation; +of--a--wounding of the tendrils of the heart, gentlemen. To see a young +person, especially a young lady, suffer the pangs of hope deferred--" + +Ithuriel Butters looked at him. + +"Have you ever seen Leory Pitcher, Homer?" he asked, abruptly. + +"No, sir, I have not had that pleasure. But from the character of her +handwriting (she has the praiseworthy habit of putting her own name on +the envelope), I have inferred her youth, and a certain timidity of--" + +"Wal, she's sixty-five, if she's a day, and she's got a hare-lip and a +cock-eye. She's uglier than sin, and snugger than eel-skin; one o' them +kind that when you prick 'em they bleed sour milk; and what she wants is +for her brother-in-law to send her his wife's clo'es, 'cause he's goin' +to marry again. All Shellback's ben talkin' about it these three +months." + +Mr. Homer colored painfully. + +"Is it so?" he said, dejectedly. "I regret that--that my misconception +was so complete. I ask your pardon, Mr. Butters." + +"Nothin' at all, nothin' at all," said Mr. Butters, briskly, seeing that +he had given pain. "You mustn't think I want to say anything against a +neighbor, Homer, but there's no paintin' Leory Pitcher pooty, 'cause she +ain't. + +"I ben visitin' with Mis' Tree this mornin'," he added, benevolently; +"she's aunt to you, I believe, ain't she?" + +"Cousin, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, still depressed. "Mrs. Tree and +my father were first cousins. A most interesting character, my cousin +Marcia, Mr. Butters." + +"Wal, she is so," responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "She certinly is; ben +so all her life. Why, sir, I knew Mis' Tree when she was a gal." + +"Sho!" said Seth Weaver, incredulously. + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Homer, with interest. + +"Yes, sir, I knew her well. She was older than me, some. When I was a +boy, say twelve year old, Miss Marshy Darracott was a young lady. The +pick of the country she was, now I tell ye! Some thought Miss Timothy +was handsomer,--she was tall, and a fine figger; her and Mis' Blyth +favored each other,--but little Miss Marshy was the one for my money. +She used to make me think of a hummin'-bird; quick as a flash, here, and +there, gone in a minute, and back again before you could wink. She had a +little black mare she used to ride, Firefly, she called her. Eigh, sirs, +to see them two kitin' round the country was a sight, now I tell ye. I +recall one day I was out in the medder behind Darracott House--you know +that gully that runs the len'th of the ten-acre lot? Well, there used to +be a bridge over that gully, just a footbridge it was, little light +thing, push it over with your hand, seemed as if you could. Wal, sir, I +was pokin' about the way boys do, huntin' for box-plums, or woodchucks, +or nothin' at all, when all of a suddin I heard hoofs and voices, and I +slunk in behind a tree, bein' diffident, and scairt of bein' so near the +big house. + +"Next minute they come out into the ro'd, two on 'em, Miss Marshy +Darracott and George Tennaker, Squire Tennaker's son, over to Bascom. He +was a big, red-faced feller, none too well thought of, for all his folks +had ben in the country as long as the Darracotts, or the Butterses +either, for that matter, and he'd ben hangin' round Miss Marshy quite a +spell, though she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. I was in her +Sabbath-school class, and thought the hull world of her, this one and a +piece of the next; and I gredged George Tennaker so much as lookin' at +her. Wal, they come along, and he was sayin' something, and she +answered him short and sharp; I can see her now, her eyes like black +di'monds, and the red comin' and goin' in her cheeks: she was a pictur +if ever I seed one. Pooty soon he reached out and co't holt of her +bridle. Gre't Isrel, sir! she brought down her whip like a stroke of +lightning on his fingers, and he dropped the rein as if it burnt him. +Then she whisked round, and across that bridge quicker'n any swaller +ever you see. It shook like a poplar-tree, but it hadn't no time to fall +if it wanted to; she was acrost, and away out of sight before you could +say 'Simon Peter;' and he set there in the ro'd cussin', and swearin', +and suckin' his fingers. I tell ye, I didn't need no dinner that day; I +was full up, and good victuals, too." + +"This is extremely interesting, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer. +"You--a--you present my venerable relative in a wholly new light. She +is so--a--so extremely venerable, if I may so express myself, that I +confess I have never before had an accurate conception of her youth." + +"You thought old folks was born old," said Mr. Butters, with a chuckle. +"Wal, they warn't. They was jest as young as young folks, and oftentimes +younger. Miss Marshy warn't no more than a slip of a girl when she +merried. Come along young Cap'n Tree, jest got his first ship, and the +world in his pants pocket, and said 'Snip!' and she warn't backward with +her 'Snap!' I tell ye. Gorry! they were a handsome pair. See 'em come +along the street, you knowed how 'twas meant man and woman should look. +For all she was small, Mis' Tree would ha' spread out over a dozen other +women, the sperit she had in her; and he was tall enough for both, the +cap'n would say. And proud of each other! He'd have laid down gold +bricks for her to walk on if he'd had his way. Yes, sir, 'twas a sight +to see 'em. + +"There ain't no such young folks nowadays; not but what that young +Strong fellow was well enough; he got a nice gal, too. Wal, sir, this +won't thresh the oats. I must be gettin' along. Think mebbe there ain't +no sech hurry about that letter for Leory Pitcher, do ye, Homer? I'll +kerry it if you say so." + +"I thank you, Mr. Butters," said Mr. Homer, sadly, "it is immaterial, I +am obliged to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MISS PHOEBE PASSES ON + + +Miss Phoebe Blyth's death came like a bolt from a clear sky. The +rheumatism, which had for so many years been her companion, struck +suddenly at her heart. A few hours of anguish, and the stout heart had +ceased to beat, the stern yet kindly spirit was gone on its way. + +Great was the grief in the village. If not beloved as Miss Vesta was, +Miss Phoebe was venerated by all, as a woman of austere and exalted +piety and of sterling goodness. All Elmerton went to her funeral, on a +clear October day not unlike Miss Phoebe herself, bright, yet touched +with wholesome frost. All Elmerton went about the rest of the day with +hushed voice and sober brow, looking up at the closed shutters of the +Temple of Vesta, and wondering how it fared with the gentle priestess, +now left alone. The shutters were white and fluted, and being closed, +heightened the effect of clean linen which the house always +presented--linen starched to the point of perfection, with a dignified +frill, but no frivolity of lace or trimming. + +"I do declare," said Miss Penny Pardon, telling her sister about it all, +"the house looked so like Miss Blyth herself, I expected to hear it say, +'Pray step in and be seated!' just like she used to. Elegant manners +Miss Blyth had; and she walked elegant, too, in spite of her rheumatiz. +When I see her go past up the street, I always said, 'There goes a lady, +let the next be who she will!'" + +"Yes," said Miss Prudence, with a sigh; "if Phoebe Blyth had but +dressed as she might, there's no one in Elmerton could have stood +beside her for style. I've told her so, time and again, but she never +would hear a word. She was peculiar." + +"There! I expect we're all peculiar, sister, one way or another," said +Miss Penny, soothingly. This matter of the Blyth girls' dressing was +Miss Prudence's great grievance, and just now it was heightened by +circumstances. + +"Miss Blyth's mind was above clothes, I expect, Prudence," Miss Penny +continued. "'Twa'n't that she hadn't every confidence in you, for I've +heard her speak real handsome of your method." + +"A person's mind has no call to be above clothes," said Miss Prudence, +with some asperity. "They are all that stands between us and savages, +some think. But I've no wish to cast reflections this day. Miss Blyth +was a fine woman, and she is a great loss to this village. But I _do_ +say she was peculiar, and I'll stand to that with my dying breath; and +I do think Vesta shows a want of--" + +She stopped abruptly. The shop-bell rang, and Mrs. Weight entered, +crimson and panting. She hurried across the shop, and entered the +sewing-room before Miss Penny could go to meet her. + +"Well," she said, "here I am! How do you do, Prudence? You look re'l +poorly. Girls, I've come straight to you. I'm not one to pass by on the +other side, never was. I like to sift a thing to the bottom, and get the +rights of it. I'm not one to spread abroad, but when I do speak, I +desire to speak the truth, and for that truth I have come to you." + +She paused, and fixed a solemn gaze on the two sisters. + +"You'll get it!" said Miss Prudence, a steely glitter coming into her +gray eyes. "We ain't in the habit of tellin' lies here, as I know of. +What do you want?" + +"I want to know if it's true that Vesta Blyth isn't going to wear +mourning for her sole and only sister. I want to know if it's _so_! You +could have knocked me down with a broom-straw when I see her settin' +there in her gray silk dress, for all the world as if we'd come to +sewin'-circle instead of a funeral. I don't know when I have had such a +turn; I was palpitating all through the prayer. Now I want you to tell +me just how 'tis, girls, for, of course, you know--unless she sent over +to Cyrus for her things, and they been delayed. I shouldn't hardly have +thought she'd have done that, though some say that new dressmaker over +there has all the styles straight from New York. What say?" + +"I don't know as I've said anything yet," said Miss Prudence, with +ominous calm. "I don't know as I've had a chance. But it's true that +Miss Vesta Blyth don't intend to put on mourning." + +"Well, I--" + +For once, words seemed to fail Mrs. Weight, and she gaped upon her +hearers open-mouthed; but speech returned quickly. + +"Girls, I would _not_ have believed it, not unless I had seen it with +these eyes. Even so, I supposed most likely there had been some delay. I +asked Mis' Tree as we were comin' out--she spoke pleasant to me for once +in her life, and I knew she must be thinkin' of her own end, and I +wanted to say something, so I says, 'Vesta ain't got her mournin' yet, +has she, Mis' Tree?' + +"She looked at me jest her own way, her eyes kind o' sharpenin' up, and +says, 'Neither has the Emperor of Morocco! Isn't it a calamity?' + +"I dono what she meant, unless 'twas to give me an idee what high +connections they had, though it ain't likely there's anything of that +sort; I never heerd of any furrin blood in either family: but I see +'twas no use tryin' to get anything out of her, so I come straight to +you. And here you tell me--what does it mean, Prudence Pardon? Are we in +a Christian country, I want to know, or are we not?" + +Miss Prudence knit her brows behind her spectacles. "I don't know, +sometimes, whether we are in a Christian country or whether we ain't," +she said, grimly. "Miss Phoebe Blyth didn't approve of mourning, on +religious grounds; and Miss Vesta feels it right to carry out her +sister's views. That's all there is to it, I expect; I expect it's their +business, too, and not other folks'." + +"Miss Phoebe thought mournin' wa'n't a Christian custom," said Miss +Penny. "I've heard her say so; and that 'twas payin' too much respect to +the perishin' flesh. We don't feel that way, Sister an' me, but them was +her views, and she was a consistent, practical Christian, if ever I see +one. I don't think it strange, for my part, that Miss Vesta should wish +to do as was desired, though very likely her own feelin's may have ben +different. She would be a perfect pictur' in a bunnet and veil, though I +dono as she could look any prettier than what she did to-day." + +"If I could have the dressin' of Vesta Blyth as she should be dressed," +said Miss Prudence, solemnly, "there's no one in this village--I'll go +further, and say county--that could touch her. She hasn't the style of +Phoebe, but--there! there's like a light round her when she moves; I +don't know how else to put it. It's like stickin' the scissors into me +every time I cut them low shoulders for her. I always did despise a low +shoulder, long before I ever thought I should be cuttin' of 'em." + +"Well, girls," said Mrs. Weight, "you may make the best of it, and it's +handsome in you, I will say, Prudence, for of course you naturally +looked to have the cuttin', and I suppose all dressmakers get something +extry for mournin', seein' it's a necessity, or is thought so by most +Christian people. But I am the wife of the senior deacon of the parish +wherein she sits, and I feel a call to speak to Vesta Blyth before I +sleep this night. Our pastor's wife is young, and though I am aware she +means well, she hasn't the stren'th nor yet the faculty to deal with +folks as is older than herself on spiritual matters; so I feel it laid +upon me--" + +"I thought it was clothes you was talkin' about," said Miss Prudence, +and she closed her scissors with a snap. "I hope you'll excuse me, Mis' +Weight, but you speakin' to Vesta Blyth about spiritual matters seems to +me jest a leetle mite like a hen teachin' a swallow to fly." + + * * * * * + +While this talk was going on, little Miss Vesta, in her gray gown and +white kerchief, was moving softly about the lower rooms of the Temple +of Vesta, setting the chairs in their accustomed places, passing a silk +cloth across their backs in case of finger-marks, looking anxiously for +specks of dust on the shining tables and whatnots, putting fresh flowers +in the vases. Some well-meaning but uncomprehending friends had sent +so-called "funeral flowers," purple and white; to these Miss Vesta added +every glory of yellow, every blaze of lingering scarlet, that the garden +afforded. She threw open the shutters, and let the afternoon sun stream +into the darkened rooms. + +Diploma Crotty, standing in a corner, her hands folded in her apron, her +eyes swollen with weeping, watched with growing anxiety the slight +figure that seemed to waver as it moved from very fatigue. + +"That strong light'll hurt your eyes, Miss Blyth," she said, presently. +"You go and lay down, and I'll bring you a cup of tea." + +"No, I thank you, Diploma," said Miss Vesta, quietly; and she added, +with a soft hurry in her voice, "And if you would please not to call me +Miss Blyth, my good Diploma, I should be grateful to you. Say 'Miss +Vesta,' as usual, if you please. I desire--let us keep things as they +have been--as they have been. My beloved sister has gone away"--the soft +even voice quivered, but did not break--"gone away, but not far. I am +sure I need not ask you, Diploma, to help me in keeping everything as my +dear sister would like best to have it. You know so well about almost +every particular; but--she preferred to have the tidies straight, not +cornerwise. You will not feel hurt, I am sure, if I alter them. They are +beautifully done up, Diploma; it would be a real pleasure to my dear +sister to see them." + +"I knew they were on wrong," said the handmaid, proceeding to aid in +changing the position of the delicate crocheted squares. "Mis' Bliss +wanted to do something to help,--she's real good,--and I had them just +done up, and thought she couldn't do much harm with 'em. There! I knew +Deacon Weight wouldn't rest easy till he got his down under him. He's +got it all scrunched up, settin' on it. It doos beat all how that man +routs round in his cheer." + +"Hush, Diploma! I must ask you not to speak so," said Miss Vesta. +"Deacon Weight is an officer of the church. I fear he may have chosen a +chair not sufficiently ample for his person. There, that will do nicely! +Now I think the room looks quite as my dear sister would wish to see it. +Does it not seem so to you, Diploma?" + +"The room's all right," said Diploma, gruffly; "but if Miss Blyth was +here, she'd tell you to go and lay down this minute, Miss Vesty, and so +I bid you do. You're as white and scrunched as that tidy. No wonder, +after settin' up these two nights, and all you've ben through. I wish +to goodness Doctor Strong had ben here; he'd have made you get a nurse, +whether or whethern't. Doctor Stedman ain't got half the say-so to him +that Doctor Strong has." + +"You are mistaken, Diploma!" said Miss Vesta, blushing. "Doctor Stedman +spoke strongly, very strongly indeed. He was very firm on the point; +indeed, he became incensed about it, but it was not a point on which I +could give way. My dear sister always said that no hireling should ever +touch her person, and I consider it one of my crowning mercies that I +was able to care for her to the last; with your help, my dear Diploma! I +could not have done it without your help. I beg you to believe how truly +grateful I am to you for your devotion." + +"Well, there ain't no need, goodness knows!" grumbled Diploma Crotty, +"but if so you be, you'll go and lay down now, Miss Vesty, like a good +girl. There! there's Mis' Weight comin' up the steps this minute of +time. I'll go and tell her you're on the bed and can't see her." + +Was it Miss Vesta, gentle Miss Vesta, who answered? It might have been +Miss Phoebe, with head erect and flashing eyes of displeasure. + +"You will tell the simple truth, Diploma, if you please. Tell Mrs. +Weight that I do not desire to see her. She should know better than to +call at this house to-day on any pretence whatever. My dear sister would +have been highly incensed at such a breach of propriety. I--" the fire +faded, and the little figure drooped, wavered, rested for a moment on +the arm of the faithful servant. "I thank you, my good Diploma. I will +go and lie down now, as you thoughtfully suggest." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE PEAK IN DARIEN + + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken: + Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes + He stared at the Pacific, and all his men + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + --_John Keats._ + + +Behind the yellow walls of the post-office Mr. Homer Hollopeter mourned +deeply and sincerely for his cousin. The little room devoted to +collecting and dispensing the United States mail, formerly a dingy and +sordid den, had become, through Mr. Homer's efforts, cheerfully seconded +by those of Will Jaquith, a little temple of shining neatness, where +even Miss Phoebe's or Miss Vesta's dainty feet might have trod +without fear of pollution. It was more like home to Mr. Homer than the +bare little room where he slept, and now that it was his own, he +delighted in dusting, polishing, and cleaning, as a woman might have +done. The walls were brightly whitewashed, and adorned with portraits of +Keats and Shelley; on brackets in two opposite corners Homer and +Shakespeare gazed at each other with mutual approval. The stove was +black and glossy as an Ashantee chief, and the clock, once an unsightly +mass of fly-specks and cobwebs, now showed a white front as immaculate +as Mr. Homer's own. Opposite the clock hung a large photograph, in a +handsome gilt frame, of a mountain peak towering alone against a clear +sky. + +When Mr. Homer entered the post-office the day after Miss Phoebe's +funeral, he carried in his hand a fine wreath of ground pine tied with +a purple ribbon, and this wreath he proceeded to hang over the mountain +picture. Will Jaquith watched him with wondering sympathy. The little +gentleman's eyes were red, and his hands trembled. + +"Let me help you, sir!" cried Jaquith, springing up. "Let me hang it for +you, won't you?" + +But Mr. Homer waved him off, gently but decidedly. + +"I thank you, William, I thank you!" he said, "but I prefer to perform +this action myself. It is--a tribute, sir, to an admirable woman. I wish +to pay it in person; in person." + +After some effort he succeeded in attaching the wreath, and, standing +back, surveyed it with mournful pride. + +"I think that looks well," he said. "My fingers are unaccustomed to +twine any garlands save those of--a--song; but I think that looks well, +William?" + +"Very well, sir!" said Will, heartily. "It is a very handsome wreath; +and how pretty the green looks against the gold!" + +"The green is emblematic; it is the color of memory," said Mr. Homer. +"This wreath, though comparatively enduring, will fade, William; +will--a--wither; will--a--become dessicated in the natural process of +decay; but the memory of my beloved cousin will endure, sir, in one +faithful heart, while that heart continues to--beat; to--throb; +to--a--palpitate." + +He was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the picture; then he +continued: + +"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my +dear cousin would have condescended to visit our--retreat, William, and +have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that +she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated--a--rendered +more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was +not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' +She is gone, sir; gone!" + +"I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain +that is. I don't seem to recognize it." + +Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, +thinking he had not heard, repeated the question. + +"I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I +was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents +a Peak in Darien." + +"Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think +there were any so high as this." + +Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture. + +"I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, _a_ +peak. I do not even know that this special mountain _is_ in Darien, +though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a +symbolical one--to me. It represents--a--Woman." + +"Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled. + +"Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat +nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times. + +"I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one +admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes--a--Woman, in +general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we +attain a knowledge of--a--Woman, through the medium of the--a--Passion +(I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over +arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before +us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in +Darien--Woman! Guided by the--a--Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, +sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in +fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control +forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; +but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we +scale those heights; and--and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at +each other with a wild surmise--silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in +Darien!" + +Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in +contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, +half--or more than half--in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer +was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his +hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed +transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling. + +Jaquith recalled Mrs. Tree's words. Had this quaint little gentleman +really been in love with his beautiful mother? Poor Mr. Homer! It was +very funny, but it was pathetic, too. Poor Mr. Homer! + +The young man's thoughts ran on swiftly. The Peak in Darien! Well, that +was all true. Only, how if--unconsciously he spoke aloud, his eyes on +the picture--"How if a man were misled for a time by--I shall have to +mix my metaphors, Mr. Homer--by a will-o'-the-wisp, and fell into the +quagmire, and lost sight of his mountain for a time, only to find it +again, more lovely than--would he have any right to--what was it you +said, sir?--to try once more to scale those crystal heights?" + +"Undoubtedly he would!" said Mr. Homer Hollopeter. "Undoubtedly, if he +were sure of himself, sure that no false light--I perceive the mixture +of metaphors, but this cannot always be avoided--would again fall +across his path." + +"He is sure of that!" said Will Jaquith, under his breath. + +He had risen, and the two men were standing side by side, both intent +upon the picture. Twilight was falling, but a ray of the setting sun +stole through the little window, and rested upon the Peak in Darien. + +"He is sure of that!" repeated William Jaquith. + +When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his speech rapid and broken. + +"Mr. Homer" (no one ever said "Mr. Hollopeter," nor would he have been +pleased if any one had), "I have been here six months, have I not? six +months to-morrow?" + +"Yes, William," said Mr. Homer, turning his mild eyes on his assistant. + +"Have I--have I given satisfaction, sir?" + +"Eminent satisfaction!" said Mr. Homer, cordially. "William, I have had +no fault to find; none. Your punctuality, your exactness, your +assiduity, leave nothing to be desired. This has been a great +gratification to me--on many accounts." + +"Then, you--you think I have the right to call myself a man once more; +that I have the right to take up a man's life, its joys, as well as its +labors?" + +"I think so, most emphatically," cried the little gentleman, nodding his +head. "I think you deserve the best that life has to give." + +"Then--then, Mr. Homer, may I have a day off to-morrow, please? I +want"--he broke into a tremulous laugh, and laid his hand on the elder +man's shoulder,--"I want to climb the Peak, Mr. Homer!" + + * * * * * + +So it came to pass one day, soon after this, that as Mrs. Tree was +sitting by her fire, with the parrot dozing on his perch beside her, +there came to the house two young people, who entered without knock or +ring, and coming hand in hand to her side, bent down, not saying a word, +and kissed her. + +"Highty tighty!" cried Mrs. Tree, her eyes twinkling very brightly under +a tremendous frown. + +"What is the meaning of all this, I should like to know? How dare you +kiss me, Willy Jaquith?" + +"Old friends to love!" said Jocko, opening one yellow eye, and ruffling +his feathers knowingly. + +"Jocko knows how I dare!" said Will Jaquith. "Dear old friend, I will +tell you what it means. It means that I have brought you another Golden +Lily in place of the one you said I spoiled. You can only have her to +look at, though, for she is mine, mine and my mother's, and we cannot +give her up, even to you." + +"I didn't exactly break my promise, Lily!" cried the old lady; her hands +trembled on her stick, but her cap was erect, immovable. "I didn't tell +him, but I never promised not to tell James Stedman, you know I never +did." + +The lovely, dark-eyed girl bent over her and kissed the withered cheek +again. + +"My dear! my naughty, wicked, delightful dear," she murmured, "how shall +I ever forgive you--or thank you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +LIFE IN DEATH + + +"Drive to Miss Dane's!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Drive where?" asked old Anthony, pausing with one foot on the step of +the ancient carryall. + +"To Miss Dane's!" + +"Well, I snum!" said old Anthony. + +The Dane Mansion, as it was called, stood on the outskirts of the +village; a gaunt, gray house, standing well back from the road, with +dark hedges of Norway spruce drawn about it like a funeral scarf. The +panelled wooden shutters of the front windows were never opened, and a +stranger passing by would have thought the house uninhabited; but all +Elmerton knew that behind those darkling hedges and close shutters, +somewhere in the depths of the tall many-chimneyed house, lived--"if you +can call it living!" Mrs. Tree said--Miss Virginia Dane. Miss Dane was a +contemporary of Mrs. Tree's,--indeed, report would have her some years +older,--but she had no other point of resemblance to that lively +potentate. She never left her house. None of the present generation of +Elmertonians had ever seen her face; and to the rising generation, the +boys and girls who passed the outer hedge, if dusk were coming on, with +hurried step and quick affrighted glances, she was a kind of spectre, a +living phantom of the past, probably terrible to look upon, certainly +dreadful to think of. These terrors were heightened by the knowledge, +diffused one hardly knew how, that Miss Dane was a spiritualist, and +that in her belief at least, the silent house was peopled with departed +Danes, the brothers and sisters of whom she was the last remaining one. + +Things being thus, it was perhaps not strange that old Anthony, usually +the most discreet of choremen, was driven by surprise to the extent of +"snumming" by the order he received. He allowed himself no further +comment, however, but flecked the fat brown horse on the ear with his +whip, and said "Gitty up!" with more interest than he usually +manifested. + +Mrs. Tree was arrayed in her India shawl, and crowned with the +bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace. +She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front +of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was +one of uncompromising energy. + +"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with +an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use." + +"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer! +You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony +Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it." + +The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on +the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a +grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint. + +"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony." + +"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said +the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand. + +"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in +her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?" + +The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself; +high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of +marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the +figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a +black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a +black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where +great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were +cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has +forgotten how to give back the light. + +These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or +kindliness in their depths. + +"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you +are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you +are not?" + +Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to +a seat. + +"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past +fifteen years, since we last met." + +"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking +a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her +feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again +till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away." + +"I have no desire for visitors," said Miss Dane. She spoke in a hollow, +inward monotone, which somehow gave the impression that she was in the +habit of talking to herself, or to something that made no response. "My +soul is fit company for me." + +"I should think it might be!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"Besides, I am surrounded by the Blessed," Miss Dane went on. "This room +probably appears bare and gloomy to your eyes, Marcia, but I see it +peopled by the Blessed, in troops, crowding about me, robed and +crowned." + +"I hope they enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Tree. "I will not interrupt +you or them more than a few minutes, Virginia. I want to ask if you have +made your will. A singular question, but I have my reasons for asking." + +"Certainly I have; years ago." + +"Have you left anything to Mary Jaquith--Mary Ashton?" + +"No!" A spark crept into the dim gray eyes. + +"So I supposed. Did you know that she was poor, and blind?" + +There was a pause. + +"I did not know that she was blind," Miss Dane said, presently. "For her +poverty, she has herself to thank." + +"Yes! she married the man she loved. It was a crime, I suppose. You +would have had her live on here with you all her days, and turn to stone +slowly." + +"I brought Mary Ashton up as my own child," Miss Dane went on; and there +was an echo of some past emotion in her deathly voice. "She chose to +follow her own way, in defiance of my wishes, of my judgment. She sowed +the wind, and she has reaped the whirlwind. We are as far apart as the +dead and the living." + +"Just about!" said Mrs. Tree. "Now, Virginia Dane, listen to me! I have +come here to make a proposal, and when I have made it I shall go away, +and that is the last you will see of me in this world, or most likely in +the next. Mary Ashton married a scamp, as other women have done and will +do to the end of the chapter. She paid for her mistake, poor child, and +no one has ever heard a word of complaint or repining from her. She got +along--somehow; and now her boy, Will, has come home, and means to be a +good son, and will be one, too, and see her comfortable the rest of her +days. But--Will wants to marry. He is engaged to Andrew Bent's daughter, +a sweet, pretty girl, born and grown up while you have been sitting here +in your coffin, Virginia Dane. Now--they won't take any more help from +me, and I like 'em for it; and yet I want them to have more to do with. +Will is clerk in the post-office, and his salary would give the three of +them skim milk and red herrings, but not much more. I want you to leave +them some money, Virginia." + +There was a pause, during which the two pairs of eyes, the dim gray and +the fiery black, looked into each other. + +"This is a singular request, Marcia," said Miss Dane, at last. "I +believe I have never offered you advice as to the bestowal of your +property; nor, if I remember aright, is Mary Ashton related to you in +any way." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree, shortly. "Don't mount your high horse with +me, Jinny, because it won't do any good. I don't know or care anything +about your property; you may leave it to the cat for aught I care. What +I want is to give you some of mine to leave to William Jaquith, in case +you die first." + +She then made a definite proposal, to which Miss Dane listened with +severe attention. + +"And suppose you die first," said the latter. "What then?" + +"Oh, my will is all right, I have left him money enough. But there's no +more prospect of my dying than there was twenty years ago. I shall live +to be a hundred." + +"I also come of a long-lived family," said Miss Dane. + +"I thought the Blessed might get tired of waiting, and come and fetch +you," said Mrs. Tree, dryly; "besides, you haven't so far to go as I +have. Seriously, one of us must in common decency go before long, +Virginia; it is hardly respectable for both of us to linger in this +way. Now, if you will only listen to reason, when the time does come for +either of us, Willy Jaquith is sure of comfort for the rest of his days. +What do you say?" + +Miss Dane was silent for some time. Finally: + +"I will consider the matter," she said, coldly. "I cannot answer you at +this moment, Marcia. You have broken in upon the current of my thoughts, +and disturbed the peace of my soul. I will communicate with you by +writing, when my decision is reached; no second interview will be +necessary." + +"I'm glad you think so," said Mrs. Tree, rising. "I wasn't intending to +come again. You knew that Phoebe Blyth was dead?" + +"I knew that Phoebe had passed out of this sphere," replied Miss Dane. +"Keziah learned it from the purveyor." + +She paused a moment, and then added, "Phoebe was with me last night." + +"Was she?" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. "I'm sorry to hear it. Phoebe was a +good woman, if she did have her faults." + +"You may be glad to hear that she is in a blessed state at present," the +cold monotone went on. "She came with my sisters Sophia and Persis; +Timothea was also with them, and inquired for you." + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Tree. + +"I have no wish to rouse your animosity, Marcia," continued Miss Dane, +after another pause, "and I am well aware of your condition of hardened +unbelief; but we are not likely to meet again in this sphere, and since +you have sought me out in my retirement, I feel bound to tell you, that +I have received several visits of late from your husband, and that he is +more than ever concerned about your spiritual welfare. If you wish it, I +will repeat to you what he said." + +The years fell away from Marcia Darracott like a cloak. She made two +quick steps forward, her little hands clenched, her tiny figure towering +like a flame. + +"_You dare_--" she said, then stopped abruptly. The blaze died down, and +the twinkle came instead into her bright eyes. She laughed her little +rustling laugh, and turned to go. "Good-by, Jinny," she said; "you don't +mean to be funny, but you are. Ethan Tree is in heaven; but if you think +he would come back from the pit to see you--te hee! Good-by, Jinny +Dane!" + +Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright again all the way home, and chuckled several +times. + +"Now, that woman's jealousy is such," she said, aloud, "that, rather +than have me do for her niece, she'll leave her half her fortune and die +next week, just to spite me." (In point of fact, this prophecy came +almost literally to pass, not a week, but a month later.) + +"Yes, Anthony, a very pleasant call, thank ye. Help me out; _the other +side_, old step-and-fetch-it! I believe you were a hundred years old +when I was born. Yes, that's all. Direxia Hawkes, give him a cup of +coffee; he's got chilled waiting in the cold. No, I'm warm enough; I had +something to warm me." + +In spite of this last declaration, when little Mrs. Bliss came in half +an hour later to see the old lady, she found her with her feet on the +fender, sipping hot mulled wine, and declaring that the marrow was +frozen in her bones. + +"I have been sitting in a tomb," she said, in answer to the visitor's +alarmed inquiries, "talking to a corpse. Did you ever see Virginia +Dane?" + +Mrs. Bliss opened her blue eyes wide. "Oh, no, Mrs. Tree. I didn't know +that any one ever saw Miss Dane. I thought she was--" + +"She is dead," said Mrs. Tree. "I have been talking with her corpse, I +tell you, and I don't like corpses. You are alive and warm, and I like +you. Tell me some scandal." + +"Oh, Mrs. Tree!" + +"Well, tell me about the baby, then. I suppose there's no harm in my +asking that. If I live much longer, I sha'n't be allowed to talk about +anything except gruel and nightcaps. How's the baby?" + +"Oh, he is _so_ well, Mrs. Tree, and such a darling! He looks like a +perfect beauty in that lovely cloak. I must bring him round in it to +show to you. It is the handsomest thing I ever saw, and it didn't look a +bit yellow after it was pressed." + +"I got it in Canton," said Mrs. Tree. "My baby--I never had but one--was +born in the China seas. Here's her coral." + +She motioned toward her lap, and Mrs. Bliss saw that a small chest of +carved sandalwood lay open on her knees, full of trinkets and odds and +ends. + +"It is very pretty," said little Mrs. Bliss, lifting the coral and bells +reverently. + +"Her name was Lucy," said Mrs. Tree. "She married Arthur Blyth, cousin +to the girls, and died when little Arthur was born. You may have that +for your baby; I'm keeping Arthur's for little Vesta's child. If you +thank me, you sha'n't have it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +TOMMY CANDY, AND THE LETTER HE BROUGHT + + +"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree. + +"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are- +the-same!" replied Tommy Candy, in one breath. + +"Humph! you shake hands better than you did; but remember to press with +the palm, not pinch with the fingers! Now, what do you want?" + +"I brung you a letter," said Tommy Candy. "I was goin' by the +post-office, and Mr. Jaquith hollered to me and said bring it to you, +and so I brung it." + +"I thank you, Thomas," said the old lady, taking the letter and laying +it down without looking at it. "Sit down! There are burnt almonds in +the ivory box. Humph! I hear very bad accounts of you, Tommy Candy." + +Tommy looked up from an ardent consideration of the relative size of the +burnt almonds; his face was that of a freckled cherub who knew not sin. + +"What is all this about Isaac Weight and Timpson Boody, the sexton? I +hear you were at the bottom of the affair." + +The freckled cherub vanished; instead appeared an imp, with a complex +and illuminating grin pervading even the roots of his hair. + +"Ho!" he chuckled. "I tell ye, Mis' Tree, I had a time! I tell ye I got +even with old Booby and Squashnose Weight, too, that time. Ho! ha! +Yes'm, I did." + +"You are an extremely naughty boy!" said Mrs. Tree, severely. "Sit +there--don't wriggle in your cheer; you are not an eel, though I admit +you are the next thing to it--and tell me every word about it, do you +hear?" + +"Every word?" echoed Tommy Candy. + +"Every word." + +Their eyes met; and, if twinkle met twinkle, still her brows were +severe, and her cap simply awful. Tommy Candy chuckled again. "I tell +ye!" he said. + +He reflected a moment, nibbling an almond absently, then leaned forward, +and, clasping his hands over both knees, began his tale. + +"Old Booby's ben pickin' on me ever sence I can remember. I don't git no +comfort goin' to meetin', he picks on me so. Ever anybody sneezes, or +drops a hymn-book, or throws a lozenger, he lays it to me, and he +ketches me after meetin' and pulls my ears. Last Sunday he took away +every lozenger I had, five cents' wuth, jest because I stuck one on +Doctor Pottle's co't in the pew front of our'n. So then I swowed I'd +have revenge, like that feller in the poetry-book you lent me. So next +day after school I seed him--well, _saw_ him--come along with his +glass-settin' tools, and go to work settin' some glass in one of the +meetin'-house winders. Some o' them little small panes got broke +somehow--yes'm, I did, but I never meant to, honest I didn't. I was jest +tryin' my new catapult, and I never thought they'd have such measly +glass as all that. Well, so I see--saw him get to work, and I says to +Squashnose Weight--we was goin' home from school together--I says, +'Let's go up in the gallery!' Old Booby had left the door open, and +'twas right under the gallery that he was to work. So we went up; and I +had my pocket full of split peas--no'm, I didn't have my bean-blower +along; I'd known better than to take it into the meetin'-house, anyway; +and we slipped in behind old Booby's back and got up into the gallery, +and I slid the winder up easy, and we commenced droppin' peas down on +his head. He's bald as a bedpost, you know, and to see them peas hop up +and roll off--I tell ye, 'twas sport! Old Booby didn't know what in +thunder was the matter at first. First two or three he jest kind o' +shooed with his hand--thought it was hossflies, mebbe, or June-bugs; but +we went on droppin' of 'em, and they hopped and skipped off his head +like bullets, and bumby he see one on the ground. He picked it up and +looked it all over, and then he looked up. You know how he opens his +mouth and sort o' squinnies up his eyes? Mis' Tree, I couldn't help it, +no way in the world; I jest dropped a handful of peas right down into +his mouth. 'Twa'n't no great of a shot, for he opened the spread of a +quart dipper; but Squashnose he sung out 'Gee whittakers!' and raised up +his head, and old Booby saw him. Well, the way he dropped his tools and +put for the door was a caution. We thought we could get down before he +reached the gallery stairs, but I caught my pants on a nail, and +Squashnose got his foot wedged in between two benches, and, by the time +we got loose, we heard old Booby comin' poundin' up the stairs like all +possessed. There wa'n't nothin' to do then but cut and run up the belfry +ladder. We slipped off our shoes and stockin's, and thought mebbe we +could get up without him hearin' us, but he did hear, and up he come +full chisel, puffin' and cussin' like all creation. + +"We waited--there wa'n't nothin' else to do; and I meant--I reely did, +Mis' Tree--to own up and say I was sorry and take my lickin'; but that +Squashnose Weight--he makes me tired!--the minute he see old Booby's +bald head comin' up the ladder, he hollers out, 'Tommy Candy did it, Mr. +Boody! Tommy Candy did it; he's got his pocket full of 'em now. I see +him!' + +"Well, you bet I was mad then! I got holt of him and give his head one +good ram against the wall; and then when old Booby stepped up into the +loft, I dropped down on all fours and run between his legs, and upset +him onto Squashnose, and clum down the ladder and run home. That was +every livin' thing I done, Mis' Tree, honest it was; and they blame it +all on me, the lickin' Squashnose got, and all. I give him a good one, +too, next day. I druther be me than him, anyway." + +"Humph!" said Mrs. Tree. She did not look at Tommy, but held the Chinese +screen before her face. "Did--did your father whip you well, Tommy?" + +"Yes'm, he did so, the best lickin' I had this year; I dono but the best +I ever had, but 'twas wuth it!" + +When Master Candy left Mrs. Tree he had a neat and concise little +lecture passing through his head, on its way from one ear to the other, +and in his pocket an assortment of squares of fig-paste, red and white. +The red, as Mrs. Tree pointed out to him, had nuts in them. + +Left alone, the old lady put down the screen, and let the twinkle have +its own way. She shook her head two or three times at the fire, and +laughed a little rustling laugh. + +"Solomon Candy! Solomon Candy!" she said. "A chip of the old block!" + +Then she took up her letter. + +Half an hour later Miss Vesta, coming in for her daily visit (for Miss +Phoebe's death had brought the aunt and niece even nearer together +than they were before), found her aunt in a state of high indignation. +She began to speak the moment Miss Vesta entered the room. + +"Vesta, don't say a word to me! do you hear? not a single word! I will +not put up with it for an instant; understand that once and for all!" + +"Dear Aunt Marcia," said Miss Vesta, mildly, "I may say good morning, +surely? What has put you about to-day?" + +"I have had a letter. The impudence of the woman, writing to me! Now, +Vesta, don't look at me in that way, for you have some sense, if not +much, and you know perfectly well it was impudent. Folderol! don't tell +me! her dear aunt, indeed! I'll dear-aunt her, if she tries to set foot +in this house." + +Miss Vesta's puzzled brow cleared. "Oh," she said, "I see, Aunt Marcia. +You also have had a letter from Maria." + +"Read it!" said Mrs. Tree. "I'd take it up with the tongs, if I were +you." + +Miss Vesta did not think it necessary to obey this injunction, but +unfolded the square of scented paper which her aunt indicated, and read +as follows: + + "MY DEAR AUNT:--I was much grieved to hear of poor Phoebe's + death. It seems very strange that I was not informed of her + illness; being her own first cousin, it would have been natural and + gratifying for me to have shared the last sad hours with you and + Vesta; but malice is no part of my nature, and I am quite ready to + overlook the neglect. You and Vesta must miss Phoebe sadly, and + be very lonely, and I feel it a duty that I must not shirk to come + and show you both that to _me_, at least, blood is thicker than + water. One drop of Darracott blood, I always say, is enough to + establish a claim on me. It is a long time since I have been in + Elmerton, and I should like above all things to bring my two sweet + girls, to show them their mother's early home, and present them to + their venerable relation. I think you would find them _not + inferior_, to say the least, to some others who have been more put + forward to catch the eye. A violet by a mossy stone has always been + _my_ idea of a young woman. However, my daughters' engagements are + so numerous, and they are so much _sought after_, that it will be + impossible for me to bring them at present; later I shall hope to + do so. I propose to divide my visit _impartially_ between you and + poor Vesta, but shall go to her first, being the one in affliction, + since such we are bidden to visit. + + "Looking forward with great pleasure to my visit with you, and + hoping that this may find you in the enjoyment of such a measure of + health as your advanced years may allow, I am, my dear Aunt, + + "Your affectionate niece, + "MARIA DARRACOTT PRYOR." + +"When you have finished it, you may put it into the fire," said Mrs. +Tree. "Bah! what did she say to you? Cat! I don't mean you, Vesta." + +But Miss Vesta, with all her dove-like qualities, had something of the +wisdom of the serpent, and had no idea of repeating what Mrs. Pryor had +said to her. Several phrases rose to her mind,--"Aunt Marcia's few +remaining days on earth," "precarious spiritual condition of which +reports have reached me," "spontaneous distribution of family property," +etc.,--and she rejoiced in being able to say calmly, "I did not bring +the letter with me, Aunt Marcia. Maria speaks of her intended visit, and +seems to look forward with much pleasure to--" + +"Vesta Blyth," said Mrs. Tree, "look me in the eye!" + +"Yes, dear Aunt Marcia," said the little lady. Her soft brown eyes met +fearlessly the black sparks which gleamed from under Mrs. Tree's +eyebrows. She smiled, and laid her hand gently on that of the elder +woman. + +"There is no earthly use in your smiling at me, Vesta," the old lady +went on. "I see nothing whatever to smile about. I wish simply to say, +as I have said before, that after I am dead you may do as you please; +but I am not dead yet, and while I live, Maria Darracott sets no foot in +this house." + +"Dear Aunt Marcia!" + +"No foot in this house!" repeated Mrs. Tree. "Not the point of her toe, +if she had a point. She was born splay-footed, and I suppose she'll die +so. Not the point of her toe!" + +Miss Vesta was silent for a moment. If she were only like Phoebe! She +must try her best to do as Phoebe would have wished. + +"Aunt Marcia," she said, "you have always been so near and dear--so very +near and so infinitely dear and kind, to us,--especially to Nathaniel +and me, and to Nathaniel's children,--that I fear you sometimes forget +the fact that Maria is precisely the same relation to you that we are." + +"Cat's foot, fiddlestick, folderol, fudge!" remarked Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"Dear Aunt Marcia, do not speak so, I beg of you. Only think, Uncle +James, Maria's father, was your own brother." + +"His wife wasn't my own sister!" said Mrs. Tree, grimly. Then she blazed +out suddenly. "Vesta Blyth, you are a good girl, and I am very fond of +you; but I know what I am about, and I behave as I intend to behave. My +brother James was a good man, though I never could understand the ground +he took about the Copleys. He had no more right to them--but that is +neither here nor there. His wife was a cat, and her mother before her +was a cat, and her daughter after her is a cat. I don't like cats, and I +never have had them in this house, and I never will. That's all there is +to it. If that woman comes here, I'll set the parrot on her." + +"Scat!" said the parrot, waking from a doze and ruffling his feathers. +"_Quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester!" + +Miss Vesta sighed. "Then--what will you say to Maria, Aunt Marcia?" + +"I sha'n't say anything to her!" replied the old lady, snappishly. + +"Surely you must answer her letter, dear." + +"Must I! 'Must got bust,' they used to say when I was a girl." + +"Surely you _will_ answer it?" said Miss Vesta, altering the unlucky +form of words. + +"Nothing of the sort! She has had the impudence to write to me, and she +can answer herself." + +"She cannot very well do that, Aunt Marcia." + +"Then she can go without. + + "'Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!'" + +Miss Vesta sighed again; it was always a bad sign when Mrs. Tree began +to sing. + +"Very well, Aunt Marcia," she said, after a pause, rising. "I will +answer for both, then. I will say that--" + +"Say that I am blind, deaf, and dumb!" her aunt commanded. "Say that I +have the mumps and the chicken-pox, and am recommended absolute +retirement. Say I have my sins to think about, and have no time for +anything else. Say anything you like, Vesta, but run along now, like a +good girl, and let me get smoothed out before that poor little parson +comes to see me. He's coming at five. Last time I scared him out of a +year's growth--te-hee!--and he has none to spare, inside or out. +Good-by, my dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MARIA + + +"My dearest Vesta, what a pleasure to see you! You are looking wretched, +simply wretched! How thankful I am that I came!" + +Mrs. Pryor embraced her cousin with effusion. She was short and fair, +with prominent eyes and teeth, and she wore a dress that crackled and +ornaments that clinked. Miss Vesta, in her dove-colored cashmere and +white net, seemed to melt into her surroundings and form part of them, +but Mrs. Pryor stood out against them like a pump against an evening +sky. + +"It was very kind of you to come, Maria," said Miss Vesta, "very kind +indeed. I trust you had a comfortable journey, and are not too tired." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, buoyantly, "I am never tired. Watchspring +and wire--Mr. Pryor always said that was what his little Maria was made +of. But it would have made no difference if I had been at the point of +exhaustion, I would have made any effort to come to you. Darracott +blood, my love! Any one who has a drop of Darracott blood in his veins +can call upon me for anything; how much more you, who are my own first +cousin. Poor, dear Phoebe, what a loss! You are not in black, I see. +Ah! I remember her peculiar views. You feel bound to respect them. I +consider that a mistake, Vesta. We must respect, but we are not called +upon to imitate, the eccentricities--" + +"I share my sister's views," said Miss Vesta, tranquilly. "Will you have +a cup of tea now, Maria, or would you like to go to your room at once?" + +"Neither, my dear, just at this moment," said Mrs. Pryor, vivaciously. +"I must just take a glance around. Dear me! how many years is it since I +have been in this house? Had Phoebe aged as much as you have, Vesta? +Single women, of course, always age faster,--no young life to keep them +girlish. Ah! you must see my two sweet girls. Angels, Vesta! and +Darracotts to their finger-ends. I feel like a child again, positively +like a child. The parlor is exactly as I remember it, only faded. Things +do fade so, don't they? It's a mistake not to keep your furniture fresh +and up to date. I should re-cover those chairs, if I were you; nothing +would be easier. A few yards of something bright and pretty, a few +brass-headed nails--why, I could do it in a couple of hours. We must see +what we can do, Vesta. And it is a pity, it seems to me, to have +everything so bare, tables and all. Beautiful polish, to be sure, but +they look so bleak. A chenille cover, now, here and there, a bright +drape or two, would transform this room; all this old red damask is +terribly antiquated, my dear. It comes of having no young life about +you, as I said. My girls have such taste! You should see our parlor at +home--not an inch but is covered with something bright and aesthetic. Ah! +here are the portraits. Yes, to be sure. Do you know, Vesta, I have +often thought of writing to you and Phoebe--in fact, I was on the +point of it when the sad news came of poor Phoebe's being taken--about +these portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother +Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice +is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as +much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phoebe were +always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so +strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I +always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We +are passing away, my dear,--in the midst of life, you know, and poor +Phoebe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever--you don't +look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself, +Vesta,--but--well--and so--I confess it seems to me as if you might feel +more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I +should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for +money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?" + +She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and +fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen. + +Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban +and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals, +looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been +part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt +sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes +when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she +would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to +those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and +the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her. + +Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have +brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it +might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss +Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phoebe, in passing, had let the +shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister. + +"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear +sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as +I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?" + +Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and +creaked behind her. + +"You have put me in Phoebe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as +they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you +may need in the night. Besides, the sun--oh, the dimity room! Well, I +dare say it will do well enough. Stuffy, isn't it? but I am the easiest +person in the world to satisfy. And _how_ is Aunt Marcia? I shall go to +see her the first thing in the morning; she will hardly expect me to +call this afternoon, though I could make a special effort if you think +she would feel sensitive." + +"Indeed, Maria, I am very sorry, but I don't feel sure--in fact, I +rather fear that you may not be able to see Aunt Marcia, at all events +just at present." + +"Not be able to see her! My dear Vesta, what can you mean? Why, I am +going to _stay_ with Aunt Marcia. I wrote to her as well as to you, and +said that I should divide my visit equally between you. Of course I feel +all that I owe to you, my love; I have made all my arrangements for a +long stay; indeed, it happens to fit in very well with my plans, but I +need not trouble you with details now. What I mean to say is, that in +spite of all I owe to you, I have also a sacred duty to fulfil toward my +aunt. It is impossible in the nature of things that she should live much +longer, and as her own niece and the mother of a family I am bound, +solemnly bound, to soothe and cheer a few, at least, of her closing +days. I suppose the dear old thing feels a little hurt that I did not go +to her first, from what you say; old people are very tetchy, I ought to +have remembered that, but you were the one in affliction, and I felt +bound--but I will make that all right, never fear, in the morning. +There, my dear, don't, I beg of you, give yourself the slightest +uneasiness about the matter! I am quite able to take care of myself, and +of you and Aunt Marcia into the bargain. You do not know me, my dear! +Yes, Diploma can bring me the tea now, and I will unpack and set things +to rights a bit. You will not mind if I move the furniture about a +little? I have my own ideas, and they are not always such bad ones. +Good-by, my love! Go and rest now, you look like a ghost. I shall have +to take you in hand at once, I see; so fortunate that I came. +_Good_-by!" + +Miss Vesta, descending the stairs with a troubled brow, was met by +Diploma with the announcement that Doctor Stedman was in the parlor. + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta breathed a little sigh of pleasure and relief, and +hastened down. + +"Good afternoon, James! I am rejoiced to see you. I--something +perplexing has occurred; perhaps you may be able to advise me. Sister +Phoebe would have known exactly what to do, but I confess I am +puzzled. Our--my cousin, Mrs. Pryor, has arrived this afternoon." + +"Mrs. Pryor!" said Doctor Stedman. "Any one I ought to know?" + +"Maria Darracott. Surely you remember her?" + +"Hum! yes, I remember _her_. She hasn't come here, to this house?" + +"Yes; she is up-stairs now, unpacking her trunk. She has come to make a +long stay, it would appear from the size of the trunk. Of course I +am--of course it was very kind in her to come, and I shall do my best to +make her stay agreeable; but--James, she intends to make Aunt Marcia a +visit, too, and Aunt Marcia absolutely refuses to see her. What shall I +do?" + +Doctor Stedman chuckled. "Do? I wish you had followed your aunt's +example; but that was not to be expected. Hum! I don't see that you can +do anything. Your aunt is not amenable to the bit, not even the +slightest snaffle; as to driving her with a curb, I should like to see +the man who would attempt it. Won't see her, eh? ho! ho! Mrs. Tree is +the one consistent woman I have ever known." + +"But Maria is entirely unconvinced, James; I cannot make any impression +upon her. She is determined to go to see Aunt Marcia to-morrow, and I +fear--" + +"Let her go! she is of age, if I remember rightly; let her go and try +for herself. You are not responsible for what occurs. Vesta--let me look +at you! Hum! I wish you would turn this visitor out, and go away +somewhere for a bit." + +"Go away, James? I?" + +"Yes, you! You are not looking at all the thing, I tell you. It's all +very well and very--everything that is like you--to take this trouble +simply and naturally, but whatever you may say and believe, there is the +shock and there is the strain, and those are things we have to pay for +sooner or later. Go away, I tell you! Send away this--this visitor, give +Diploma the key, and go off somewhere for a month or two. Go and make +Nat a visit! Poor old Nat, he's lonely enough, with little Vesta and her +husband in Europe. Think what it would mean to him, Vesta, to have you +with him for awhile!" + +"My dear James, you take my breath away," said Miss Vesta, fluttering a +little. "You are most kind and friendly, but--but it would not be +possible for me to go away. I could not think of it for a moment, even +if the laws of hospitality did not bind me as long as Maria--my own +cousin, remember, James--chooses to stay here. I could not think of +it." + +"I should like to know why!" said Doctor Stedman, obstinately. "I should +like to know what your reasons are, Vesta." + +"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering +her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless +she spoke up bravely. + +"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only +unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without +that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties; +the house; my dear sister's ideas,--she always said a house could not be +left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some +way--though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,--it is a +small matter, but--I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I +have never been away, James, since--I first lighted the lamp. Then--" + +"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have +not heard what I call one yet." + +The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his +with a look he had seen in them once or twice before. + +"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to +go!" + +Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody +silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily +booted, but--no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor +remained intact. + +Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her. + +"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?" +he said. "What if--Vesta,--may I speak once more?" + +"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in +her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you +if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a +comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend, +disturb it." + +"But--you are alone, child. If Phoebe had lived, I had made up my mind +never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired, +and--I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed." + +He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of +tenderness as she raised them to his. + +"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more +faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about +my being alone. I am never alone; almost never--at least, not so very +often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. +Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, +when her marvellous strength begins to fail,--for it must fail,--she +will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia +lives." + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll +let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate +in the morning--there! there! don't look horrified. You never can +understand--or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for +yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. +Good-by, my dear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT + + +Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. +Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she +came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a +figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was +empty now, but it was rocking--perhaps with the wind. + +Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock. + +"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You +remember me, of course,--Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have +come, please?" + +She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and +forbidding. + +"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said. + +Mrs. Pryor smiled approvingly. "I see you are a good watch-dog, Direxia. +Very proper, I am sure, not to let my aunt, at her age, be annoyed by +ordinary visitors; but your care is unnecessary in this case. I will +just step into the parlor, and you can tell her that I am here. Probably +she will wish me to come up at once to her room, but you may as well go +first, just to prepare her. Any shock, however joyful, is to be avoided +with the aged." + +She moved forward again, but Direxia Hawkes did not stir. + +"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so; but I can't let you in, Mis' Pryor, I +can't nohow." + +"Cannot let me in?" repeated Mrs. Pryor. "What does this mean? It is +some conspiracy. Of course I know there is a jealousy, but this is +too--stand aside this moment, my good creature, and don't be insolent, +or you will repent of it. I shall inform my aunt. Do you know who I +am?" + +"Yes'm, I know well enough who you are. Yes'm, I know you are her own +niece, but if you was fifty nieces I couldn't let you in. She ain't +goin' to see a livin' soul to-day except Doctor Stedman. You might see +him, after he's ben here," she added, relenting a little at the keen +chagrin in the visitor's face. + +Mrs. Pryor caught at the straw. + +"Ah! she has sent for Doctor Stedman. Very right, very proper! Of +course, if my aunt does not think it wise to see any one until after the +physician's visit, I can understand that. Nobody is more careful about +such matters than I am. I will see Doctor Stedman myself, get his advice +and directions, and call again. Give my love to my aunt, Direxia, and +tell her"--she stretched her neck toward the door--"tell her that I am +greatly distressed not to see her, and still more to hear that she is +indisposed; but that very soon, as soon as possible after the doctor's +visit, I shall come again and devote myself to her." + +"Scat!" said a harsh voice from within. + +"Mercy on me! what's that?" cried Mrs. Pryor. + +"Scat! _quousque tandem, O Catilina?_ Helen was a beauty, Xantippe +was--" + +"Hold your tongue!" said Direxia Hawkes, hastily. "It's only the parrot. +He is the worst-actin'--good mornin', Mis' Pryor!" + +She closed the door on a volley of screeches that was pouring from the +doorway. + +Mrs. Pryor, rustling and crackling with indignation against the world in +general, made her way down the garden path. She was fumbling with the +latch of the gate, when the door of the opposite house opened, and a +large woman came out and, hastening across the road, met her with +outstretched hand. + +"Do tell me if this isn't Mis' Pryor!" said the large women, cordially. +"I felt sure it must be you; I heard you was in town. You haven't +forgotten Mis' Weight, Malviny Askem as was? Well, I am pleased to see +you. Walk in, won't you? now do! Why, you _are_ a stranger! Step right +in this way!" + +Nothing loth, Mrs. Pryor stepped in, and was ushered into the +sitting-room. + +"Deacon, here's an old friend, if I may presume to say so; Mis' Pryor, +Miss Maria Darracott as was. You'll be rejoiced, well I know. Isick and +Annie Lizzie, come here this minute and shake hands! Your right hand, +Annie Lizzie, and take your finger out of your mouth, or I'll sl--I +shall have to speak to you. Let me take your bunnet, Maria, mayn't I?" + +Deacon Weight heaved himself out of his chair, and received the visitor +with ponderous cordiality. "It is a long time since we have had the +pleasure of welcoming you to Elmerton, Mrs. Pryor," he said. "Your +family has sustained a great loss, ma'am, a great loss. Miss Phoebe +Blyth is universally lamented." + +Yes, indeed, a sad loss, Mrs. Pryor said. She regretted deeply that she +had not been able to be present at the last sad rites. She had been +tenderly attached to her cousin, whom she had not seen for twenty years. + +"But I have come now," she said, "to devote myself to those who remain. +My cousin Vesta looks sadly ill and shrunken, really an old woman, and +my aunt Mrs. Tree is seriously ill, I am told, unable even to see me +until after the doctor's visit. Very sad! At her age, of course the +slightest thing in the nature of a seizure would probably be fatal. Have +you seen her recently, may I ask?" + +Deacon Weight crossed and uncrossed his legs uneasily. Mrs. Weight +bridled, and pursed her lips. + +"We don't often see Mis' Tree to speak to," she said. "There's those +you can be neighborly with, and there's those you can't. Mis' Tree has +never showed the wish to _be_ neighborly, and I am not one to put forth, +neither is the deacon. Where we are wished for, we go, and the reverse, +we stay away. We do what duty calls for, no more. I did see Mis' Tree at +Phoebe's funeral," she added, "and she looked gashly then. I hope she +is prepared, I reelly do. I know Phoebe was real uneasy about her. We +make her the subject of prayer, the deacon and I, but that's all we +_can_ do; and I feel bound to say to you, Mis' Pryor, that in _my_ +opinion, your aunt's soul is in a more perilous way than her body." + +Mrs. Pryor seemed less concerned about the condition of Mrs. Tree's soul +than might have been expected. She asked many questions about the old +lady's manner of life, who came to the house, how she spent her time, +etc. Mrs. Weight answered with eager volubility. She told how often the +butcher came, and what costly delicacies he left; how few and far +between were what she might call spiritooal visits; "for our pastor is +young, Mis' Pryor, and it's not to be expected that he could have the +power of exhortation to compare with those who have labored in the +vineyard the len'th of time Deacon Weight has. Then, too, she has a way +that rides him down--Mr. Bliss, I'm speakin' of--and makes him ready to +talk about any truck and dicker she likes. I see him come out the other +day, laughin' fit to split; you'd never think he was a minister of the +gospel. Not that I should wish to be understood as sayin' anything +against Mr. Bliss; the young are easily led, even the best of them. +Isick, don't stand gappin' there! Shut your mouth, and go finish your +chores. And Annie Lizzie, you go and peel some apples for mother. Yes, +you can, just as well as not; don't answer me like that! No, you don't +want a cooky now, you ain't been up from breakfast more than--well, just +one, then, and mind you pick out a small one! Mis' Pryor, I didn't like +to speak too plain before them innocents, but it's easy to see why Mis' +Tree clings as she doos to the things of this world. If I had the +outlook she has for the next, I should tremble in my bed, I should so." + +Finally the visitor departed, promising to come again soon. After a +baffled glance at Mrs. Tree's house, which showed an uncompromising +front of closed windows and muslin curtains, she made her way to the +post-office, where for a stricken hour she harried Mr. Homer Hollopeter. +She was his cousin too, in the fifth or sixth degree, and as she +cheerfully told him, Darracott blood was a bond, even to the last drop +of it. She questioned him as to his income, his housekeeping, his +reasons for remaining single, which appeared to her insufficient, not +to say childish; she commented on his looks, the fashion of his dress +(it was a manifest absurdity for a man of his years to wear a sky-blue +neck-tie!), the decorations of his office. She thought a portrait of the +President, or George Washington, would be more appropriate than those +dingy engravings. Who were--oh, Keats and Shelley? No one admired poetry +more than she did; she had read Keats's "Christian Year" only a short +time ago; charming! + +"And what is that landscape, Cousin Homer? Something foreign, evidently. +I always think that a government office should be representative _of_ +the government. I have a print at home, a bird's-eye view of Washington +in 1859, which I will send you if you like. I suppose you have an +express frank? No? How mean of Congress! What did you say this mountain +was?" + +Mr. Homer, who had received Mrs. Pryor's remarks in meekness and--so +far as might be--in silence, waving his head and arms now and then in +mute dissent, now looked up at the mountain photograph; he opened and +shut his mouth several times before he found speech. + +"The picture," he said, slowly, "represents a--a--mountain; a--a--in +short,--a mountain!" and not another word could he be got to say about +it. + +Doctor Stedman had a long round to go that day, and it was not till late +afternoon that he reached home and found a message from Mrs. Tree saying +that she wished to see him. He hastened to the house; Direxia, who had +evidently been watching for him, opened the door almost before he +knocked. + +"Nothing serious, I trust, Direxia!" he asked, anxiously. "I have been +out of town, and am only just back." + +"Hush!" whispered Direxia, with a glance toward the parlor door. "I +don't know; I can't make out--" + +"Come in, James Stedman!" called Mrs. Tree from the parlor. "Don't stand +there gossiping with Direxia; I didn't send for you to see her." + +Direxia lifted her hands and eyes with an eloquent gesture. "She is the +beat of all!" she murmured, and fled to her kitchen. + +Entering the parlor Doctor Stedman found Mrs. Tree sitting by the fire +as usual, with her feet on the fender. Sitting, but not attired, as +usual. She was dressed, or rather enveloped, in a vast quilted wrapper +of flowered satin, tulips and poppies on a pale buff ground, and her +head was surmounted by the most astonishing nightcap that ever the mind +of woman devised. So ample and manifold were its flapping borders, and +so small the keen brown face under them, that Doctor Stedman, though not +an imaginative person, could think of nothing but a walnut set in the +centre of a cauliflower. + +"Good afternoon, James Stedman!" said the old lady. "I am sick, you +see." + +"I see, Mrs. Tree," said the doctor, glancing from the wrapper and cap +to the bowl and spoon that stood on the violet-wood table. He had seen +these things before. "You don't feel seriously out of trim, I hope?" + +Mrs. Tree fixed him with a bright black eye. + +"At my age, James, everything is serious," she said, gravely. "You know +that as well as I do." + +"Yes, I know that!" said Doctor Stedman. He laid his hand on her wrist +for a moment, then returned her look with one as keen as her own. + +"Have you any symptoms for me?" + +"I thought that was your business!" said the patient. + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "How long, have you been--a--feeling like +this?" + +"Ever since yesterday; no, the day before. I am excessively nervous, +James. I am unfit to talk, utterly unfit; I cannot see people. I want +you to keep people away from me for--for some days. You must see that I +am unfit to see anybody!" + +"Ha!" said Doctor Stedman. + +"It agitates me!" cried the old lady. "At my age I cannot afford to be +agitated. Have some orange cordial, James; do! it is in the Moorish +cabinet there, the right-hand cupboard. Yes, you may bring two glasses +if you like; I feel a sinking. You see that I am in no condition for +visitors." + +The corners of Doctor Stedman's gray beard twitched; but he poured a +small portion of the cordial into two fat little gilt tumblers, and +handed one gravely to his patient. + +[Illustration: "'PERHAPS THIS IS AS GOOD MEDICINE AS YOU CAN TAKE!' HE +SAID."] + +"Perhaps this is as good medicine as you can take!" he said. +"Delicious! Does the secret of this die with Direxia? But I'll put you +up some powders, Mrs. Tree, for the--a--nervousness; and I certainly +think it would be a good plan for you to keep very quiet for awhile." + +"I'll see no one!" cried the old lady. "Not even Vesta, James!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, if you say so, not even Vesta." + +"Vesta is so literal, you see!" said Mrs. Tree, comfortably. "Then that +is settled; and you will give your orders to Direxia. I am utterly unfit +to talk, and you forbid me to see anybody. How do you think Vesta is +looking, James?" + +Doctor Stedman's eyes, which had been twinkling merrily under his shaggy +eyebrows, grew suddenly grave. + +"Badly!" he said, briefly. "Worn, tired--almost sick. She ought to have +absolute rest, mind, body, and soul, and, instead of that, here comes +this--" + +"Catamaran?" suggested Mrs. Tree, blandly. + +"You know her better than I do," said James Stedman. "Here she comes, at +any rate, and settles down on Vesta, and announces that she has come to +stay. It ought not to be allowed. Mrs. Tree, I want Vesta to go away; +_she_ is unfit for visitors, if you will. I want her to go off somewhere +for an entire change. Can it not be managed in some way?" + +"Why don't you take her?" said Mrs. Tree. + +The slow red crept into James Stedman's strong, kindly face. He made no +reply at first, but sat looking into the fire, while the old woman +watched him. + +At last--"You asked me that once before, Mrs. Tree," he said, with an +effort; "how many years ago was it? Never mind! I can only make the same +answer that I made then. She will not come." + +"Have you tried again, James?" + +"Yes, I have tried again, or--tried to try. I will not persecute her; I +told you that before." + +"Has the little idiot--has she any reason to give?" + +Doctor Stedman gave a short laugh. "She doesn't wish it; isn't that +reason enough? I said something about her being alone; I couldn't help +it, she looked so little, and--but she feels that she will never be +alone so long as--that is, she feels that she has all the companionship +she needs." + +"So long as what? So long as I am alive, hey?" said the old lady. Her +eyes were like sparks of black fire, but James Stedman would not meet +them. He stared moodily before him, and made no reply. + +"I am a meddlesome old woman!" said Mrs. Tree. "You wish I would leave +you alone, James Stedman, and so I will. Old women ought to be +strangled; there's some place where they do it, Cap'n Tree told me about +it once; I suppose it's because they talk too much. She said she +shouldn't be alone while I lived, hey? Where are you going, James? Stay +and have supper with me; do! it would be a charity; and there's a larded +partridge with bread sauce. Direxia's bread sauce is the best in the +world, you know that." + +"Yes, I know!" said Doctor Stedman, his eyes twinkling once more as he +took up his hat. "I wish I could stay, but I have still one or two calls +to make. But--larded partridge, Mrs. Tree, in your condition! I am +surprised at you. I would recommend a cup of gruel and a slice of thin +toast without butter." + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. "Well, good-night, James; and don't forget +the orders to Direxia: I am utterly unfit to talk and must not see any +one." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +NOT YET! + + +How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all +visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody +knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one +afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of +guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. +As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, +"The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts +in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to +perfection. + +Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to +a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word +at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door +clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but +evidently in distress. + +"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as +much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's +out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear +her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!" + +Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a +scrap of eldritch song: + + "Tiddy hi, toddy ho, + Tiddy hi hum, + Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young!" + +Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was +delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! +she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's +side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor +Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your +friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am +about, and I forbid you to leave the house!" + +At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle +sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and--since he had +privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, +and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out--it +was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was +not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, +declaring that _this_ duty at least she could and would perform, and +Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of +talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the +astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, +flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt +that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than +water. + +In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time +for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock +or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. +Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She +had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not +intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the +face of a Savoy cabbage. + +"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?" + +"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight. + +"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?" + +"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it--three minutes ago--with +these eyes! I run all the way--just as I was; I've got my death, I +expect--palpitations--I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, +ain't it awful?" + +Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the +sofa. + +"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?" + +"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for +Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house +myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! +cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!" + +And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter +and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding +and gasping in her wake. + +"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, +appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. +"Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called +from my bread by no--my dear heart alive! what has happened?" + +Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat. + +"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She--Mrs. Weight says there is crape +on the door. I--I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor +Stedman?" + +A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; +the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her +mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it +vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with +fear and wonder. + +"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, +that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you +should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let +him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?" + +"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?" + +"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?" + +"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the +matter?" + +"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice. + +The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma. + +"What has happened?" + +"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' +Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling +with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt +Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with +her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!" + +"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little +trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can +never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is +indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you +foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you +think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?" + +"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phoebe--" + +"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I +consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here, +drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and +see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was +alive enough this morning." + +"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to +tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. +Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!" + +"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious +pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, +little woman!" + +"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think--" + +"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!" + +Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house--a long +rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of +many things. + +The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with +Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They +rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at +each other, handkerchief in hand. + +Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied +rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique +richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence--was +it the only presence?--of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had +recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only +when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble +hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice. + +"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I +never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in +this minute." + +"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, +Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, +certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I +told him to do it!" + +"You--oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits _this_ +time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree--if the Lord +ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor +Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' +distracted." + +"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank +you, and I mean to live to a hundred." + +"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered +hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I +can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has +made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this +moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say +'Aunt Tree' now?" + +"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta +has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, +and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the +wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like +to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high +time, too. Is that anything to cry about?" + +"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which +she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy. + +"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now +she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!" + +"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree. + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Tree, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. TREE *** + +***** This file should be named 30439.txt or 30439.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/3/30439/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Karina Aleksandrova +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/30439.zip b/old/30439.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ae97f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30439.zip |
