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Opposite Neighbours."I have seen all I want to see."
"No," replied Letty, "I did not; and I will tell you why. I went with Agnes to call on her,—as was only civil, you know, and I dressed myself all in my best, to do honour to my first call. Well, we got in, and were taken into the parlour, which is very handsomely furnished,—only so crowded that there is no room to turn round. Presently the lady came sailing in, in a very gracious and polite way. She is really very pretty;—I will say that for her.
"She was not backward to enter into conversation. She didn't know how she should like Myrtle Street,—it was rather out of the way of her acquaintances. Most of the people she visited lived in Clay Avenue and Webster Park. She didn't seem to have any place to run into just when she liked, as she did into Dalton's and Trescott's. You may imagine I opened my eyes a little at this; but I said nothing, and she went on. The Dalton girls, she said, were her most particular friends; they were just as intimate as sisters; and Bessie Dalton said she didn't know what they should do without her. As for Kate Trescott, she had cried like a child; and Mrs. Trescott said, 'Really, Mrs. Van Horn, I don't see but you will have to take Kate to board;' and truly she believed Kate loved her better than her own mother. And so she ran on about all sorts of fashionable people, calling them by their Christian names and by nicknames,—a great deal more familiarly than I should speak of Mrs. De Witt to a stranger."
"That was bad taste," said John, as Letty paused, rather out of breath. "But I don't see that it could be called any thing worse: could it?"
"But, John, it isn't true. Haven't I opened the door at Mrs. Trescott's for three years, ever since Davis went away? And shouldn't I be likely to know it, if she had been so intimate there as she says? And I don't believe it's any more true of the Daltons."
"She may have become intimate with them since you came away."
"Not she! Mrs. Trescott never has such intimacies with any one. It is not her way. I never knew her to be on any but good terms with her neighbours; but none of them were in the habit of running in, in that unceremonious way,—not even the Miss Daltons, who were Miss Catherine's most intimate friends,—and cousins beside.
"Then she told how she went out shopping with Kate Trescott and Bessie Dalton, to buy the very dress she had on, and how Kate had said she liked such a thing as that, because very few people fancied it: it was not a thing that every servant-girl would be getting. (Miss Catherine making such a speech as that!) Then she talked about the style of housekeeping among these grand friends of hers, little thinking whom she had for an auditor;—and certainly she told me some news. She said the Trescotts kept two man-servants all the time; and four girls, and that Bessie Dalton kept a carriage and footman of her own. I am sure I may say that she does not tell the truth; and I believe that a person who will lie about one thing will lie about another. Besides, she told scandalous stories about other people that I don't believe she ever spoke to in her life, as though the circumstances had occurred within her own knowledge."
"How did Agnes like her?"
"They seemed very much taken with each other, I thought. Agnes, you know, cares a great deal for dress and such matters. I foresee that they are likely to become very intimate."
Letty's prophecy proved true. Agnes and Mrs. Van Horn were always running backward and forward across the road, bareheaded, leaning over each other's gate, to gossip confidentially about various matters, and going shopping together. Mrs. Van Horn spent a great deal of money, and never hesitated to use her credit when her purse failed; and Letty found she was leading her cousin into expensive habits. Agnes discovered that her last winter's shawl was not nearly warm enough, and that she must have a new cloth cloak,—a circular cloak being, as every one knows, warmer than a shawl. Her bonnet, too, was remodelled and retrimmed with new and very expensive feathers and flowers; and then a new dress became imperatively necessary.
Joe grumbled a little at these expenses; but he had a strong desire that his wife should be genteel; and he was much flattered by her intimacy with Mrs. Van Horn. So he was easily brought to see that she must dress in such style that her new friends need not be ashamed of her. Mr. Van Horn, too, was very affable, and now and then invited Joe to smoke one of his fine cigars with him, and sometimes condescended to borrow a dollar of him when they met at the market.
The little English girl found more and more work put upon her shoulders every day; and Letty really pitied the patient creature. Her mother lived in the neighbourhood; but Agnes seldom found that she could spare Sally to run home even for a few minutes on Sunday, she had so much to do. Letty saw very little of Agnes now; but she ventured to remonstrate one day, when she saw Sally lifting a large kettle off the fire.
"You shouldn't let that child lift such heavy weights alone," said she, when Sally left the room. "Such young girls are easily hurt by overdoing their strength, and the injury may last for a lifetime."
"I don't think Sally hurts herself," said Agnes, carelessly. "She must expect to work if she lives out at all. I suppose you used to do such things when you lived at Mrs. Trescott's: didn't you?"
"Not at her age," replied Letty. "Mrs. Trescott was always very careful about such matters. Sally is growing very fast, and—"
"Really, Letty, I don't think I need your advice in managing my household," interrupted Agnes, warmly. "When I do, I will ask for it. I don't want any one interfering in my family."
"I have no desire to interfere in any way," said Letty.
"Then don't do it! Mind your own affairs, and I will mind mine!" said Agnes, tartly.
Letty left the room without speaking. She felt very much hurt. Agnes had always been in the habit of coming to her in the most unceremonious way whenever she needed assistance. Letty had made half her baby-clothes for her, and had washed and dressed Madge every morning till she was two months old.
Agnes came to her to borrow ever thing she wanted, and often to her no little inconvenience; and Letty really thought she might venture a word of advice without being considered as taking a liberty. She went home fully determined never again to intrude herself on Agnes in any such way. In the course of the same afternoon, Agnes came over with her hands full of work.
"Just look here, Letty, how I have burned the front breadth of my plaid silk! What in the world shall I do with it? Would you try to mend it, or would you take it out altogether?"
"Really, Agnes," said Letty, "I could not venture to advise you, after what you said to me this morning. I don't like to be told to mind my own business."
"Nonsense, child!" said Agnes, assuming an air of superior wisdom. "Don't be so touchy."
"I am not touchy, as you very well know," replied Letty, with spirit. "If I had been, I should have quarrelled with you long ago. I gave you a simple piece of advice about your girl, and in return you insulted me. If John were to know what you said to me this morning, he would never let me go into your house again."
"But, Letty, when I am willing to forgive and forget, why should not you be willing also?"
"What had you to forgive?" asked Letty. "You must not think that you are going to say just what you like to people, and nothing be said in return. I am willing to advise you about your dress, if you wish it; but you must make up your mind that, if we are to continue friends, you must do your share. People who would have friends must show themselves friendly."
Agnes protested that was what she wished,—that she was sorry she had hurt Letty's feelings,—but no one ever minded her; and, besides, she had so many troubles of her own, she added, with a sigh, that she supposed they did make her irritable sometimes. She concluded by again asking Letty's opinion about the dress.
"My first advice would be, not to wear silk dresses about the kitchen-stove, and to wear an apron when you are about your work," said Letty. "You will never keep any thing decent till you learn to do that."
Agnes came very near again telling Letty to mind her own business; but she thought of the burned silk, and refrained.
"If I were you," continued Letty, "I should cut out this burned part, match a piece on, and then turn the skirt round. By taking pains enough, you can mend it so that it will never show."
"What a piece of work!" exclaimed Agnes. "Can't you take it and mend it for me, Letty? You sew so much faster and better than I can; and I want to go down street with Mrs. Van Horn."
"I have no time," replied Letty. "I have begun to cut out some shirts, and I cannot leave them till they are finished; and I have my own mending to do. Besides, I want to go and walk myself. Dr. Woodman was here yesterday, and he says I stay in the house more than is good for me, and that I ought to walk every day."
"Of course!" said Agnes, pettishly. "Any thing rather than help me!"
"That is unjust, Agnes, and you know it. How many days have I spent in sewing for you in the course of last summer?"
"Dear me! You need not fire up again. You are growing so particular, one cannot speak to you!"
Letty did not answer, but set about her own work in silence. Agnes fidgeted a while, now taking up a book and reading a little, now looking out of the window, and now gazing hopelessly at the unfortunate dress. Finally, she took a pair of scissors from Letty's basket and began slowly ripping off the skirt.
"I wonder why Mrs. Trescott did not call on Mrs. Van Horn when she was here yesterday?" she said, presently.
"Mrs. Trescott does not know Mrs. Van Horn."
"Why, Letty, what do you mean? Mrs. Van Horn says that family are her most intimate friends; she is always talking about them."
"I know that. I heard all she said the day we called there. I did not believe it then, because I know it is not Mrs. Trescott's habit to form such sudden and violent intimacies with any one. Still, I did not wish to say any thing till I knew certainly. So, yesterday, when Mrs. Trescott was here, I asked her if she was acquainted with Mrs. Van Horn."
"Well," said Agnes, eagerly, "and what did she say?"
"She said she believed she had seen her," replied Letty, laughing. "The people who rented the brown-stone house took boarders, and she had heard Mrs. Van Horn mentioned as one of them. At first she thought that was all she knew; but, when I described her, she said she thought Mrs. Van Horn called one day to inquire about the rent of one of Mr. Trescott's houses on the Avenue."
"Well, I declare!" ejaculated Agnes. "So all that was made up! Why, she told me only last night that she had taken a long walk with Miss Charlotte Dalton, and had gone there to dinner."
"Worse and worse!" said Letty, laughing, "Why, Agnes, Miss Dalton has not walked farther than across the road to Mrs. Trescott's since I knew her; and that is seven years this fall. She was hurt somehow in the riding-school when she was quite a little girl, and has never walked since. It is only at her best that she can go as far as Mrs. Trescott's."
"Well, if ever! I thought there was something odd about her always going out of church before the sermon."
"Yes; she cannot sit up long on a seat with a straight back. But you would be surprised to see how much work she accomplishes. She has a Sunday-school class,—only the girls always come to her at home—"
"But to think Mrs. Van Horn should have told such a story!" interrupted Agnes. "What do you suppose she could be thinking of?"
"Not of telling the truth, certainly," said Letty. "But I suspect that is the last thing she troubles her head about. You know now why I would not say I liked her."
"After all, Letty, it was only a little bit of romancing," said Agnes, after a pause. "It was not telling a lie, exactly."
"I don't know what you mean by romancing. It seems to me that when a person says what is not true, with the intention of deceiving, that is nothing less than a lie."
"Then you think the intention makes the lie?"
"Of course it does," said Letty. "If I tell Gatty a story about how Ginger went to visit another cat, and what they said to each other, and what a dog said to them, there is no lie in that. Gatty knows very well that kittens and dogs cannot talk. But if I were tell her that some great lady gave me Ginger,—intending thereby to show that I was on very intimate terms with that great lady,—that would be a lie."
"Well, I must say, I wonder how you held your tongue that day," said Agnes. "I should have spoken right out."
"What good would that have done?"
"I don't know that it would have done any good; but it would have mortified her. Besides, it might have made her more careful another time."
"True, it might have had that effect; though I think it doubtful. A person who carries such a habit to Mrs. Van Horn's age is not easily cured. But you must remember, Agnes, that I was not quite sure. I had been away from Mrs. Trescott's almost a year, and I could not tell what might have happened in that time; though, from what I knew of the habits of the family, I thought the story very improbable."
"Well, Letty, I must say, it would be a good thing if every one in the world were as careful in speaking about people as you are," said Agnes, feelingly. "See, I have ripped all that, as you told me. What shall I do now?"
"Put it away, and go to walk with me," said Letty, "and to-morrow I will show you how to match the plaids."
"I don't see how I can; though truly I should like it, Letty. You see, I promised to go shopping with Mrs. Van Horn, and she will expect me and wait for me."
"Of course you must keep your engagement," said Letty. She longed to add a caution against being led into extravagance by her companion's example,—but refrained. She felt that such a caution might do harm rather than good.
For a little while the intimacy between Agnes and her new friend seemed to be cooling off; but it soon became warm again. There was a fascination about Mrs. Van Horn's society which Agnes found it impossible to resist. In truth, she was a skilful flatterer, and exercised her talent even where there was nothing to be gained by it, merely, as it appeared, "to keep her hand in." They soon came to calling each other by their Christian names, to exchanging embraces and kisses, and holding long, confidential conferences.
Agnes now seldom came into Number Ten, except when she had a favour to ask; and both she and Joseph assumed a certain air of superiority, which annoyed John and amused Letty exceedingly.
Shortly after the holidays, little Sally's mother took her home.
"I am sorry to do it, ma'am," she said Agnes; "but the work is altogether too hard for the child. She grows pale and thin, and has a pain in her side and shoulder all the time, and I think she is growing crooked. I cannot well afford to keep her at home; but I can still less afford to have her sick,—perhaps for life."
Agnes was very much annoyed, and had something to say about the impertinence of the "lower classes." She did not find another girl immediately, and was, consequently, obliged to be more at home.
At last she fell into the habit of carrying little Madge over to Number Ten and leaving her with Letty, while she went down-town, or to a concert or other evening entertainment.
Letty was fond of the baby; and, though it necessarily made her some trouble, she did not complain; but after she had twice been kept up till two o'clock in the morning, once while the parents were out on a sleigh-ride, and again while they were at a party,—John rebelled.
"I am not going to have this any longer, Letty!" he said, decidedly, next morning, when Letty's pale cheeks and untasted breakfast showed the headache she would fain have concealed. "Agnes is as well as you, and stronger; and there is no sense in your wearing yourself out in doing her work."
"But, John—"
"But, Letty, I won't; and that is just all about it. If Agnes wished you to take Madge now and then while she went to church, or out to take the air, I should say nothing against it. Such things are all fair and proper between friends and relations,—not to say neighbours; but as to your holding and carrying that fractious baby till two o'clock, that her mother may figure at a ball, where, in my opinion, she has no business to be at all,—there is no sense nor reason in it. You need not disturb yourself," he added, smiling. "I take all the responsibility. Just say, when she asks you, that I have forbidden it."
And Letty did say so, the very next week, when Agnes wished to go to a concert. And Agnes wondered that people could be so selfish, and wondered what she should do, and wondered that Letty could say John was not tyrannical when he laid his commands on her in that way, and finally went over to tell her sorrows to Mrs. Van Horn. That lady exclaimed and sympathized and pitied; but she never offered to let her girl take care of Madge, as Agnes had hoped: so Agnes, for once, had to stay at home.
The next week she found another girl, not so promising in appearance as Sally, but stronger; and after that she felt herself at liberty to run abroad as much as she pleased.
Letty often wondered how she dared to leave the child; but the time was past when she could venture to remonstrate with her cousin.
One day, when Letty was very busy looking over her domestic affairs and putting them in perfect order, Mrs. Van Horn came in. The little parlour was occupied with various pieces of work; but Letty made room for her visitor, and sat down to entertain her. Mrs. Van Horn had something on her mind, and, after several hints and innuendoes, delivered herself to this effect:—
She thought Mrs. Caswell ought to know what people said about her. She had thought it her duty as a friend to come and tell her. Not that she believed it, of course,—she had told everybody so,—but—and here she stopped, and looked more mysterious than ever.
Letty was rather weak and nervous, and this sort of communication agitated her considerably. Her colour changed, and her hands trembled, as she begged Mrs. Van Horn to explain.
That lady, delighted to see the effect of her words, kept her auditor in suspense some time longer, as she declared that she would not hurt Mrs. Caswell's feelings for the world. It was very unpleasant for any one in her situation; she was rather sorry she had said any thing; but every one was talking—and here she made another pause.
Letty was now on the verge of tears; but she restrained herself, and waited in silence for the mystery to be explained; and it came at last.
Mrs. Van Horn had actually heard it said that Mrs. Caswell, before her marriage, was a servant—neither more nor less than a common servant—in some family in the upper part of the city!
Letty could not restrain a laugh, which had, perhaps, something nervous in it; and Mrs. Van Horn looked rather uneasy, but laughed in her turn.
"Of course I knew you would be amused: that is always the best way to treat these things," said she. "I assure you I shall contradict the story everywhere."
"Pray, don't," said Letty, partly resuming her gravity. "It would not be at all worth your while."
"Oh, but I assure you it is no trouble; and, if it were, I do not mind trouble where my friends are concerned."
"But, Mrs. Van Horn, there is another reason for not contradicting the story:—it is quite true. I did live put for some years. I went to Mrs. Trescott's when I was fourteen, and stayed there till I was married; and I am quite sure no one could have a better home. Mrs. Trescott is the kindest friend I have in the world."
It was now Mrs. Van Horn's turn to look blank; but, like a skilful strategist, she determined to make the best of a very awkward position.
"Dear me! Who could have believed it? Not but that I always thought there was something familiar in your face and manners. I dare say I have seen you there; or perhaps it is only because you have caught some of Mrs. Trescott's ways, as you naturally would, living there so long. Poor woman! I am afraid she is not as happy in her family as one could wish. Perhaps you can tell me about the matter. It was commonly reported that Mr. and Mrs. Trescott had a grand quarrel, which was the occasion of his going off to Europe so suddenly a year ago. It was said that he objected to her spending so much on her poor relations, and declared that he would not be burdened with the support of the whole Dalton tribe: they might take care of themselves. I believe, too, she objected to his running after mediums so much. I have heard, on the best authority, that he is really a spiritualist, and goes to a clairvoyant for advice as to all his business matters. I understand that when his nephews want to get money out of him, they go and bribe this woman; and Mr. Trescott does just what she tells him."
Letty indignantly denied the truth of all these stories. She wondered how such scandals grew up.
Mrs. Van Horn wondered too, and related several more of the same sort, just to show what people would say. She then asked if Letty would be so very kind as to give her a glass of water. Her sharp eyes had caught sight of something which she wished to examine a little more closely.
Letty was not gone quite so long as she was expected to be, and returned to find her visitor closely examining the marks of a pile of rather fine handkerchiefs,—a part of Maria's wardrobe which Mrs. Trescott had given her.
Mrs. Van Horn looked confused at first, but soon recovered herself; while Letty coloured at the impertinence,—a circumstance which Mrs. Van Horn did not fail to observe.
"What beautiful marking!" said she, coolly holding the handkerchief to the light. "I never saw any thing nicer!"
"It is very neat," said Letty; "but here are some which are more curious still:" and she showed her one of the fine towels before mentioned, and marked with the name of Anastasia Burchell in most elaborate cross-stitch. "One does not often see any thing like that now-a-days."
"No, indeed! Nor such superb damask, either!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Horn, with enthusiasm. "I declare, they are the handsomest towels I ever saw! And such an immense size! How beautifully they are done up! They look like new!"
"They have never been used since I had them," said Letty, glad to divert the woman's attention to something which was not slander. "Here are some table-cloths of the same sort." And she displayed her treasures to the admiring eyes of Mrs. Van Horn, who observed every thing closely and went away with her head full of a new idea.
"It is a likely story that any one ever gave her those things!" she said to herself. "People don't make such presents to kitchen-girls. I dare say she knew how to help herself. After all, she did not deny, in so many words, that Trescott and his wife quarrelled. I dare say it is true. People that pretend to such wonderful goodness are just the ones to be up to all sorts of mischief."
THE WILL.
MRS. VAN HORN did not call upon Letty again; and, when she went to return the visit she had received, the lady was not "at home." But she continued upon the most intimate terms with Agnes. Letty was more than ever convinced that she was not a safe person; but she was grieved at the change in Agnes's feelings, and made several attempts to regain some influence over her. Letty fancied, too, that several of her neighbours looked coolly upon her and once, as she passed a knot of them, there was a laugh and a significant whisper that she could not overlook. She could not help suspecting that Mrs. Van Horn's influence lay at the bottom of the matter; nor was she mistaken.
Letty's baby was born in May. Her confinement was attended with much suffering, and she was considered in some danger for several hours. Mrs. Trescott came down early in the morning, and stayed the whole day, greatly to the comfort of Letty, who regarded her as an infallible oracle in all cases of sickness. In the afternoon, when Letty was comparatively comfortable and had fallen asleep, Mrs. De Witt, who had been with her from the beginning, beckoned Mrs. Trescott out of the room.
"I wish you would come over to my house," said she, rather mysteriously. "I have something to say to you, and I don't want any of 'em to hear a word,—particularly Mrs. Caswell. It's been on my mind a good many days," she continued, opening the door for her visitor, "and I wanted some one's advice that knows more than I do; for I really don't think such things ought to be allowed to go on,—only one don't know how to stop 'em, always."
"Well," said Mrs. Trescott, surprised, and somewhat amused, "I will advise you to the best of my ability. What's the matter?"
"It's about Mrs. Caswell herself," said Mrs. De Witt, sitting down, and, in her extraordinary earnestness, coming to the point at once, without any of her customary circumlocution. "You see, she has a good many handkerchiefs and things marked with your daughter's name, and some very fine towels and table-cloths marked with another name,—Anastasia something."
"Anastasia Burchell? Yes. Those things were given her for wedding-presents, by my aunt and myself. My daughter was very much attached to Letty, and at the time of her death I laid by a number of articles of her wardrobe, such as I thought would be useful to Letty, meaning to give them to her whenever she should leave me."
"Exactly," said Mrs. De Witt. "I understand. Well, Mrs. Van Horn was in there one day when Letty was pulling out all her drawers and putting her things in order, and she got hold of some of these very articles. So, what does she do but go all around the neighbourhood, telling every one that Mrs. Caswell stole those things from you, and that you told her yourself that you knew Letty stole, but, as she was a member of the church and going away so soon, you thought you would take no notice!"
"That I told her!" exclaimed Mrs. Trescott, in profound amazement. "Why, Mrs. De Witt, I never spoke to the woman more than once in my life. I hardly know her by sight."
"Do tell!" said Mrs. De Witt. "Why, she is always bragging how intimate she is at your house,—and so on," remembering in time that all Mrs. Van Horn's stories would not bear repetition. "Anyhow, she has told this story about Mrs. Caswell all over the neighbourhood, and a good many people believe it."
"Where does this person live?" asked Mrs. Trescott, with a flash in her eyes which, to those who knew her, betokened mischief. "I should like to see her."
Mrs. De Witt pointed out the house. "See, there she is now at the gate, talking to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Clarke and Martha Wilbur. She has got some new story in hand, I'll be bound, by the way she nods her head."
Mrs. Trescott had laid a light scarf over her head to come through the garden. "Come with me, Mrs. De Witt," said she, decidedly.
The two crossed the road, and stood in the midst of the gossiping group almost before they were seen.
"Mrs. Van Horn, I believe?" said Mrs. Trescott, addressing the woman,—who looked as if she did not know whether to be pleased or frightened, as she bowed her head.
"I understand," said Mrs. Trescott, in clear, quiet tones,—"I understand that you have spread a report about this neighbourhood, to the effect that Mrs. Letitia Caswell, who formerly lived with me, stole certain articles, marked with my daughter's name, now in her possession."
"I'm sure I don't remember," stammered Mrs. Van Horn. "I only said it was odd how she came by them,—or something like that."
"Why, Mrs. Van Horn, how can you say so?" exclaimed Martha Wilbur, a pert girl of fifteen, who was rejoicing in the prospect of a scene and very ready to help it on. "I am sure you said at our house that Mrs. Trescott told you herself how Mrs. Caswell stole those things, and about all the other trouble she had made in the family. It was the same night when you told us how you had just been out riding with Mrs. Trescott in her new carriage, and how she asked you to go to Washington with her."
"Martha is right," said Mrs. Clarke. "I heard Mrs. Van Horn say all these things myself."
"I have only to say," said Mrs. Trescott, turning to the bystanders, "that the story is perfectly false from beginning to end. Letty lived with me eight years, and was to me more like a younger sister than a servant. I would have trusted her with any amount of money. She is beyond all question one of the most truthful, faithful persons I ever had any thing to do with. The articles in question were given her by me, as a kind of legacy from my daughter Maria; and the damask towels which excited so much attention were a present from my aunt, Mrs. Burchell. As to this person," she added (turning to Mrs. Van Horn), "I do not know her, nor, may I add, have I any desire to make her acquaintance." And, with a dignified bow, Mrs. Trescott turned away, and walked back to Number Ten, followed by Mrs. De Witt.
"Well, if ever!" exclaimed Martha Wilbur.
"Oh, you needn't mind what she says," said Mrs. Van Horn, recovering herself a little, and the instinct of lying, as usual, coming uppermost. "Mrs. Trescott is queer at times," she added, in a mysterious whisper. "Very likely she will be all right to-morrow, and as good friends as ever. There is insanity in the family; and she has so many domestic troubles, it is no wonder."
"Well, now, I think I wouldn't say any more about Mrs. Trescott, if I was you," said plain-spoken Mrs. Clarke. "I have known all about her family for years, and there never was any such thing the matter with them. For my part, I take shame to myself for ever having listened to such stories about Mrs. Caswell; though I never did believe half of them. Suppose she had died this morning: how should some of us be feeling now about the way we have treated her lately,—a woman who has never done any thing but good to one of us? It will be a lesson to me for my whole life; and I hope, Martha, it may be the same to you."
It was so far a lesson to Martha that she lost no time in spreading the story of Mrs. Van Horn's defeat from one end of the street to the other, and several doors round the corner. A good many people chuckled over the lady's discomfiture, and declared that it served her right. Others felt sorry for her, and thought the lesson a severe one; as indeed it was.
Agnes declared that it was a shame all round, and that she did not believe Mrs. Van Horn meant any harm, or ever said half of what was attributed to her. She insisted that it was Mrs. De Witt who had made all the fuss, by telling Mrs. Trescott, and that it would have died out of itself if she had only held her tongue.
Letty heard nothing of the matter till very long afterwards; and John never heard of it at all.
Mrs. Van Horn kept herself very quiet for some time, and was never afterwards heard to boast of her acquaintances on the Avenue. She confided to Agnes that she would never speak to Mrs. Trescott again, as long as she lived,—a resolution which she was not likely to have much difficulty in keeping,—and that she would never again have any thing to do with the Myrtle Street people. It served her right for mixing herself up with such a low set, she said,—adding, pathetically, that she never did try to do people good without having cause to be sorry for it.
Letty's boy was rather a delicate little fellow, and was, indeed, not nearly so fine a baby as Madge; but, then, he was a boy, and Agnes thought she was somewhat injured. But Joe avowed himself perfectly satisfied, and declared, as he tossed the sturdy little thing up to the ceiling, that he would not change his Magpie for all the boys in the world,—all of which Agnes set down as want of sympathy.
But as the weeks went on, the little boy improved; and at two months old, though still small, was as plump and rosy as a mother could wish, while he already displayed, according to Letty, unusual sagacity.
Gatty De Witt was half out of her senses with delight. She had always longed for a little brother or sister; and Letty gave her full permission to call the new-comer her brother. She spent half her time out of school by his crib or holding him in her arms; and the daily task of sewing or knitting, which her mother rigorously exacted, no longer seemed tedious, if she might only sit where she could see the baby. Then came the grand question of his name. Gatty proposed all sorts of names; but Letty had long ago made up her mind that if a boy were given to her, he must be called Alexander Trescott, and Alexander Trescott it was.
"But that is such a long name for such a short baby," said Gatty.
"You know we can call him Alick till he grows longer," suggested John, gravely,—"or Sandy, if you like it better."
"Sandy!" exclaimed Gatty, indignantly. "Mr. Logan's Scotch terrier is named Sandy; and he is an ugly little thing. I don't mind Alick, though."
Alick was born on the second day of May, and Letty was growing quite strong and well again, when a neighbour of Aunt Eunice's called one day with sad news. The old lady had been found dead in her bed that morning. The funeral was appointed for the next day, and one and all the relations were asked to attend it. John went out at once to assist in the necessary arrangements, and the others were to go on the day of the funeral. Agnes came over in the afternoon to talk about it.
"I suppose you will go, of course?" said she, after a little pause.
"No," replied Letty. "John does not think it best. You know I have not been very strong lately; and he is afraid of my making myself sick. I am very much disappointed; but I suppose he is right."
"I don't believe it would hurt you," said Agnes.
"Nor I; but still it might."
"And so kind as Aunt Eunice has always been to you, too!" continued Agnes. "It will look very odd for you to stay at home. If I were you, I would set my foot down and go, whether or not."
"You don't know John, or you would not talk in that way. When he once makes up his mind, that is all about it. However, I do suppose he would let me go, if I really insisted upon it, this time; but I don't like to take the responsibility; and, then, I don't want to worry him. Suppose the baby should be sick after it: how should I feel!"
"Nonsense! It won't hurt him. Babies are not so easily made sick as men suppose. If you were to listen to Joe, you would think that Madge ought to be kept under a glass case and only taken out upon fine days. For my part, I believe in making them hardy. Here comes Mrs. Trescott. Now, I shall just ask her; for I really do not think it looks decent for you to stay at home."
Mrs. Trescott was appealed to accordingly. Much to Agnes's disappointment, and perhaps a little to Letty's, she sustained John's decision. "It is raw, damp weather, and Letty has not been well. A little cold might easily make her sick; and there is not only her own health, but the baby's, to be considered. Ask yourself, Letty, what Aunt Eunice would say."
"Oh, I know you are right," said Letty; and the tears filled her eyes. "But I did feel as though I wanted to see her once more."
"The feeling is a natural one," said Mrs. Trescott; "but look at it in another way. Aunt Eunice is not there,—only, so to speak, the cast-off clothes which she has worn and done with. You will now remember her as you saw her last,—well and happy, with the light of a loving spirit in her eye and the hue of health on her cheek. Is there not some comfort in that?"
"I think she was one of the most beautiful old women I ever saw," said Agnes.
"Her beauty came from within," replied Mrs. Trescott. "It was the spirit which shone in her eyes and smiled in her mouth that gave her face its charm. She always seemed to live, as it were, in the sunshine of God's presence. I never spent an hour in her company without feeling myself the better for it. She seemed to carry about with her an atmosphere of peace and truth, which did good to all who came within its influence."
"Yes, indeed," said Agnes, rather to Letty's surprise. "If one could always live with such people, it would be easy to be good; but when one's daily companions are the very reverse of that, one cannot help being influenced by them. I am sure I feel it so every day of my life," she added, with the usual sigh.
"Yet some of the most lovely Christian characters have grown up under just such influences as those you describe," remarked Mrs. Trescott.
"May-be so; but it is very hard work," said Agnes. "Well, Letty, I must go home and get ready. I am sorry you cannot go; but perhaps it is for the best. John is so indulgent and kind that you must not mind his setting up his will against yours once in a while. It is daily contradiction and selfishness which wear one out."
"What does Agnes mean by talking in that way?" said Mrs. Trescott, after she had gone. "Doesn't she live happily with her husband? Is he an irreligious man?"
"I believe he is rather the more serious of the two,—though that is not saying much," replied Letty; "but he and Agnes have taken up an unfortunate way of talking about each other. They are always complaining,—especially Agnes. I think Mrs. Van Horn encourages her to do so. I always stop her short as soon as I can; but she thinks I have no sympathy with her."
"I wonder if Aunt Eunice made a will?" said Joseph to his wife, as they were riding out next day. "She must have been pretty well off."
"You know she had the farm only for her lifetime," replied Agnes.
"Yes; but I understand that all the furniture and stock were hers; and one would think she must have laid up money."
"She always gave away a good deal," said Agnes. "And if she had any property, I dare say it is left to some institution or other,—very likely to the 'Old Ladies' Home.' She was always sending them butter and other things. But it's hardly right to be talking of such matters now."
"Only it's as well to think about them,—and natural, too."
"Natural to some people," said Agnes; "but not to me, I am sure. I never thought of speculating on the poor old lady's property. But you are so worldly, Joseph! You never seem to care for any thing else."
Joe muttered that he didn't think he any worse than other people in that respect, only he never set himself up to be much.
It turned out that Aunt Eunice had something to leave, and also that she had made a will. Her personal property amounts to more than five thousand dollars. Of this, nine hundred was left to each of the girls, and the use of the remainder to Mrs. Train for her life, to be divided at her death between Agnes and Letty.
The furniture, linen, china, &c.—all the contents of the house, in fact—were left to Letty; "as I am well assured," the testator went on to say, "that she will value them as they deserve." That unlucky ironing-sheet! Aunt Eunice had always intended to make an equal division of all these matters between her two grand-nieces; but the sight of her fine linen reduced to such base uses at last, changed her mind.
A gray crape shawl was left to Mrs. De Witt, and to her husband, a venerable Dutch copy of Calvin's "Institutes," which would have been a prize to any book-collector in the land. Even little Gatty received a remembrance, in the shape of a shepherd and shepherdess of Dutch china, the admiration of several successive generations of children.
Agnes was very much annoyed. Not that she cared so much for Aunt Eunice's quaint, old-fashioned furniture, or her Indian-chintz bed and window curtains; but there were certain spoons and ladles of heavy, solid silver, and a teapot of the same metal, which, transformed into more fashionable shapes, would have been a great ornament to her tea-table. Agnes's spoons were only plated, and, as she pathetically expressed it, it did seem mysterious that Letty, who had a dozen of real silver spoons already, should get so many more. It was always the way in this world, she added, with a sigh, as though longing for a world where spoons should be more equally distributed.
Joe was very provoking, too. He did not care any thing about the spoons,—Letty was welcome to them and to all the rest; and he even said that he didn't wonder at it, for Letty did know how to take care of her things,—a great deal better than they did. He didn't wonder, either, that Aunt Eunice thought so, seeing what a mess Agnes was in the day she came to see them; and then he put on a grave expression, and reminded Agnes that some people never seemed to care for any but worldly things, and that she ought to be thinking of something better.
In a short time the furniture was brought into town and set up in Letty's parlour and front chamber,—the latter apartment never having been furnished before. Very snug and comfortable it looked, with its old, carved mahogany bedstead and bureau, its chintz hangings, and chairs covered with birds and flowers unknown to science, with little Chinamen in attitudes anatomically impossible, and landscapes utterly inconsistent with the laws of gravitation.
Agnes contrasted all this with Mrs. Van Horn's new green-and-gold chamber set, and declared the room was horrid,—enough to give one the nightmare but Catherine Trescott was in ecstasies, and declared that she should come and stay with Letty for the mere pleasure of sleeping under those curtains.
The tall clock also arrived safely. A wonderful clock it was, endowed with surprising powers, of which Gatty was half afraid; for it not only struck the hours and half-hours and the quarters, but it also showed the age of the moon, by means of a great face which looked through a kind of window; and—wonder of wonders!—it had a glass case at the top, under which was a ship in full sail, which actually rose and fell on a wave,—just like a real ship, said Gatty, whose knowledge of maritime affairs was quite limited. This precious clock was believed to have come from Holland in some unknown age before the Revolution.
The store of household linen was really very valuable; for Aunt Eunice had inherited, as I said, the spinnings and weavings of two or three generations of thrifty Dutch and New England women. A good deal of it was of very fine quality; and Letty certainly felt a considerable accession of respectability as she put away the carefully assorted piles in Aunt Eunice's bureaus and clothed the pillows on her own bed with linen. A closet opening out of the parlour held the old-fashioned Canton and Dutch china, as well as the queensware bowls and jars filled with various sweetmeats which had fallen to her share.
When all was arranged, Letty took a pot of preserved peaches and another of raspberry jam, and set out to carry them over to Agnes. As she reached the half-open door, she paused a moment to shake down her dress, which she had held up in crossing the street; and, as she did so, she heard Mrs. Van Horn's voice say, in a decided manner,—
"Oh, yes: you may depend upon it, it was her doing. She got round the old lady in some way or other. Very likely she told her stories about you. Those pious people are always up to such doings."
Letty heard no more. She opened the door, and confronted the speaker with the words on her lips. Both Mrs. Van Horn and Agnes looked confused, and the latter coloured deeply. She had a trick of blushing which made some people think she was very modest and sensitive.
"Dear me, Letty! How you do come in on one, like a spirit!" said Agnes, peevishly. "Why couldn't you knock?"
"For a very good reason:—because I had both my hands full, and the door was open," replied Letty, smiling. "Pray, when did you begin to be so ceremonious, Agnes? If you make a point of it, I will set down my jars, go back and perform the ceremony properly. Perhaps you would like to have me send in a card!"
"Nonsense! What a fuss you make!" (It was always somebody else who made the fuss, according to Agnes.) "What have you there?"
"I have brought you some of Aunt Eunice's sweetmeats," replied Letty. "They are very nice; and I know Joe likes such things."
"I think Aunt Eunice might have left me part of them herself," said Agnes. "It is very odd that she should have left every thing to you. I believe some one must have prejudiced her against me."
"Who?" asked Letty, looking her cousin full in the face.
Agnes was not prepared with an answer to such a direct question. She was fond of dealing in hints and innuendoes; but she rather shrunk from an open war with Letty, who, gentle as she was, had a straightforward way of standing her ground, not very easy to encounter.
Mrs. Van Horn came to her help.
"Now, dear Agnes, pray don't disturb yourself! So nervous and sensitive as you are, you ought to be careful. I don't wonder you feel keenly the injustice of your aunt's will. Of course it is not the value of a parcel of old rubbish, which no one with a particle of taste would have in the house; but no one likes to be treated with unkindness. No doubt, however, the old lady was quite childish when she made that addition to her will,—if, indeed, she ever made it at all." And with this parting shot, Mrs. Van Horn sailed away.
"How can you endure that woman?" said Letty, looking after the retreating figure some disgust.
"You don't like her, that is clear; she is rather too much for you," said Agnes, with an ill-natured laugh.
"Naturally I don't," replied Letty. "When a woman calls me a thief, and tells several lies to sustain the accusation, it does certainly give me a prejudice against her."
"Mrs. Van Horn was wrong the other day, I admit," said Agnes. "She was a great deal too hasty; and she is apt to embroider a little,—that cannot be denied; but, after all, she is very kind-hearted."
"I don't understand the kindness of heart which allows people to slander their neighbours and to try to set relations against one another," said Letty. "As to Aunt Eunice, she had a right to make her will as she pleased; and, considering what she has done for your mother, I think it is not very gracious in you to find fault with her."
"Well, well, who cares?" said Agnes, impatiently. "You have got the things, and you are welcome to them. What are you going to do with your money?"
"We have not quite decided," replied Letty. "I think, however, we shall pay up the mortgage on our house and lot; then we shall be sure of a house, whatever happens; and with the rest of the money we may get the house insured, or we may let it lie by against a rainy day."
"Is that your plan, or John's?"
"Mine. I have always told John that I should not be easy till the place was paid for. 'Out of debt, out of danger,' you know."
"Well, but what danger, Letty?"
"Danger of having the mortgage foreclosed, and so losing the house and all we have laid out upon it," said Letty. "You know Mr. Grayson has the reputation—whether justly or not—of being a hard man in such matters. They say he has made a great deal of money in that way,—by allowing people to go on and make improvements, and then taking advantage of some unfortunate time to foreclose."
"But so long as you pay the interest,—"
"We may not always be able to pay the interest. Times may be bad; or John may be sick; or a dozen other things may happen."
"You are always borrowing trouble, Letty," said Agnes. "Does not the Bible say, 'Take no thought for to-morrow'?"
"Yes; and the way to avoid doing so is to take thought for to-day," said Letty, smiling. "The house once our own, there will be no more thought needed, except to pay the taxes and the insurance. The Bible says, too, 'Owe no man any thing.' And, since we are upon quotations, I will give you another,—a wise one, too, though not from the Bible:—'He that buildeth his house with other men's money is like one that gathereth together stones for his own tomb.'"
"I don't know what you mean by that," said Agnes. "The money is our own."
"Not while we honestly owe it, Agnes."
"That may be your doctrine, but it is not mine," said Agnes, lightly. And then she added, as if to turn the conversation, "Shall I turn these things out of the jars, or keep them till I want to use them."
"Keep them altogether," said Letty. "I meant you should. They are handsome old jars, and will be useful for a good many purposes."
Agnes expressed herself much obliged, and the cousins parted.
A few days later, John came home, looking both annoyed and amused.
"Has Agnes said any thing to you about their notion of building?" he asked.
"Nothing whatever," replied Letty, surprised. "What do they want to build?"
"Oh, Joe says they want another parlour. He has found out that it is very ungenteel to eat in the kitchen, and that a dining-room is a necessary of life: so they are going to build on a wing north of the entry for a grand large parlour."
"I believe they think nine hundred dollars is a perfect mine of wealth," said Letty. "Did Joe talk to you about building it for him?"
"Yes; he has been up at the shop this afternoon. I could not help advising him against it. You see, he has only made one payment on the place, and that not a large one. Joe has been behind-hand with his interest twice; and, without thinking Grayson such a sharper as people call him, he is a hard man, and I should not like to be in his power."
"Nor I."
"This addition, as they propose to finish it, will cost three or four hundred dollars, at the least calculation; then they will want new carpets and furniture, and so on."
"Exactly," said Letty. "One expense leads to another. What did you say to Joe?"
"I advised him strongly to see Grayson and pay up the mortgage before he did any thing else. He objected that it would use up nearly the whole of Aunt Eunice's legacy, and they would have nothing left for themselves."
"Nothing for themselves!" exclaimed Letty. "Why, won't they have the house for themselves?"
"So I told him; but Joe said he had that now. He believed in people enjoying themselves as they went along, and not borrowing trouble. In short, I believe the only effect of my advice will be that Joe will give the job to some one else."
"He may at least give you credit for being disinterested," said Letty. "But have you seen Mr. Grayson yourself?"
"Yes; I spoke to him to-night. He was very civil,—said there was no hurry; he thought it would be better for me to lay out the money on my business; but I told him the money was yours, and you preferred to have it used in this way.
"'What!' said he. 'In paying debts rather than in buying new furniture or finery?'
"And then he wiped his glasses a while, and said he,—
"'My good friend, let me give you one piece of advice. You make your will and leave this place to your wife; or, better still, deed it to her now: she is a woman who can be trusted; and you won't die any the sooner for having your affairs arranged.'"
John concluded rightly. The only effect of his advice was that Joseph gave his building to some one else,—a Mr. Carr. John had not a high opinion of the man, but, of course, said nothing about him. Materials were soon collected, and the work of building began. They had at first intended only to make one large room for a parlour; but Mr. Carr suggested that it would be very convenient to have a nursery down-stairs; and, now that they were about it, it would not cost much more: so the nursery was added to the original plan.
A good many little variations were made,—such as a door here and a closet there. Mrs. Van Horn thought the parlour should have a cornice; and Agnes, of course, agreed with her. Then Joe came to the conclusion that windows down to the floor were absolutely necessary. John took the liberty of reminding him that every one of these additions to the original plan was an added expense; but Joe did not take the hint in very good part. He drew himself up, thanked Mr. Caswell for his advice, but believed he knew what he was about.
Meantime, John had paid up his mortgage. It was a happy day when he brought home his papers and announced to Letty that the house was all her own. Letty made a little feast on the occasion, and invited Mr. and Mrs. De Witt, Agnes and Joseph to tea.
Joe, who had quite overcome his fit of ill humour, made himself very agreeable, discussed flowers with Mrs. De Witt, and chemistry with her husband, and praised Letty's biscuits and cakes, till she, laughingly, told him he would incite her to set up a bakery. Joe said that a school for instruction in the art would be more to the purpose, and declared he would endow a professorship for her when his ship came home.
Agnes, who chose to take all this as an imputation on herself, sighed, and took occasion to remark that, if girls only knew half of what was before them, they would never be married. She appealed to Mrs. De Witt for confirmation.
But that lady, perhaps partly actuated by a spirit of perversity, declared that she had been a great deal happier in marriage than she ever expected to be.
Thereat Mr. De Witt smiled calmly; and Agnes remarked that the ways of Providence were mysterious. Agnes's religion mostly spent itself in little expressions of this kind; which had caused Joe to remark, upon one occasion, that she was never very pious except when she was very cross.
It now became a question what was to be done with the rest of the money (about three hundred and fifty dollars) which remained after the mortgage was discharged and a few little improvements made about the place; and, after various consultations, it was concluded to deposit it in the Sixpenny Savings-Bank, to be ready against the time of need.
LOSSES.
THE new building was finished towards the autumn,—at least two months later than was promised; but who ever knew a building finished at the time appointed?
The parlour was really a very pretty room, well proportioned, high and airy. The bedroom, too, was very nice and convenient, with its shelves and cupboards, and a light closet which Agnes dignified with the name of a dressing-room. Letty almost envied her cousin that bedroom, and began to look forward to the time when she should be able to have one like it. As John had predicted, new furniture was bought for the drawing-room, and a new carpet for the bedroom,—all good and expensive; and Joe purchased at an auction a French clock, some vases for the mantelpiece, and some pictures for the walls,—oil paintings, Agnes proudly declared,—as if being oil paintings they must necessarily be all right.
When all was complete, they had a party, which was quite the most imposing affair of the sort ever witnessed in Myrtle Street. Letty remonstrated a little; but, finding that Agnes was bent upon it, she assisted her as much as she could. The supper was mostly due to her skill; and a very good supper it was, and gained a great deal of praise,—all of which Agnes accepted as though it had been justly her due.
Mrs. Van Horn was there, beautifully dressed, all blushes and smiles,—a very agreeable person to look at. She went about telling everybody how much she had helped dear Mrs. Emerson, and how nothing could have been done right but for her. To be sure, dear Mrs. Emerson had not much notion of how things ought to be done at such times; and that cousin of hers was a plague,—so conceited and stingy. She really supposed dear Mrs. Emerson had never seen much of good society; but she certainly appeared wonderfully well, considering.
"To be sure," said Martha Wilbur, who had lately devoted herself to the extinguishment of Mrs. Van Horn upon all public occasions, "she has never had the advantage of an intimate acquaintance with Mrs. Trescott and the Miss Daltons, as you have, Mrs. Van Horn!"
Letty was there, of course, dressed in her plain black silk, with a bit of old lace round the neck, which she had found among Aunt Eunice's hoards. A little pearl pin, containing Sally's hair, was her only ornament; yet, somehow (as Mrs. Van Horn confessed to herself in vexation of spirit), she looked more like a lady than any one else in the room. Graceful in manners, yet always lively and cheerful, she glided here and there,—always just where she was wanted, talking to people who seemed likely to feel neglected, making strangers acquainted with each other, and acting generally the part of the few drops of oil in a large machine, which cause every part to run smoothly.
After the party came something not quite so pleasant,—namely, paying the bills. The next Sunday evening Joseph came over to Number Nine, in great perturbation, and asked to see John.
"That fellow Carr has sent in his bill. He gave it to me yesterday. Do you believe? He has asked me six hundred and eighty dollars!—Just twice what he said the building would cost. I wish you would go over the bill with me, and tell me what you think of his charges. I am sure they are enormous."
"I will," replied John,—"but not to-night."
"Why not?" asked Joseph, surprised.
For John was sitting, without even a book in his hand, apparently doing nothing except keeping an eye on little Alick.
"It is Sunday," replied John, quietly.
"Oh!" said Joseph, a little disconcerted. "But this is not work, John."
"I think it is,—and not very easy work either. I find looking over bills and estimates about the hardest things I have to do. But, hard or easy, I make it a rule never to attend to any business on Sunday. 'Thou shalt do no manner of work,' is the commandment, you know."
"But, John, you don't always act up to it, as it seems to me. You and Letty were down at Mrs. Jones's all Sunday afternoon; and when I passed the house I saw you cutting wood, and Letty washing out some things in the shed, as busy as a bee. Isn't there some inconsistency in that?"
"I think not. You know Mrs. Jones was taken suddenly ill last Sunday morning. There was no one to take care of her, except her little daughter, who came running up here in great distress while we were at dinner, declaring that her mother was dying. You know she has not the best character in the world, and none of the neighbours will have any thing to do with her. But Letty has spoken to the little girl now and then, and I have given her things out of the garden,—nothing of any account to be sure, but enough, I suppose, to make her feel kindly towards us.
"Of course we went straight down there; and we found the woman in a deplorable state, sure enough, with no fire and no wood, and nothing else, in short, except some whiskey. So I chopped up some boards to make a fire; and Letty set to work to make the woman and her house decent before the doctor came;—not a very pleasant task, as you may guess.
"Now, that was a thing which could not be put off; and I think it came under the head of 'works of necessity and mercy,' like our Saviour's healing the sick. But this bill can be examined just as well to-morrow as to-day."
"Well, I suppose you are right," said Joe, reluctantly. "I know I don't think enough about these things. But, you see, he gave it to me last night, and I put it in my pocket and never thought of it again till just now. Then there is that party. I never thought it was going to cost so much. Agnes had her mind set upon it, and I hated to refuse her. She thinks a great deal of that sort of thing. If a thing is only fashionable, why, she must have it, cost what it will; and her mother is just so, exactly."
"Now, Joe, I won't hear you abuse my relations," said John, smiling; "and, above all, I won't hear you find fault with your wife. You know it is not right; and, besides, in this matter there is not a pin to choose between you. You were just as fierce for the party and the new parlour as she was; and you know you were vexed at me for advising you against them."
"Well, but I never thought they were going to cost so much. If I had had any idea—"
"Well, we won't talk about that now. It is time for church."
"I didn't think of going to church," said Joe.
"Oh, yes; you will go with me. Letty stays at home with the youngster now-a-days: so I am alone in the evenings. I should like to have you hear our new minister. I am sure you will like him."
"Well, I will; but I must go home and fix up a little."
And Joe actually went to church, instead of spending the Sunday evening in idleness or in fretting over his bills, and came home in much better humour.
Agnes would not go. She was tired out with the party; and, besides, as she said, she had nothing decent to wear. She did not see what possessed Joe all of a sudden. She hoped it would do him good; that was all. She was sure there was abundant room for improvement.
It was an odd thing, Letty thought, but Agnes always seemed vexed when her husband showed any inclination towards seriousness. Perhaps she felt it a reproach.
"Bring your papers to-morrow evening, and I will go over them with you," said John, as they parted; "but don't make up your mind beforehand that you have been cheated. And, Joe, think over what you have heard this evening before you go to sleep. It will do you no harm."
Monday evening brought Joseph and his papers.
John went over the bills carefully, and scrutinized every item.
"Well?" said Joseph, eagerly, as he laid down the papers.
"Well," repeated John, "really, Joe, I don't see any fault to find with the bill. Some of the items were rather high, perhaps; but in general, he asks no more than I should have asked for the same work."
"But he agreed to do it all for three hundred dollars."
"I understand that was the original contract."
"Yes."
"Have you it here?" Joe produced the contract, and John compared it with the bill. "You see, Joe, there are so many extras; and every one adds something to the cost. At first you meant to have the bedroom open from the parlour; then you concluded to have closets between; then you decided to have one of them with a window, and the other fitted with shelves and drawers, and so on; then you connected the bedroom with the kitchen by a passage—"
"Well, well, I know," interrupted Joseph, impatiently; "but surely all that could not make such a great difference."
"Then you had the parlour finished very differently from the style you proposed to me," pursued John. "You had a cornice,—and an expensive one at that,—and windows down to the floor, and long blinds, and large panes. No, Joe, I don't think Carr has cheated you; though he ought to have told you, as he went along, how much each of these alterations would cost."
"There it is!" said Joe. "He kept saying,—'Oh, that won't make much difference; that will be a mere trifle;' and so on. I didn't know,—how should I? The fact is, John, I ought not to have had Carr. I was a fool for my pains: that's all." He was silent for a few minutes, and then said, gloomily, "So you think I have nothing to do but to pay the bill?"
"I think so."
"And so all that money goes; and for what? Why, for things we might just as well have done without, after all. What are we the better for having a grand parlour?"
John did not say, "I told you so!" That was not his way. He only remarked,—
"Why, the parlour is a very pretty parlour, and the bedroom is certainly convenient, and will save Agnes a good many steps in the course of the day; and, if you wished to sell the house—"
"But I don't want to sell it," said Joe, rather impatiently. "I want a house to call my own and have my children grow up in and remember as home. And, after all," he continued, brightening up a little, "there is no hurry about the matter. Carr is willing to wait,—even to take a second mortgage, if we don't want to pay him directly."
"Now, Emerson, don't you go to doing any such thing as that!" said John, impressively. "Pay the money while it is in your hand, and then the place will be, as you say, your own. You will never find a time when it will come any easier."
"But, I tell you, that and the furniture and this wretched party together will take the whole of Aunt Eunice's legacy. We sha'n't have more than a hundred dollars left for ourselves."
"You will have the house left for yourself, won't you?" said John, a little impatiently. "You cannot eat and have your cake, fix it as you will. Take my advice. Pay Carr in the first place; then pay for your furniture, if you have not done so already; and let Grayson have the rest, as a payment on the house. That will leave you comparatively free; and, with economy, you will easily make up the rest."
"I hate economy," said Joe, sullenly;—"always scrimping here and pinching there; you cannot afford this, and you cannot afford that: there is no comfort in it."
"I confess I do not love economy for its own sake," said John, smiling. "I like to spend money as well as you,—though perhaps in a different way; but any thing is better than being in debt."
"And even if I wanted to be economical, it would be of no use," said Joe. "Agnes does not know how to save: I believe it is not in her. She wastes more provisions in a week than your wife does in a year; and, after all, we have never any thing fit to eat. Her only notion of economy is locking up the sugar-bowl. I should think her mother might have taught her something about housekeeping."
"Now, Emerson, I won't listen to any such talk as that," said John, in good humour, but decidedly. "All these expenses were as much your doing as hers; and, if I may speak plainly—"
"Go ahead."
"I think it is a downright sin for a man to talk of his wife's faults to other people. You promised in your marriage to love and honour her; and the Bible expressly commands a man to give honour to his wife. Now, it is not honouring her to expose her weakness to other people. You took her 'for better, for worse;' and you must just take the worse with the better. It would be an excellent thing both for you and Agnes if, instead of each fixing your thoughts on what the other ought to do, you would learn to think more of what you ought to do yourselves. You know we that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves. If you are wiser than Agnes,—and I don't deny it,—you ought to let that make you more forbearing and gentle, and not more exacting, towards her."
Joe took this lecture in good part. He really loved his wife, though he was often unreasonable with regard to her; and he was not ill pleased to have forbearance and gentleness urged on the ground that he was the stronger of the two. He sat silent a while, and then went back to the papers.
"There is another thing about paying this money, John. You know more will be coming by-and-by from Mrs. Train."
"It is ill waiting for dead men's shoes, Joe. Mrs. Train is as likely to live as you or I; and, besides, I am sure you would not like to feel that you were speculating on her death."
"That is true. I should feel mean about it; for the old lady has always been a good friend of mine. Well, John, I believe I will take your advice;—that is, if Aggy is willing."
Joseph went home in a very good humour, and quite determined to take John's advice.
Agnes, however, was not very well pleased. She said the money was hers, and she didn't want it all shut up in a house. Joe could pay Carr half his bill, if he wished to, and the rest could wait: they should want the money for other things.
And Joe, to whom paying money for what he had had and enjoyed was something like throwing it away, let the matter drop, saying to himself, by way of salvo, that the money really did belong to Agnes and she ought to have the use of it. There would be plenty of time. His wages were rising every day, times were good, and, if they could not make both ends meet, they might take some boarders. So that their indebtedness was really increased, instead of lessened, by Aunt Eunice's legacy.
About the middle of the winter, Agnes's second baby was born. It was a fine little boy, and really did look like her: so she was quite satisfied this time. She had been content with her mother's attendance before; but now nothing would serve but a regular nurse, recommended by Mrs. Van Horn as having a very genteel connection.