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Opposite Neighbours."Wholesale and retail," replied Agnes, arranging her veil.
"Oh, I am very well content," said Letty, smiling. "We are well off as we are, and making money. John understands and likes his trade, and it is growing better every day."
"To be sure, he is getting into business as a builder,—which is rather better," remarked Agnes. "But you never had much regard to the opinions of the world,—not half enough, in my judgment."
"I was not brought up in that way."
"No: to be sure, you never had any great chance. You never were in society at all."
"Don't you call Mrs. Trescott and the Miss Daltons pretty good society?" asked Letty, laughing in spite of herself. "I do not think you will find much better in this town. That is one advantage of living out as I did,—associating constantly with superior people. But we won't mind about my social advantages, Agnes: I am very well satisfied with them, and so is John; and, that being the case, I don't know that any others need to trouble themselves much about the matter. Well, Harry," she added, as a pale little boy, with a crutch under his arm and a card of spelling-lessons in his hand, opened the door, and stood hesitating whether to come in. "Have you come to say your lesson?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied the little fellow coming forward to Letty's side and leaning upon her lap. He was a pretty child, some six or seven years of age, but pale and thin, and with one leg shrunken and twisted so as not to touch the floor.
"Who in the world is that?" asked Agnes.
"This is Harry Mercer," said Letty, "the son of our next door neighbour. His mother happened to say to me, some days ago, that she regretted very much she had no time to hear his lessons, and dared not send him to school. I told her she might send him to me for an hour in the morning, and I would see what I could do for him. I have a great deal of time on my hands now," she added, rather sadly.
"Well, I declare, you do beat all for getting acquainted with the neighbours!" said Agnes. "Why, I never even knew who lived there. I don't visit a single family in the street, except Mrs. Van Horn; and I don't mean to, either."
"How long is it since you made that determination?" asked Letty. "When you first came here, you were glad enough to have the neighbours call upon you."
"Well, but there have been a great many changes since then,—changes in us and in everybody," said Agnes. "I can't make neighbours of people, and take an interest in them, merely because I happen to live alongside of them."
"I think the simple fact that I live alongside of them is a tolerably strong indication of Providence that I ought to take an interest in them," replied Letty. "According to the Saviour's definition, any one to whom I can do good is my neighbour."
"Oh, if you begin to talk in that style, I have done," said Agnes, to whom all religious conversation was cant. "I am no match for you there. And I am sure I don't care if you choose to put yourself on such terms with every sort of people: it is no concern of mine. It is a queer taste: that's all. Only, I should not think you would like to have such a melancholy little object as that about you. If I were his mother, I should want to hide him away where nobody could see him. I should feel so ashamed of him, I fear, I should wish he was dead, every hour in the day."
"Oh, Agnes! Don't say so!" exclaimed Letty, shocked by this thoughtless speech, as she remembered Madge. "I am sure you would never love Madge the less if she were to turn out helpless and deformed?"
"My mother loves me just as much as if I wasn't lame," said the little fellow, looking up with a flush on his pale face; "and so does Willy, and so do you: don't you, Mrs. Caswell?"
"To be sure I do," replied Letty. "I love you all the better."
"Who would have thought of his taking notice?" said Agnes,—rather ashamed.
"He notices every thing," replied Letty. "He is very bright, though he has had but little teaching. It is hard upon his mother to be so much occupied. She has to give all her time to her shop, and she does not like to have Harry with her, for fear of his taking cold: so he is alone a good deal,—more than is good for him."
"I like to live here," said Harry. "You are very good to me. When we lived over the store, we didn't know any one, hardly, and there was the no place for me to play out-of-doors, only in the street."
"When summer comes, you shall have a little garden, and some seeds to plant in it," said Letty. "That will be nice: won't it?"
"Well, I leave you to your missionary labours," said Agnes, rising. "Come and see us when you have time; though, as we don't want any particular good done to us, I suppose you don't consider us as neighbours. You might do some good, by the way, if you could persuade Madge to get on her feet again. She seems to think because she has lain in bed while she was sick, she can always lie there; and, all I can do, I cannot persuade her to sit up or try to walk."
"I do not think she can sit up or walk, Agnes," said Letty. "If I were you, I would not urge her over-much. Her back is weak from the fever; and I am afraid it will be a very long time before she will walk again."
"You don't think there is any thing really the matter?" said Agnes, sitting down again. "I thought it was only because she had fallen into the habit of lying in bed. Oh, what would become of me if Madge should turn out a cripple!"
"We will hope for the best," said Letty, kindly; "but I fear you have a sad time before you. I thought you knew what Dr. Woodman's opinion was."
"He did say something about her not walking; but I did not pay much attention to him," replied Agnes. "He is always croaking and whining. I dare say it is all his fault," she continued, finding relief, as usual, in blaming somebody else. "He is too full of his religion to attend to his patients. He is just what Celia Van Horn called him,—a smooth, psalm-singing hypocrite."
"He cannot sing a note to save his life," said Letty, amused in spite of Agnes's provoking words; "and I am sure no one ever accused him of smoothness before. I think he has been very attentive to Madge; and you know he is universally allowed to be at the head of his profession in the city. I hardly think—"
"Well, I shouldn't think you would be so ready to defend him, after he has been the death of your little boy," interrupted Agnes.
Letty answered, calmly, "I do not think, Dr. Woodman is answerable for my boy's death. Every thing was done for him that could be done; but the case was a bad one, and Alick was naturally delicate: I had very little hope of his living, from the first."
"I am sure you cannot have much feeling about it, or you would not speak of him in that quiet, indifferent manner," said Agnes. "But I suppose you think it is the will of the Lord," she added, in a tone of affected solemnity; "and that makes it all right."
"I do," replied Letty, firmly. "It is the only comfort I have. If I did not believe that this trial was sent to me by One who loves me and my child, and who cannot do wrong, I should lose my senses. If I could blame myself in any way—"
"Oh, of course you can't! You never were to blame in all your life!"
"In this case I certainly was not," said Letty. "I have the comfort of thinking that no child ever was better cared for than my Alick."
"He was a great deal too well cared for, in my opinion," said Agnes. "I dare say he might have lived if he had not been so cosseted and coddled."
"Come and read, Harry," said Letty to the little boy, who was quite absorbed in looking at the pictures in a new magazine. "Mother will be home to dinner; and then she will want her boy. Now, I hope you can spell every word this time, so we can go on to a new lesson to-morrow."
Agnes was quite offended by this evident design of Letty to cut off her further speech, which grew more and more violent.
"Never mind the lady, Harry: she is not talking to you," said Letty, as Harry looked up in amazement. "Now try that word once more. That is it. Now we will go to the next lesson," continued Letty, determined not to answer Agnes, since she well knew that, ii she trusted herself to reply, she should say too much. "There: that will do. Now you may go home; and be sure you ask mother to send the wool for the afghan, that I may begin it this afternoon."
"Oh, she has sent it!" exclaimed Harry. "Willy brought it down, and asked me to carry it over; but I forgot. I will run and fetch it this very minute."
And away he limped; while Letty went into her bedroom, put on a clean white linen apron and washed her hands.
"I dare say you let Madge run out and get cold that day she was here," said Agnes, who seemed bent on provoking Letty. "I dare say you did not take the least care of her; and now she is ruined for life. You could coddle your own boy enough; but you could not spare any care for my poor child. Do you mean to answer me, Letty Caswell? Or don't you?"
Letty was silent. She did not mean to answer.
Agnes went on, growing more and more violent; till Letty was very glad to hear Harry's crutch on the walk outside, hoping that what he brought would make a diversion; and so it proved.
"Here is the worsted," said Harry, opening the door and bringing in a great basket piled up with gay-coloured wool. "Shall I hold the skeins, Mrs. Caswell? I always hold mother's for her."
"Yes, if you like; but I shall not wind them all at once."
Now, afghans were new things in those days. Agnes had heard of them as something wonderfully elegant and fashionable, but she had never seen one; and the appearance of the wool excited a violent conflict in her mind. She wanted to find out what Letty was going to do; but she did not know how to do it consistently with her dignity.
Letty sat winding her balls as composedly as if nothing had been said by her cousin.
At length Agnes broke the silence.
"What very pretty work that is!" she exclaimed,—curiosity getting the upper hand at the sight of an afghan-needle, then a rare novelty. "Where did you learn it?"
"Mrs. Mercer taught me," replied Letty, "I am doing this for her. She has orders for two; and she cannot find time for much work in the shop. It is, as you say, very pretty work, and does not try my eyes, which have been rather weak lately."
"You don't mean to say you are doing it for the shop?" exclaimed Agnes. "I thought to be sure it was for yourself. Why, Letty Caswell!"
"Thank you: we are not quite as rich as all that," said Letty, smiling. "When I can afford to pay ten dollars for worsted, I will tell you."
"Well, if you are not the queerest person! I do hope you won't let every one know that you work for the shop. I should be mortified to death."
"I shall not publish it in the papers," replied Letty; "but, if any one asks me, I shall be apt to tell the truth. Why not?"
"If you don't see the reason yourself, there is no use in talking about it. Pray, how does John like your employing yourself in this manner?"
"Oh, he does not object. He lets me have my own way in most things, you know,—though he does set up once in a while, as he did about my having Jane to work."
"Yes, I know," replied Agnes, with an ostentatious sigh. "You are a happy woman, Letty: you ought to be very thankful."
"I am, I hope," said Letty. "God has been very good to me," she added, with tears in her eyes. "He has left me far more than he has taken away."
"Oh, yes: it is very easy to say so as long as you have every thing in your own way. Wait till you are tried as I am, and then see. But, I declare, I never saw any thing so pretty! How do you put it together? I mean to buy some worsted and begin one this very afternoon. You will show me about it: won't you?"
"Certainly," said Letty, suppressing a smile. "And, Agnes, suppose you bring Madge over with you."
"Mary can bring her over, I suppose. I should not like to be seen carrying her myself."
Letty accompanied her cousin to the door, and, to her surprise, saw John.
"What in the world brings you home in the middle of the day? You will get no dinner: I can tell you that."
"Never mind," said John, smiling. "Good news will do for dinner. Beckman will pay off all the creditors of the 'Penny Savings-Bank.' No one will lose a cent by him, after all."
"That is good news indeed," replied Letty. "How glad I am!—Not only for the money, but for the sake of Mr. Beckman himself. The poor man will be able to hold up his head again."
"Well, I declare! So you have got it all back," said Agnes. "What luck some people do have! But how came Beckman to pay?"
"Because he had a large legacy, and thought it right, I suppose, to pay his debts," replied John. "You see, Mr. Trescott was correct in saying that Beckman did not mean to be dishonest: he was only foolish in undertaking a business which he did not understand."
"Well," said Agnes, "I am glad you have your legacy back, I am sure. I only hope you will keep your money in your own hands this time, and not be misled by designing people, as you were before. Good-by, Letty. I shall be over about four."
"What has she been about?" asked John, when Agnes was out of hearing.
"Oh, never mind. Tell me when you heard all this good news."
"Mr. Street called me into his office and told me just now. He says all the claimants will be satisfied to the very last penny. Some of Beckman's friends say it would be a great deal better for him to use the money in setting himself up again in business, and that by that means he could pay off his indebtedness by degrees without such a sacrifice to himself; but he would not listen to them for a moment. He put the whole into Mr. Street's hands, that he might have it out of his own power."
In the afternoon Agnes came over, punctually, with her balls and skeins of worsted, and was soon at work on her afghan, as pleasant and cordial as possible. Like some other passionate people, she never remembered a word that she had said, after her passion was over, and wondered very much that any one else could.
Letty was not disposed to remember it, either. She knew her cousin of old; and moreover, Letty had lately found a well of peace springing up in her own heart, independent of outward circumstances,—a fountain whose clear waters no storms could disturb. God kept her mind in perfect peace, because it was stayed on Him. She was conscious that this calm light might not always be vouchsafed to her; but that did not hinder her from rejoicing in the Bridegroom's presence so long as the Bridegroom was with her.
Mary's stout arms carried Madge across the street and deposited her upon Letty's sofa. It was curious and touching to see how the strong, rough girl, who used to quarrel with and tease her from morning till night, had softened towards the child in her helpless condition. She was never weary of walking with Madge, or of cooking nice little things for her; and she would have devoted her whole time to her, if Agnes had permitted it.
"Joe told me to say he would come over to tea, Letty, if he will not be in your way. He wants to talk with John."
"Perhaps your mother would come too."
"Oh, she is busy," said Agnes, carelessly. "She could not spend the time."
"Sure, Mrs. Emerson," said Mary, "I might finish the quinces and let the old lady come over."
"You will do nothing of the kind: you have all your own work to do," returned Agnes. "It is so hard to make her know her place," said Agnes, as Mary went out. "That is the great trouble with servants in our country."
"You should be your own servant, as I am, and then you would be sure not to have any trouble in that way," said Letty.
"Why, don't you mean to keep Jane?"
"Oh, no! She only came to stay while I was sick. John insists on my having her to wash and iron, and I have no objection to that; but as to any thing else I have to do, Jane is more plague than profit. I am of the Widow Scudder's opinion about girls: I want them to stand out of my way and let me get done."
It turned out that Joe's business was to try and borrow the money which John was soon to receive from Mr. Beckman. He proposed to secure it by a mortgage on a house of Mr. Van Horn's, and by some means or other to pay eight per cent. interest.
John listened with so much attention that Joe made sure of his object; and he was quite taken aback when John said, quietly,—
"That would be usury, Joe."
"Well, what if it is? I don't suppose you will pretend to say that there is any morality concerned in taking one rate of interest more than another. I have heard you say myself that you could see no more sense in a law regulating the hire of money than in one to regulate the price of horses."
"I do not," replied John. "But, while there is such a law, whoever lends money on more than legal interest runs the chance of losing the whole. Besides, I don't like money transactions between relations; and, more than all, I would never lend money to anybody to put into the liquor business."
"Pshaw! Why need you know what the money is used for? I suppose the long and the short of it is that you want to put the money into your own business."
"Not at all. I have no intention of putting it into any business. I mean to salt it down, as they say,—invest it in some good, safe stock, and let it alone. There is something pleasant in the idea of having a sum laid aside out of the risk of business—a kind of nest-egg."
"But, Caswell, you don't consider the security. That fine house and lot on a good street. Why, it rents for two hundred and fifty dollars a year."
"And quite free from incumbrance?"
"Oh, yes;—that is—well, you can hardly call it an incumbrance. The builder has some claim on it, I believe."
"He has a mortgage on it," said John. "I know; for he wanted to sell it to me, and I would not take it."
"The house is worth three times the amount of the mortgage."
"Possibly; but I don't think so."
"Well, what security will you take, then?" asked Joe, evidently disappointed and vexed, but not willing to give up the point.
"There is no use in talking, Joe. You know what my opinion of the whole business was from the beginning."
"Oh, very well," said Joe, stiffly. "Take your own way. I am sure I did not think I was asking such a very great favour in offering to borrow a paltry sum on good security. No doubt it will be easy to find it somewhere else. Every one is not so strait-laced. I shall not be likely to trouble you again very soon. Come, Agnes; it is time we were at home. What on earth did you bring that child out for?"
"Didn't you say yourself that it would be a good thing for her?" replied Agnes.
"What ails Joe?" asked Letty, when they had taken their leave.
"He is vexed because I won't lend him this money to invest in his business. I am sorry he is angry; but I cannot help it. I dare say he will forget it before long, and be just as pleasant as ever."
FURTHER CHANGES.
FROM this time forward, a coolness grew up between the two families in Myrtle Street.
Joe was very much vexed about the money. Still, he was naturally placable, and, if left to himself, would, no doubt, soon have forgotten his annoyance; but there was a skilful hand at the bellows, keeping up the fire of anger in his mind.
Mr. Van Horn was jealous of John Caswell. John was the Mordecai sitting in the gate of Myrtle Street, who had always refused to bow down to his greatness. Moreover, he had reasons of his own for disliking to have his affairs observed by any one so quick-sighted as the grave, slow-spoken carpenter. He knew that Joe had been in the habit of telling his cousin all about his business affairs; and he made up his mind that, under present circumstances, such openness would not be desirable. He therefore set himself to work, now by insinuations, now by sarcasm, and now by open abuse, to poison the mind of Joe and his wife against their relations across the road.
In this work he had an efficient coadjutor in his wife, to whom mischief-making was as her daily bread, and who, under an appearance of the greatest simplicity, and even silliness, concealed as much cunning as her grave and artful husband.
Agnes soon became distant and cold to her cousins. She ceased to run into Number Nine a dozen times a day, to borrow something, to ask help about her work, or to look at Letty's new magazine. If Letty called at Number Ten, she was received with the most chilling ceremony, or with abundant hints about people minding their own business and keeping their own place. For some time Letty persisted in going to see her cousin, in spite of this treatment; but the manner of both Joe and Agnes at last became so offensive that she had nothing to do but to stay away. Even Madge was no longer allowed to visit her cousin and thus the poor child was deprived of her greatest solace. Letty grieved deeply over the estrangement, and tried in every way to remedy it; but in vain. The more she tried, the worse the matter grew; and she was at last fain to let things take their course, hoping that time would bring Agnes to her senses.
But Letty regretted many things in her cousins' ways more than their conduct to herself. Living opposite, as she did, she could not help seeing the increased expenses of the family, the growing extravagance of Agnes's dress, the hired carriages, the late ball and theatre goings, the card and supper parties. She mourned, too, over the change in Joe's appearance. He had always been rather a sober and steady man, even in his bachelor days, and since his marriage he had become still more so; but Letty could not but notice how red his face was becoming, and how loudly he sometimes talked when he came home late in the evening.
The Alhambra, as he called his place of business, began to be noted for its good liquors and cigars, and the excellence of the free lunches it set forth on festival-days. It had a great run of custom, and people began to whisper that the sale of liquors was not the most profitable business carried on there; that back of the grand billiard-saloon on the first floor, the windows of which blazed with light at the latest hours, there was another apartment, the windows of which did not blaze with light,—which had, in fact, no windows at all, and where the visitors pursued these amusements with closed doors and were waited upon by Mr. Van Horn himself.
Meantime, Mrs. Van Horn Was getting into society, as she called it, very rapidly. Mrs. Van Horn's acquaintances were, of course, Agnes's: they belonged mostly to what was called "the fast set,"—people who made many expensive parties, played cards for money, and prided themselves on doing startling things.
Agnes was very good-looking, and somewhat elegant in her appearance, and her manners were rather above than below those of most of the people whom she met in this set: nevertheless, she was subject to many mortifications. She fancied that every one knew she had once been a shop-girl,—and, indeed, Mrs. Van Horn kindly took care that every one should know it,—and she was always thinking that people threw out hints about her former way of life. Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Lamb, the principal personages of her "set," sometimes patronized and sometimes snubbed her.
And, finally, she was aware that there existed in T— a much finer "set" than her own, to which she and Mrs. Van Horn had no more chance of access than they had of being presented to the man in the moon:—a quiet set, who did not dress extravagantly, nor drive fast horses, nor give many large parties, but who interested themselves in poor people, who managed the Orphans Asylum and the Old Ladies' Home, and who constituted the Club,—the Book Club,—strictly limited as to numbers, and on which many people cast longing eyes who had never read through a book in their lives. Why, it would be hard to say, except that it seems to be human nature for people to desire what they cannot have, simply because it is unattainable.
What made Agnes's exclusion the harder was, that Letty seemed to be creeping into this very set, and that by no effort of her own, but simply, as it were, by the force of mutual attraction. Letty's natural disposition led her to seek comfort in her own sorrows by trying to relieve those of other people; and after the death of her little Alick she accepted the post of district visitor of the Charitable Society. Her coadjutor in the work was no other than Mrs. Mark Campion, wife of the only author of whom the town of T— could boast, and a person of great consideration on her own account.
By this means, Letty was naturally brought into the society of the other visitors; and one morning Agnes, looking out of her window: was greatly amazed to see Mrs. Campion coming out of Letty's house in company with Mrs. Street,—the Mrs. Street, whom "not to know argued one's self unknown," but whom Agnes and Mrs. Van Horn had hitherto beheld at an awful distance. Agnes had not been inside her cousin's door for three months, and it cost her a little sacrifice of dignity to run over now; but curiosity proved too strong for pride, and she went.
Letty received her cousin just as if they had met the day before; but Agnes fancied that she could trace suppressed amusement in her cousin's cordial manner. Letty was amused, for she knew exactly what had brought Agnes round; but she chatted on easily about the garden, Madge, and the last novelty in worsted-work. At last Agnes had to come to the point herself.
"You had some company this morning?"
"Yes," replied Letty.
"I did not know you were acquainted with Mrs. Street."
"Oh, yes: I have known her all my life. She was very intimate with Mrs. Trescott."
"I suppose she came to inquire for a girl, or some such thing?" said Agnes.
"No: she is not at housekeeping, and she keeps the same old lady's maid she has had these twenty years. Good old Casey! She taught me a deal of pretty work when I was a little girl; and when I was married she gave me no end of good advice, besides a wonderful needle-book and pincushion. Did I ever show them to you?"
Agnes could have boxed her cousin's ears with a good will; but she put a strong constraint on herself, and said,—
"Now, Letty, don't be provoking. What do I care about old Casey? I want to know what brought Mrs. Street here; for of course she did not come to make a call."
"Why of course?"
"Oh, because she never would call on any one who lived in Myrtle Street. I tell Joe every day that we shall never have any society as long as we live down here out of the world."
"Now, I think Myrtle Street a very nice place," said Letty. "It is so open and airy, and the lots are so large. I would not change our garden for the grandest place on the Avenue."
"Sour grapes, Letty!"
"May-be so. It is at least a good thing to think one's own grapes sweeter than any other."
"But come, now, tell me: what did Mrs. Street come for?"
"They are about to add a children's department to the Home; and, knowing that I am fond of children, she and Mrs. Trescott put their heads together and invited me to take a share with them in the oversight of it."
"Well, I declare!—To be with Mrs. Street and Mrs. Townsend and all that set of grand people, meeting them at committees and every thing!"
"Yes; I suppose so, if I accept. I told Mrs. Street I must consult my husband before I gave her a positive answer. If I decide to do it, I am to meet all the ladies at Mrs. Townsend's to-morrow afternoon, to talk over matters."
"If you accept! It's not very likely you will refuse, I guess."
"I do not think I shall refuse if John has no objection," replied Letty, quietly. "It is a kind of work that I like,—even better than knitting double wool," she added, smiling; "and, then, one makes pleasant acquaintances."
"Oh, there is no danger of his refusing. He never objects to what you wish to do, just because you do wish it. There is the difference in people. What are you making now?"
"A scarf," replied Letty, displaying her work. "Don't you want the pattern? It is quite new, and very pretty."
"I should like it of all things," said Agnes, examining the scarf, "but, the truth is, I have such a bill at Mrs. Mercer's now, that I don't dare to go there. I am in terror every day lest she should send in the bill to Joe. You need not look so shocked," she added, with an affected laugh: "I dare say you have your own little private accounts that you don't tell your husband of."
"Never! Never!" said Letty, warmly. "I should not dare to look him in the face if I did."
"Well, well: people are different, as I said; and so you would find out if you had Joe to manage. Come in and see me, Letty: you never come near me now-a-days."
"Because I thought you did not want me," said Letty, frankly. "I kept on going till you gave me clearly to understand that my room was better than my company."
"Nonsense! You are always taking offence," said Agnes, in a superior tone. "Of course, with all my engagements, and moving in such very different circles as we do, I cannot run in every day, as I used to when things were different: you ought not to expect it."
"I don't," said Letty, dryly; "but, Agnes, you might let Madge be brought over and see me now and then: she is not old enough to be injured by our inferior associations, you know; and I should really be glad to have her; I am sure a change would be better for her than lying all the time in that dull back room."
"Yes, of course she can come, if you want to be plagued with her," said Agnes. "I don't know what I am to do with the child: she's becoming a great care; she just wants me or some one devoted to her every minute, reading to her or playing with her; and it is very inconvenient."
"She has so few resources,—poor thing!" said Letty. "It is not as if she could run about and amuse herself like other children, you know."
"I am sure she has resources enough, if that is all," said Agnes. "Joe never comes in without bringing her something, and she is never out of his arms while he is in the house; and mother is just as bad. As sure as I want her to do any thing, the excuse is that she cannot leave Madge. For my part, I don't believe in having all the well people in the house put out of the way for the sake of one sick one."
"Mrs. Trescott used always to say that well people could wait," remarked Letty. "But, if you send her over here, she will be out of every one's way for a while, at least. Mary can bring her over, and John will take her home when he comes to tea."
"Well, I don't mind:—only be careful of her, and don't let her take cold, as you did before;" for Agnes always kept up the fiction that it was Letty's neglect which had caused Madge's ill health, and Letty had become so used to the accusation that she never thought of replying to it.
Agnes departed at last, going at once to Mrs. Van Horn to tell her news and express her amazement.
Mrs. Van Horn wondered too, and finally decided that the affair must somehow grow out of the fact that Mr. Caswell had the contract for building the new wing of the Home. She expressed a good deal of astonishment that Agnes should have gone to see Letty, after the way she had been treated and the remarks Mrs. Caswell had made. It was no part of her plan to have Agnes renew her former intimacy; and she used so well her ordinary weapons of insinuation and falsehood that, when Letty returned her cousin's visit, she found Agnes frozen up stiffer than ever.
The quarrel did not, however, extend to Madge. Agnes found it very convenient to get rid of the child for two or three afternoons in the week, that Mrs. Train might be at liberty to help Mary: consequently, Madge often enjoyed the change of a visit to Cousin Letty, where she had Gatty to amuse her and where she could experience, the marvellous and unaccustomed pleasure of behaving herself well and doing what she was bidden. She was still quite helpless so far as walking was concerned, though she could sit up a little while if properly supported; but she was becoming quite deformed. She was uncommonly bright and thoughtful, though terribly spoiled, and as ignorant as a little New Zealander of any thing she ought to have known. She was never satisfied in the matter of reading aloud, and really taxed her friends severely.
Presently, Letty represented to her that, if she would only learn to read, she would be quite independent in that respect and could amuse herself when she liked. Madge seized on the idea with enthusiasm, and begged Cousin Letty to teach her. She learned surprisingly fast, and was soon able to read an easy book for herself. She improved in other ways,—learned to put some restraint on herself and to help herself more easily. Letty thought she suffered from lack of exercise; and so she often laid her on the floor instead of on the sofa, and encouraged her to roll about as much as possible. Madge enjoyed these changes; and Letty was even not without hopes that the child might recover in some degree the use of her limbs.
In the course of the next year, however, Agnes accomplished her long-cherished purpose of removing from Myrtle Street. Number Ten was sold, and Joe bought a fine new house quite at the other end of the town, where a fashionable district was rapidly filling up. Joe was, apparently, growing rich very fast. He spent money freely, and assumed all the airs of a man of wealth and consequence. He really seemed to be touched with Letty's kindness to his unfortunate child, as he called her,—thanked her in the most condescending manner when he went away, and made her a present of a very expensive and really valuable book,—though John was a little inclined to be vexed with Letty for accepting it.
"But, John, where was the use of making a fuss?" said Letty. "As to any obligation, Madge's board for the last year would come to many times the price of the book, not to speak of any thing else; and I wish to keep on good terms with them for the sake of the poor child. As to Joe's airs, they are simply amusing. I could hardly help laughing all the time he was here."
"I suppose that is the best way of looking at the matter," said John. "I cannot conceive how it is that they go on; though I suppose there is no doubt that they make a great deal of money."
"Don't you regret now that you did not put our legacy into the concern?" asked Letty, mischievously. "Just think! You might have been quite a rich man by this time, and Joe would have introduced you into society!"
"Thank you," said John: "I don't think Joe's circle of society would suit me at all. I am afraid some of it is of a kind that will lead him into a deal of trouble, some day or other. I see him in company with men whom I know to be regular gamblers; and it is said—I don't know how truly—that Van Horn has a resort of that kind, where a great deal of his money is made."
"Surely," said Letty, "Joe would never be engaged in such a business as that?"
"I am not so clear," replied her husband. "Joe has good impulses enough, but he has no principle,—nothing to keep him from being led away by any one who chooses to take the trouble. Van Horn flatters him and makes him think that he is going to be a great man directly. I fear he will be his utter destruction before all is done."
They had scarcely finished this dialogue, when Aunt Train came in, looking pale and weary.
"I am tired," said Mrs. Train, with emphasis, as she dropped into Letty's easy-chair. "I am worked off my feet, and just ready to drop, with all this fuss of moving, and the rest; but I thought I could not go away without coming to see you once more, Letty."
"You know it is no fault of mine that we have not seen more of each other," said Letty, gently.
"I know; I know," replied Mrs. Train, hastily. "I have no fault to find with either you or John. You have always been kind and respectful to me, Letty,—always: I will say that for you. How nice and pleasant you look here!" said Mrs. Train, glancing around. "Your wife has that trait of a good housekeeper, John. She knows how to make every part of her house pleasant and inviting. She does not have one grand parlour for company, and the living-rooms anyhow and every-how."
"I never have any but living-rooms," said Letty, smiling. "I never want a house larger than I can use. How do you like the one where you are going?"
"All show and outside," replied Mrs. Train. "It is handsome, too,—very handsome. But I do think it rather hard upon my old bones to have to mount up to the third story to sleep, or else up with a little hole of a room in the basement. I am not used to stairs, and they are very hard upon me. The fact is, the house is not nearly so convenient as the one we are in, especially with a helpless child like Madge to take care of; but, then, Joe and Agnes think the situation makes up for every thing; and perhaps it does."
"I don't myself see the great advantages of the situation," said John, dryly. "The land is, a great deal of it, made by filling in, and the lots are very small. The houses have no gardens, and they are all up-stairs and down-stairs."
"Yes; but, then, we never do any thing with a garden. If we had forty acres, we should only raise just so many more weeds. Joe says a garden does not pay."
"Mine pays, I can assure you," said John. "Think of all the fruit we have had this year,—strawberries and raspberries and grapes more than we could use, and almost all the summer vegetables we have needed. Joe's garden is as good as mine if he would work it as I do."
"Why, aunt, you used to be fond of a garden," said Letty. "I remember what a nice one you always had at the old North Street house."
"I used to have a good many things in the old North Street house that I shall never have again," said Mrs. Train, rather bitterly. "Take my advice, Letty, and keep your own roof over your head as long as you can. There is no great comfort in living in other people's houses."
"So I think," said Letty.
"I used to think I worked hard at home; and so I did," continued Mrs. Train; "but, at any rate, I had the comfort of what I did. I had my own way, and nobody interfered with me. But now I work like a slave from morning till night, doing what no one else wants to do, and, after all, I get no thanks for it. I brought Agnes up like a lady," she continued, wiping her eyes: "I never let her put her hands to a bit of hard work. I laboured day and night that she might have advantages,—that she might go to school and dress and appear like a lady; and what is the consequence? She looks down upon her old mother, and wants to keep her out of sight. She grudges me decent clothes,—though she has the use of all my little income, and expects me to do all the work that Mary can't or won't do."
"You know I always disliked the idea of your putting your property out of your own hands," said John.
"I know," said Mrs. Train. "You were right; and I was an old fool,—that is all."
"But, aunt, if you are so uncomfortable, why not take lodgings of your own?" asked Letty. "Mrs. Mercer, next door, has a nice, large front room and bedroom which she would like to rent. She is a very good woman, and there would be no children to annoy you, except poor little Harry, who is no trouble to any one. Then you would be near us; and we could see that you were comfortable. John would attend to your coal, and all that, and I would help you a great deal."
Mrs. Train shook her head. "It wouldn't do, Letty. Thank you all the same; but it would not do. You see, I cannot work at fine sewing as I used to, and my little income is not enough to support me without my house. And, besides, there is poor Madge. What would become of her without granny?"
"True," replied Letty. "She could hardly spare you, I suppose."
"No, no," said Mrs. Train. "There is no help for it now. I have made my bed, and I must lie in it: that is all. I don't like to ask you to come and see me, Letty, after all that has passed; but I shall always think of you kindly. Good-by; and God bless you!"
"Poor aunt!" said Letty, as she closed the door. "I do wish she could be made more comfortable."
"I don't see how it can be done at present," replied John. "If it were not for Madge, we might ask her here; but what would become of the child?"
"My stepmother used to say, long ago, that aunt was laying up trouble for herself by the way she brought up Agnes," said Letty. "She said what I believe to be true,—that spoiled children never are grateful to those who spoil them. I have more than once seen aunt hanging out clothes or sifting ashes on a freezing day, while Agnes was hanging over the fire with a story-book or some nonsensical piece of embroidery.
"Mother was always indulgent enough to me in the way of giving me playthings and time to play with them; but then she would always make me help her, ever since I can remember,—even when my help must have been much more a plague than a profit. I cannot remember when I had not certain duties to perform every day. I used to think myself hardly used,—quite a little martyr; but I am thankful to her now for all she did. I am very, very sorry for Aunt Train."
THE WILL [Part II].
FOR the next year all went prosperously with the inmates of Number Nine. John's business increased more and more, and became altogether that of a builder. The number of his contracts, and the necessity of being, as it were, in three or four places at once, obliged him either to hire a horse or to keep one; and he thought his increasing income justified him in purchasing a useful horse and buggy.
This establishment was a terrible eyesore to Agnes, who had the habit of looking at every new acquisition of her acquaintances as so much taken from herself; and she never rested till she persuaded Joe into purchasing a much more splendid establishment. Agnes imagined that Letty would be greatly annoyed by the contrast in the two carriages; but in this she was mistaken. Letty's only thought about the matter was that now poor Madge would be able to get out again.
Letty, for her own part, was very happy,—happy in her husband, in her pleasant home and kind neighbours, in congenial occupations and congenial society,—happy, above all, in that well-spring of peace within which flows only from the source of an entire daily consecration to God. No longer making the common mistake of living on past experience, she felt the necessity and experienced the blessing of that daily renewing of the Holy Spirit for which we are taught to pray. She had learned the precious lesson how to lift up her heart to God in all places and at all times,—not carrying all day the burden of any sin or sorrow, and allowing it, like a thorn neglected, to rankle and irritate still more, but going at once to the source of healing, and laying her trouble or her transgression, great or small, on Him who bears the burdens of us all.
Letty found increasing pleasure in her charitable ministrations. True, she saw much to mourn over and much to condemn, and she rarely met with that exalted virtue which people, who know little about the matter, are fond of attributing to the very poor. She did not find the daughters of thieves and street-walkers expressing exalted sentiment in pure English; nor did she come across any of those wonderful old apple-women and evangelical scissor-grinders of whom we occasionally read.
But she found and rejoiced in many opportunities of helping the distressed, comforting the sorrowful and instructing the ignorant; and she was able in some instances to rescue children from destruction. The little ones at the Home were a daily pleasure to her, as she watched their bodily growth, their rapid improvement and their intense enjoyment of the warm nursery and airy play-room. Then, too, Letty found great enjoyment in the society of the other visitors, with whom she was naturally thrown in contact. They were mostly cultivated women, who had thought and read for themselves and who knew how to appreciate thought and earnestness in other people.
Mrs. Trescott had always encouraged Letty in reading and study: she had given her time for such pursuits and afforded her every assistance; and Letty had never supposed that her education was at an end because she was married. John always kept up his subscription to the library, and spent many a dollar upon new books as they came out. Mrs. Campion soon discovered that Letty kept up, as well as most people, with the literature of the day; that she dared to have opinions of her own, which she expressed moderately and temperately and in good English. Moved by these considerations, she placed Letty's name on her books; and, two or three vacancies occurring about that time in the Book Club, Mrs. Caswell was proposed and voted in without one dissenting ballot.
It was a bitter day for Agnes when she called at the house of a mutual acquaintance and found in a Club-book lying on the table the name of Mrs. Caswell, of Myrtle Street, as a member; nor was the bitterness at all assuaged by the further discovery that the Club had actually met at Number Nine and spent a very pleasant evening. Agnes went home that day with the firm conviction that she was the most miserable, ill-treated woman in all T—. She wondered if Mrs. De Witt was invited, and surmised that, if she was, Letty must have been finely mortified by her company; and, if she was not, Mrs. De Witt would never speak to her again.
Agnes was mistaken in all these particulars. Letty did not invite Mrs. De Witt, feeling, with her usual tact, that, as a new member of the Club, it did not become her to take liberties; and Mrs. De Witt was not in the least offended. On the contrary, she gave Letty a great deal of valuable help in preparing the simple entertainment permitted by the laws of the Club, and also insisted on lending her precious old china and silver spoons, which were greatly admired by those who understood their value.
The beginning of the next year brought with it two important events,—the birth of a little girl to Letty, and the death of Mrs. Train.
The new-comer, whom they called "Alice Gertrude," was a healthy, good-natured creature, wonderfully bright and full of play, and reigned like a queen over her grave father, whose admiration of her was almost boundless.
But, though Letty loved her little daughter as only mothers can love, there was a still place in her heart of hearts which the new-comer never entered,—a secret shrine reserved for the gentle, fair-haired angel who was kept safely waiting for her in another world.
Mrs. Train died—very suddenly, it was said—shortly after Letty's recovery from her confinement, and she went at once to call upon her cousin. Agnes received her with great cordiality,—with much more than ordinary kindness. It was perhaps no more than natural that her heart should be softened by such an event, and Letty rejoiced that it was so; but she could not help being surprised at the change in Mrs. Van Horn, who was busy in ordering Agnes's mourning. She had always treated Letty as a being of an inferior order; but now she fawned and coaxed and deferred to "dear Mrs. Caswell's judgment."
Letty wondered what had come over them both. Agnes was chiefly concerned, as usual, for herself. She did not see how she was to live without her mother to take care of Madge and attend to the housekeeping. Her health had lately become delicate, and she found the cares of her household quite too much for her. She did, indeed, look ill, and she had a slight—very slight—hacking cough, which startled Letty when she heard it.
"How long have you had that cough?" she asked.
"Why, a good while, off and on. It does not seem to be exactly a cold. I suppose it comes from some irritation of the throat."
"You ought to attend to it," said Letty. "Such a little dry cough is often harder to cure than one which sounds much worse."
"Oh, it is nothing," said Agnes, lightly. "I should not mind it at all, if it did not seem to reduce my strength."
Madge was the person on whom Mrs. Train's death fell with the greatest force. Her grandmother had been her constant attendant, and the poor, helpless thing was warmly attached to her. The child seemed utterly beside herself, and repeated over and over again, in piteous accents, "I want to die and go to my grandmother! Oh, please let me go to my grandmother!"
She entreated Letty to stay all night with her; and, when made to see that it was impossible on account of the baby, she begged earnestly that she might be allowed to go home with her cousin.
Mrs. Van Horn, to whom Agnes referred the question, admitted that it would be unusual—quite unusual—for any of the family to leave the house before the funeral; but, then, dear Mrs. Caswell was so kind, and such a good nurse, and had so much influence over the poor child, and it was such an uncommon cases altogether, that she did not think any one would notice it as being out of the way. She was sure dear Mrs. Caswell was very kind, to undertake such a charge; but it was quite in character with her well-known benevolence.
Letty could not help feeling that something was concealed under all this; but she was glad to take Madge home with her, intending to keep her till after the funeral.
Madge was somewhat comforted to find herself once more in her aunt Letty's house.
"Oh, it is so nice here!" she said, after Letty had taken off her things and laid her on the sofa. "I can't think how it is that some people's houses are so different from other people's."
"A change is always pleasant, especially to sick persons who are much confined to one room."
"Oh, Aunt Letty, I can never bear to think of going back to that room, now granny is gone!" said Madge, crying afresh. "Granny was the only person that loved me or took care of me, except father; and I hardly ever see him now-a-days. He hardly ever gets home till ever so late; and then he act queer that I cannot bear to have him come into the room."
"But your mother, my dear?"
"She doesn't love me any more," said Madge, shaking her head sadly. "She think I am so much trouble; and so I am, and always shall be. I never can play, or run about, or go to school, like other little girls; and I don't see, Aunt Letty, what God ever made me for."
"My dear child, God made you to do the work he has set for you in this world, and after that to live with him for ever and ever,—never to have any more pain or sorrow or weariness or trouble, but to be happy with him in heaven. That is what God made you for. But if you wish to live with him hereafter you must try to live for him here and to do his work."
"I don't see how I can do any work," said Madge. "I cannot even dress myself."
"No: your work is of a different kind. Your work is to try and suffer patiently, and not complain and fret, and make no more trouble than you can help, to be considerate of other people and careful of their comfort. If you try to be faithful in this work,—if you ask God's help in it, and read and study and think about his word, that you may know your duty,—God will perhaps send you something else to do."
"Granny used to read the Bible a great deal after she was sick," said Madge. "She said it was all the comfort there was in the world for her, and she had let it alone too long. And oh, Aunt Letty, a great many times when she wanted to read the Bible, I used to make her read story-books to me. It was very selfish: wasn't it? If I had always been good to her, I should not feel half so badly now."
"My dear, that is the way we all feel," said Letty. "It ought to make us very careful in our treatment of our friends while they are with us, to think how sorrowfully we shall look back at all our selfishness and unkindness when they are gone."
"I tried to be good to grandmother while she was sick, and I felt sorry for her when she used to say that something was the matter with her heart, and that she knew she should die suddenly some day; and father used to talk to her about making a will. He was at her about it for ever so long; and one day he brought a paper, which she signed, and Mrs. Van Horn signed it after her."
All at once the solution of Mrs. Van Horn's civility and Agnes's extra kindness flashed across Letty's mind. Joe had persuaded his mother-in-law to make a will, giving to Agnes all the money that Aunt Eunice had left for her use. Joe and Agnes had always been in the habit of talking about this money as though it rightfully belonged to them; and no doubt they would try to make use of this will in persuading Letty to give up her claim to the property. She mentioned her suspicions to John after Madge had gone to bed.
"Joe must be aware that such a will is not worth the paper it is written on," said John. "Nevertheless, I do not doubt that they will try to coax you into giving up your claim."
"I shall not do so," said Letty, decidedly. "If Agnes were poor, I might think of it; but not under present circumstances."
The event proved that John was right. The day after the funeral, Agnes sent for Letty to come into her room, where she sat arrayed in her new mourning apparel.
"I suppose you don't know, Letty, that my poor mother made a will?" she began, after Letty was seated.
"I heard so," replied Letty.
"She has left me all her property:—perhaps you heard that too?" answered Agnes.
"I supposed she would, of course," said Letty: "it was the only natural arrangement."
"There! I told Joe I knew you would say so," said Agnes. "You are always reasonable, Letty. But Joe says that it will be necessary for you to sign some paper giving up your claim. It is of no consequence, you know,—only a form that the lawyers like to go through."
"I don't at all see how that can be necessary," said Letty, coolly. "I never made the least claim to your mother's property. Why should I?"
"You shouldn't, of course; but Joe says that, unless you sign this paper, Mr. Trescott may make a disturbance with Aunt Eunice's will. As it was worded, you would seem to have an equal claim with myself to the money she left mother, and which mother has left to me."
"But how could your mother leave you that money, Agnes, when it was never hers?" replied Letty, gently, but decidedly. "Aunt Eunice did not leave it to her, but merely the use of it during her life. She had no more right to leave it to you than she had to leave you Mr. Trescott's house or the City Hall."
Agnes's face flushed; but she made a great effort at self-command.
"Now, Letty, don't be unreasonable. You must see that, having taken care of poor mother, as we did, during all the latter part of her life, we have the best right to this money. If you had ever done any thing for her, it would be different; but she has lived with us for the last five years, as you well know, and—"
"During which time she has done fully work enough to pay for her board, besides the fact of having all her money embarked in Joseph's business," said Letty. "You could not find a woman to do for Madge what your mother has done, for less than two dollars a week."
"That is no business of yours," said Agnes, sharply.
"Except when you undertake to found a claim upon it."
"Now, Letty, do be sensible!" said Agnes. "I don't want to quarrel with you, if you will only give up quietly; but, if you don't, we shall be compelled to go to law about it: that's all."
Agnes evidently endeavoured to make a great impression by this threat.
But Letty answered, calmly,—
"Do you imagine you would gain any thing by that?"
"Of course we should: there is not a doubt of it," replied Agnes, confidently. "But it is very disagreeable to have a lawsuit between relations, and would make no end of costs for you. It is much better that you should give up at once."
"Better for you, no doubt; but I tell you at once and decidedly that I shall do nothing of the kind. The property is legally and rightfully mine, and I intend to keep it. If you were poor, it would perhaps be different; but, as things now are, I shall have no hesitation in claiming my own."
"Now, Letty, see here!" said Agnes. "You have always pretended to be a wonderful saint and Christian. I am no great believer in such pretensions myself; but now is the time to prove their truth. If you are what you profess to be,—a Christian,—you will give this matter without any more words; if you don't, I shall think you're a hypocrite: that's all."
"And what harm will it do me if you do think me a hypocrite?" said she. "You will no doubt injure yourself greatly; but I do not see how I shall be the sufferer. It is not by your judgment I stand or fall, or by that of any man or woman, but by my own Master's. As to your thinking me a hypocrite, that is just as you please. I know that neither you nor Joe would think any better of me for giving up my just rights in this matter; but whether you do or not is of small consequence to me."
"I should like to know how you found out any thing about the will," said Agnes, angrily. "I suppose you got it out of Madge, the mischief-making little story-teller! I can tell you this is the last time she enters your door, Letty Caswell; and I'll pay her well for her meddling. I will make her rue the day she ever went tattling to you or anybody else. I'll make you rue it too: see if I don't. You have been trying your best to make that child over after your own pattern; but I'll drive it out of her. I want no saints of your stamp spying and sneaking about me." Agnes paused from lack of breath.
"Agnes," said Letty, rising and speaking in a tone which made her angry listener keep silence in spite of herself, "you can act as you like, so far as I am concerned. I care nothing for what you may say or do; but, if you vent your spite towards me on that afflicted child, you will do a most wicked thing, for which God will bring you into judgment as sure as you stand there,—if not in this life, yet in the life to come. His eye is over the helpless and the innocent, and his ear is open to their prayer. For what you have said to me, may God forgive you, as I do; but beware how you offend one of these little ones; for I tell you, on his authority, that it would be better for you that a mill-stone were hanged about your neck and that you were drowned in the depths of the sea."
Letty left the room as she finished speaking. At the foot of the stairs she encountered Joe, who had evidently been waiting the result of her interview with Agnes.
"So you've seen Agnes,—hey? I suppose she has told you all about mother's will,—hey?"
"If you have any thing to say on that subject, I prefer that you should talk to my husband," said Letty.
"What! So you and Agnes have had a brush?" said he, with a disagreeable laugh. "I might have known she would make a mess of it, with that temper of hers. But never mind that: you and I can be reasonable, I hope; and, of course, Letty, you will at once see the justice of our claim."
"I prefer to have you talk to John," replied Letty. "I have no more to say on the subject."
"Why John?" said Emerson. "What has he got to do with it?"
Letty attempted to pass by him to the door; but Joe placed himself before her.
"Now, look here, Letty Caswell: you are not going off so. You are going to give up your claim upon this property before you leave the house. If you don't, I will make you."
"How do you propose to make me?" asked Letty, looking him full in the face.
If she had not known Joe before, she might have been frightened; but she was well aware that he was at heart an arrant coward. As she took a firm step to pass him, he saw at once that he better yield the point; and she was soon outside of the door.
When Van Horn heard the result of the conference, he said they were a pack of fools. He'd have the money, he said, or part of it at least: he'd be bound, he would. Accordingly, he contrived to join John on his way home one day.
He understood that Joe had been founding a claim to the property of the late Mrs. White upon that foolish affair of Mrs. Train's. He and Mrs. Van Horn had signed the paper as witnesses, merely to gratify a whim of the old lady, who was evidently in her dotage. But, as long as that fact could not be proved, he supposed Mr. Caswell knew the will was good in law, though perhaps not in equity. There was no doubt whatever that if Joe should bring a suit, he would gain it, and he (Caswell) would have all the costs to pay. Would it not be better to come to some arrangement? Perhaps a compromise could be made which would save all trouble and prevent ill feeling. He had no interest in the matter, he added,—none in the world,—except that his natural disposition always led him to act as peace-maker. True, it was a thankless office in most cases; but he did not care for that, if he could only do good and prevent mischief.
It seemed likely to be equally thankless in this case. John heard all this palaver, as he thought it, without interruption, and then quietly informed the peace-maker that the whole affair was in the hands of Mr. Trescott, who was Mrs. White's executor and would manage the matter as he thought proper.
Mr. Van Horn was sorry to hear it. Mr. Trescott was doubtless a smart man; but still he was a lawyer; and every one knew that lawyers liked to make business for themselves: he was sorry to say it; but he had too much reason to know. He had always had the highest opinion of Mr. Caswell's judgment; but it would certainly be lowered if he persisted in involving himself in such a lawsuit, when all the facts of the case were plainly against him, simply because he was afraid of his wife.
Mr. Caswell was of opinion that he could endure a fall in Mr. Van Horn's good graces without breaking any bones; and, being now at his own gate and disinclined to hear further arguments, walked into the house and shut the door after him.
It is needless to add that the suit never was brought. Mr. Van Horn knew very well how it would end; and he had no notion of letting any of his partner's money be spent in useless litigation.
MISCHIEF-MAKING.
THE breach was now complete between the two families.
Agnes avoided Letty entirely when they met in the street, and gave all her acquaintances to understand that she had been deeply injured by her cousin, who had attempted to defraud her of half her mother's property. A few people who did not know Letty believed the story. But others argued that Mr. Trescott would not probably be engaged in any disreputable matter,—and, further, remembered that Mrs. Emerson was never happy unless she had a grievance, and that, of the two, Caswell was far more likely to be in the right than Emerson.
In truth, the firm of Van Horn & Emerson was not growing in respectability. They were making money fast enough, no doubt,—at least they had the credit of so doing. Their establishment increased in splendour every year, and Mr. Van Horn had entered into partnership with some wealthy distillers; but, for all that, people looked somewhat askance upon them. It was well-known that the billiard-room of their splendid marble building was really their concern, though held in the name of another; and people said that billiards made the smallest part of the business carried on there.
Now, T—, though it was called a city, and boasted of a mayor and corporation, a court-house and a public library, and manufactured to the amount of some ten or twelve millions annually, was, after all, a primitive sort of place, where people went to church, as a matter of course, on Sundays and Wednesday evenings, kept regular hours, and looked upon respectability in general as a thing to be desired instead of ridiculed. People began to say openly that a great deal of mischief was growing out of frequent card-parties,—that young men began the evening with whist and wine at Mrs. Emerson's and Mrs. Van Horn's, and finished it with faro and brandy at the Alhambra,—which was true enough; and they said still harder things about traps and decoy-ducks,—which were somewhat unjust so far as Agnes was concerned, but of which she felt the effects nevertheless; and so it came to pass that Agnes did not find so much sympathy as she desired in her quarrel with her cousin.
Letty, for her part, regretted the breach for several reasons, but chiefly on account of Madge, who she feared would be sadly neglected now that her grandmother was gone. It was a comfort to know that Agnes continued to keep Mary, whose attachment to the child would probably preserve her from actual suffering. But her heart ached as she thought of the poor little girl alone, hour after hour, in her third story room, unable even to reach the window without help, and with no amusement but her books and her little dog.
She met Mary in the street one day, and eagerly inquired for Madge.
"Well, indeed, ma'am, 'tis not much I can say for her," replied Mary. "She does not improve at all, that I can see, and she is very lonely without the old lady. I stay with her all I can; but then I have my own work to do, and no small matter of it, now we have so much company. 'Deed, ma'am, and if I had a child like that, I'd not be leaving her to a girl. And she so fond of her mother, too, and watching every time she hears her come in, to see if she isn't coming up-stairs."
"But I suppose Mrs. Emerson does spend a good deal of time with Madge, after all?" said Letty, anxious to get at the truth, but not quite liking to question Mary.
"She can't be in two places at once," replied Mary. "She can't be making calls and shopping, and out every night or else having company at home, and be in the nursery at the same time. If she spends an hour a day with Madge, 'tis a wonder."
"And how does the poor child employ herself?" asked Letty.
"Oh, she reads a deal,—especially in the Bible; and you'll laugh, ma'am, when I tell you she has taught me to read. Not a word could I make out a year ago; and now I can read pretty well. And there's a young lady next door who comes to see her sometimes,—a Miss Cutler,—who has taught Madge to do crochet-work and embroidering; and that keeps her busy. She begs money of her father, and sends me out to buy wool, and so on, for her; and there she sits propped up in bed, and works away as though her life depended on it. She has made a beautiful sofa-cushion and a pair of footstools for the parlour, already. I think sometimes she works too much; but it is a great comfort to her,—poor child!"
"Does she ever speak of me?" asked Letty.
"Oh, yes, many a time, and wants to see you; but she don't dare say a word to her father or mother, they feel so against you and Mr. Caswell. Mr. Emerson told her never to speak your name. You never saw a body so changed as he is. He used to be such an easy-going kind of man, you know; and now he is dreadful violent when he gets into one of his tantrums. They have changed cooks a dozen times since we moved into that house; and I'd 'a' gone away many a time if it hadn't been for leaving that child."
"Don't go if you can help it, Mary," said Letty, earnestly. "Think how sad it would be for the poor child to be left to the care of strangers."
"True for you, ma'am. It is that which keeps me; for I could have got better places a dozen times; but I can't leave the child, as long as I can stand it to stay there."
Letty gave Mary a present, and sent a great many messages to Madge, which the girl promised to deliver. She had little hope of a reconciliation at present. She knew that Joe must feel very much ashamed of his attempt to make her give up her rights; and she was well aware how hard it is for most people to forgive those whom they have injured.
She did, however, make one more attempt to put an end to the quarrel. Hearing, through a mutual acquaintance, that Agnes was about to be confined, she worked the prettiest baby-blanket that wit could devise or hands crochet, and at the birth of her little boy, she sent it to Agnes with a kind note.
The parcel was carried up to Agnes, who opened it herself. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of such a beautiful piece of work; and, to do her justice, her heart was really touched by what she could not but feel to be the undeserved kindness of Letty's note and present.
"Well, really, I must say it was very pretty in Letty!" she said, displaying the blanket to Mrs. Van Horn, who was spending the morning with her. "I do think she really has the most forgiving temper in the world."