CHAPTER III.
MRS. THOMPSON’S CROSS.
The captain cantered home in no enviable state of mind. His mission hadbeen successful, in as much as he had gained Mrs. Sleeper’s consentto his plan for “tying up” her children. Otherwise he felt unhappyregarding the events of the day. There were still stinging pains inhis ankles and back to remind him of Miss Becky’s exploit, and theshrill, sarcastic voice of Hulda Prime still rang in his ears. Thatso miserable a creature as he considered her should have dared tocriticise his conduct was peculiarly mortifying to his pride. AuntHulda had, indeed, spoken boldly. He was, undoubtedly the greatest manin Cleverly. Senior deacon in the church, moderator at town meetings,referee in all disputes, and general adviser of his fellow-townsmen,he was a man to be treated with respect, a man who would brookno interference with his plans, a man whose opinions must not becombatted, and one whom people did not think it safe to thwart. Andthis poor old hanger-on at people’s firesides had dared to criticise aproceeding which others had not the courage to mention in his presence.And he had not the power to punish her. Poor Aunt Hulda was neverthought so much of before by a man as she was by the captain during hishomeward ride.
Gloomily he rode into the yard, and consigned Uncle Ned to the care ofPhil Hague, his man-of-all-work, who advanced smiling, to meet him,undeterred by the black looks of his master.
“By me sowl, cap’n, dear, it’s a fine lather yez given owld Uncle Ned.Is it fur ye’ve rode?”
“No,” shortly replied the captain.
“Is that so? Thin what’s the matter wid the baste? Shure he’s notlooked so wary loike since--since Master Harry--”
“Shut up, you fool!” thundered the captain. “It’s your business to takecare of him, and not to ask impertinent questions.” And he stamped intothe house, muttering, “Am I never to hear the last of that boy?”
Phil scratched his head, and looked after the captain.
“Shure there’s an aist wind blowin’, an’ we’ll have to be aftherscuddin’ under bare poles, jist.”
Gloomily the captain stalked through the various sections of hisestablishment, until he reached the front sitting-room, and foundhimself in the presence of his wife.
Mrs. Thompson was the queen of Cleverly society. The mention of hername in any company was enough to make the most silent tongue suddenlyeloquent. She was plump in person and plump in virtues. Her face wasjust round and full enough to please everybody. No one had such rosycheeks as Mrs. Thompson, “at her time of life too!” There was thekindliest light in her grey eyes, and the jolliest puckers about hermouth; and the short gray curls that flourished all over her headformed a perfect crown of beauty--nothing else. Cleverly folks wereproud of her, and well they might be. She was everybody’s friend. Shenot only ministered to the wants of the needy, but she sought them out.She was the first at the bedside of the sick, and the last to givethem up, for she was as well skilled in domestic medicine as she wasin domestic cooking, and superior in both. She was a wondrous helper,for she knew just where to put her hands, and an enchanting talker,for she never spoke ill of anybody. She was a devout sister of thechurch, promulgating the true religious doctrines of faith, hope, andcharity with no sanctimonious face, but purifying and warming with theincense of good deeds and the sunshine of a life cheerful, hopeful,and energetic. She had her cross to bear--who has not?--but she soenveloped it in the luxuriant branches of the tree of usefulness rootedin her own heart, that its burden lay easy on her broad, matronlyshoulders.
On the captain’s entrance she was seated in a low rocking-chair,darning one of her husband’s socks. She looked up, with a smile uponher face.
“Ah, father! back early to-day!”
“Father!” snapped the captain, as he flung himself upon a sofa. “Whywill you insist on calling me by that name? Haven’t I repeatedly askedyou not to?”
“So you have Paul, so you have; and I’ve repeatedly disobeyed you,”cheerfully answered the good woman. “I didn’t mean to; but women areso forgetful! I’ll be more careful in future, fath--Dear me, there itis again!”
“There, there! what’s the use of talking to you? But I won’t have it.I tell you I’m no father. I won’t be a father. When that boy took thereins in his own hands, I cut him out of my heart. I’ll never, neverown him!”
Mrs. Thompson bit her lips. Evidently the cross was bearing down hardupon her. Only an instant, and the smile came back.
“You rode up from the bridge. Been over to Delia’s?”
“Yes, I’ve been over to Delia’s. That woman, and that woman’s youngones, will drive me crazy.”
“Then I wouldn’t go over there, if I were you. Let me be your messengerin future.”
“No, marm. I’ve taken this case into my own hands, and I mean tofinish it. When Sleeper disappeared, I told you not to go near them,for I knew that you would be just foolish enough to fix them up socomfortably, she would lead an idle life; and I wasn’t going to haveanything of the kind going on. She’s got to come to hard work, and shemight as well commence first as last. Its a mystery to me how she’sgot along so well as she has.”
It was no mystery to Mrs. Thompson. She had been forbidden to go, butnot to send; and many and heavy had been the burdens her messengers hadcarried across the river to the little brown house on the hill.
“But I’ve settled things now,” continued the captain. “Next Monday theyoung ones go to school.”
“Next Monday! No, no; don’t send them then!” cried Mrs. Thompson, witha shade of alarm in her manner.
“And why not? I’d like to know. Next Monday the term begins.”
“Yes; but--but hadn’t you better wait a few days?”
“Wait? wait? I won’t wait a moment after the doors open. Next Mondaythey go, bright and early.”
“Just as you say, Paul,” said Mrs. Thompson, with a sigh. “How isDelia? looking well?”
“No; she looks bad. Think she might, with that grumbling old cronefastened on to her.”
“Old crone! Why, Paul, whom do you mean?”
“Hulda Prime. She’s dropped in there to ‘help!’ Help make hermiserable; that’s all she’ll do. Plaguy old busybody, meddling in otherpeople’s affairs! I wish the town was well rid of her.”
“She is rather an encumbrance--that’s a fact,” quietly replied Mrs.Thompson. “But we are never troubled with her.”
“She knows better than to come near me,” said the captain, with a wiseshake of the head. “Why, she had the impudence to taunt me with havingturned my own son out of doors!”
“Indeed!” said his wife, hardly able to conceal a smile.
“Yes, she did; and she’d heard that, spite of me, the boy had gonethrough college. Plague take her!”
“Indeed! Well, Aunt Hulda never picks her words. She is sometimes veryaggravating.”
“Aggravating! She’s insolent. The idea of her daring to talk so to me!O, if there was only a law to shut the mouths of such meddling oldtattlers, I’d spend every cent I have but what I’d lock her up whereher voice could never be heard!”
The captain, unable longer to keep quiet, here rose, dashed about theroom two or three times, then darted out, and his angry tirade diedaway in the distance as he made his way to the barn.
Mrs Thompson sat quiet a moment, then burst into such a merry peal oflaughter that the Canary in the cage above her head was inspired, andburst into a torrent of song. The audacity of Aunt Hulda seemed toaffect Mrs. Thompson far less severely than it did her husband, forthat was the cause of her mirth.
Had Captain Thompson really been a bad man, his frequent outburstsof passion might have terrified, and his fierce threats have painedher; but a long acquaintance with the defect in his otherwise gooddisposition had made these stormy passages too familiar to be dreaded.His one defect--Mrs. Thompson’s cross--was obstinacy. Give the manhis own way, and he was ready for any good act or work: thwart him inthe slightest particular, and he was immovable. And so Mrs. Thompson,like a wise woman, never
openly arrayed herself against his wishes oropinions. And yet the captain would have been astonished, had he calmlyinvestigated the matter, to find how seldom he really had his own way.This shrewd woman knowing it was useless to combat his stubborn spirit,was continually setting up safety-rods to attract this destructivefluid where it could do no harm; contriving plans for him to combat,herself triumphing in their downfall, while he exulted in his supposedvictory.
Miss Becky’s career was a case in point. She had been pained to seeand hear of the girl’s wild, mischievous pranks, and felt it was timeshe should be sent to school. She took occasion one day when, in sightof the window, Becky had climbed up the lightning-rod on the church,and seated herself in a window over the door, to call her husband’sattention to the fact, with the remark that “such exercise must beexcellent for a girl’s constitution.” The captain fired up at once,denounced such tomboy tricks, and declared the girl should go toschool, or he’d know the reason why.
And so thanks to Mrs Thompson, and not her husband, Becky was to beturned from the error of her ways. The captain was a liberal man; hispurse was always open to the demands of his wife. She might cover everybed in the parish with comforters, clothe the poor, and feed thehungry, to her heart’s content; he would never stop to count the cost.And so she often managed to repair damages his temper had caused, outof his own purse.
But the man’s obstinacy had brought one serious disaster, which shefound all her woman’s wit necessary to repair. It had driven their onlychild from his home, and made a breach between father and son whichmight never be healed.
Harry Thompson, at the age of fifteen, was a leader among the boys ofCleverly. He was brave, skilful, and mischievous. He was looked uponas a hero by his playfellows, whom he could incite to the performanceof wonderful gymnastic feats, or to the perpetration of boyish trickshardly as creditable. Among his enthusiastic admirers was BeckySleeper, then ten years of age, whom, being a special favorite of his,he took pains to train in all the sports with which he was familiar. Hewas then attending the school; no interested student, but very quickand apt to learn, standing fair in his class. The next year he was sentto the academy; and a suddenly-acquired taste for learning so firedhis ambitious spirit that at the end of the second year he graduatedat the head of his class, with the reputation of being a remarkablescholar. Then, hungry for knowledge, he wanted to go to college. ButCaptain Thompson had already planned a course for his son. He hadbook-learning enough; he wanted him to be a practical man. He should gointo the yard and learn the trade of a ship-carpenter; in time he couldbe a builder; and then the son could build, and the father would fitout and send his ships abroad.
The son demurred. The father’s obstinacy asserted itself; he couldnot be made to listen to reason; and the matter ended by the boy’sproclaiming his determination to go through college, if he had to scrubthe floors to get through, and the father’s threat that, if he lefthome, the doors should be closed against his return.
The boy went. The mention of his name was forbidden in his home by theangry father. He had been gone four years, and the captain seemed asinsensible to his welfare as he did when he pronounced his dictum.
But the mother, she had not held her peace for four long years withoutknowledge of her boy. Snugly tucked away among her treasures wereweekly records of her son’s progress, in his own handwriting--tender,loving epistles, such as make a mother’s heart warm and happy, tellingof true growth in manhood’s noblest attributes, and showing in everyline the blessed power of a mother’s influence.
Despite her cross, Mrs. Thompson was a happy woman, and thechampionship of her son by Aunt Hulda was a power to make her merry;for she knew how her Harry got through college. He didn’t scrub thefloors to get through. O, no! Captain Thompson’s purse paved the wayfor a more stately march through the halls of learning.
And so, having had her laugh, Mrs. Thompson called, in a loud voice,--
“Silly!”
Silly, somewhere down in the tale of the kite, answered the summonswith a shrill “Yes, marm,” and in a few minutes entered the room.
Priscilla York was one of Mrs. Thompson’s charity patients--a tall,ungainly, awkward girl, whom, from pity, the good woman had takeninto her house, with a desire to teach her a few of the rudiments ofhousekeeping.
Silly was by no means a promising pupil, her “breaking in” requiringthe breaking up of many dishes and the exercise of much patience.
She was abrupt and jerking in her motion, except when she walked; thenshe seemed afraid of damaging carpets, not having been accustomed tothem, and walked on tiptoe, which peculiar footfall caused the heels ofher slip-shod shoes to drop with a “clap-clap-clap,” as she crossed theoil-cloth on the floor of the dining-room. Her clothes hung loosely onher, and as she entered the room her arms were stuck stiff at her side,her mouth wide open, and her eyes staring as though she expected tohear some dreadful news.
“Silly,” said Mrs. Thompson, “get the covered basket.”
“Yes, marm,” said Silly, and darted for the door.
“Stop, stop, child; I’ve not finished.”
Silly darted back again.
“I want you to get the covered basket, and take some things over toMrs. Sleeper.”
“Yes marm;” and the girl darted for the door a second time.
“Silly, stop this instant! What in the world are you thinking of?”
“The covered basket, marm; it’s in the pantry.”
“Silly, when I have finished what I want to say, I will tell you to go.”
“Then you don’t want the covered basket, marm?”
“Get the covered basket, put in it the ham that was left at dinner, apair of chickens I cooked this morning, a couple of mince pies, and aloaf of bread. Do you understand?”
“Yes marm. Basket, ham, chickens, mince pie, bread,” said Silly,briskly.
“Very well. Those are for Mrs. Sleeper, with my compliments.”
“Yes marm. Basket and all?”
“Bring back the basket, of course. Now go--”
“Yes, marm;” and Silly made a third dart doorward.
“Stop, stop, Silly!”
“You told me to go when you said go; and I was a going to go.”
“That was my mistake, Silly. I want you to go to the pantry, geta bottle of currant wine, a jar of damson preserves, and a box ofsardines. Can you find them all?”
“O, yes, marm. Currant wine, damson preserves, sardines.”
“Very well. Be careful in handling things. Those are for Aunt Hulda,with my compliments. Make no mistake, and be sure to tell her I sentthem. Now, Silly, go.”
Silly started at the word “go” so forcibly that she ran plump againstthe portly form of the captain, who just then entered.
“Hang it!” roared he; “why don’t you see where you are going, stupid?”
“Stupid” stopped not to tell the reason why, but darted by the captain:and soon a commotion among the dishes in the pantry made it evidentthat Silly was “handling things” none to carefully.
“Where’s that crazy thing going now?” muttered the captain, as hestalked to the window.
“On one of my errands, Paul; so don’t be inquisitive.”
Had he dreamed that Aunt Hulda’s defence of his boy had turned hiswife’s sympathies in her direction, and that there was likely to be ashower of goodies poured into the spinster’s lap, he might have beeninquisitive, instead of shouting at that particular moment,--
“Hang it! there’s that boy again! and with my apples, too! He shan’tescape me this time. No, no.” And the captain darted from the room, andout into the road, bare-headed.
Teddy Sleeper had waited two hours, in the woods behind the orchardthe return of Becky, supposing that, as she was the leader of theexpedition, after decoying the captain to a safe distance, she wouldreturn to rescue her follower; for Teddy had not sufficient relianceon his own skill to venture either an attack or a retreat. At last,getting weary, he crept out into the lane
, and from there into themain street, and started for home. But as he neared the church he waswaylaid by a half a dozen of his cronies, just returning from a gameof base ball, and, of course, very hungry. Catching sight of the fruitstowed away in Teddy’s jacket, they set up a roar of delight, andsurrounded him.
“Hooray! Ted’s made a haul!”
“Divy’s the thing--hey, Ted?”
“O, come, Ted, don’t be mean.”
“But they ain’t mine; they’re Becky’s,” said Teddy, warding off thesnatches at his plunder as best he could with his elbows.
“Becky’s--are they? Hooray! She won’t care. Divy, Ted. She’s the bestfellow in town.”
Teddy had about made up his mind to unbosom himself to his captors,when he caught sight of the bareheaded captain emerging from the door.A shiver ran through him. Hardly a chance for escape now. Neverthelesshe darted round the corner at a lively pace, and down the hill. Thedisappointed boys, not having seen the captain, but supposing Teddy wasattempting to escape from them, set up a yell, and started in pursuit.But Teddy had made a good start, and fear lent unwonted activity to hislegs. So, down the hill they went, Teddy ahead, the boys close at hisheels, and the captain dashing on behind.
With such a load as he carried, Teddy could not long keep up hisgallant pace, and his pursuers rapidly gained upon him. He was almostto the bridge, and there was Becky cheering and clapping her hands. Ifhe could only reach her, he felt he was safe. With a quick impulse,he drew two apples from his bosom, and threw them over his head. Theforemost boy stopped suddenly to pick them up. On a down grade, too!The result was appalling. In an instant he was on the ground, with hiscompanions piled upon him. A pitfall in the path of the irate captain.His ponderous body launched itself upon the heap, and great was thefall thereof. Screams, groans, and dirt filled the air as Teddy reachedthe bridge. The vanquished picked themselves up as best they could,without a thought of further pursuit, while the conquering _heroes_marched up the hill, to make, in some secure retreat, a fair divisionof the spoils.
ON THE BRIDGE. Page 55.]
Running to Waste: The Story of a Tomboy Page 3