Running to Waste: The Story of a Tomboy

by George M. Baker

  CHAPTER VII.

  MRS. THOMPSON DISOBEYS ORDERS.

  “When that grim smith, Adversity, stalks unannounced and unwelcome intothe abode, erects his forge, bares his strong arm, and sets himself towork among our affections, feeding his fire with earthly treasures,perhaps too fondly prized; or poisoning the air with unhealthy vapors,that blight with disease; or shaping upon his anvil the arrows ofdeath, for instant use among the loved ones,--it is a hard task tomeet him hospitably; to be patient under the agony of his blows; torealize, in his presence, that in his forge is the soul whitened andmade pliable, that under the heavy hammer he relentlessly wields it isshaped to nearness of perfection.

  “But when time has cooled the beaten soul, then it realizes how muchstronger it has grown through that dread experience; how much betterfitted it is to meet the ever-returning guest; then it recognizes inthis hard-hitting smith, Adversity, an earnest worker for the universalgood.”

  Thus preached Parson Arnold, the salaried fountain from which the goodpeople of Cleverly drew the living waters for their spiritual needs.His auditors were Captain Thompson and his good wife, to whom theparson had just communicated the misfortunes of the Sleeper family, onthe day of their occurrence, he having picked up the intelligence atthe blacksmith’s shop, while awaiting the setting of a tooth into aniron rake, upon which he was now leaning in the sitting-room at CaptainThompson’s. Perhaps the skill of the agricultural dentist had suggestedthe illustration with which he seasoned his short discourse upon theuses of adversity, for he was an earnest worker both in his Master’svineyard and his own, and used both logical and local arguments todrive home to the hearts of his people the great truth which hehonestly believed.

  “Poor soul! struck down in an instant! what will become of thechildren?” said Mrs. Thompson.

  “The town will have to take care of ’em. After this caper I’ve donewith ’em. I wash my hands of all responsibility,” growled the captain.“That young tomboy of theirn has kicked about until she’s broke hermother’s heart; and I hope she’ll have to suffer for it.”

  “Nay, nay, brother; we must be charitable. Remember her youth andinexperience,” the parson mildly remonstrated.

  “Well, I ain’t likely to forget it. It’s been a dear experience to me;and I won’t have anything more to do with them.”

  “Don’t say that, Paul,” said Mrs. Thompson, rising from her chair.“They need kindness more than ever. Their poor mother can no longerguide them: shall we desert them now?”

  “Guide them! Stuff! She never did guide them. If she had, she’d havebeen saved all this trouble.”

  “Well, well, they’re in the Lord’s hands,” said the parson; “in hishands who suffers not a sparrow to fall to the ground without hisnotice. Leave all to him.”

  The parson put on his hat, shouldered his rake, and departed. Mrs.Thompson attended him to the door, returned, folded up her work,and left the room. The captain followed her motions with his eyes.Something was wrong. There was no _heart_ in his obstinacy. Heevidently felt ill at ease. He walked about the room rapidly, as thoughendeavoring to rouse up something like an angry spirit; but the firewould not kindle. Instead of the angry flash which should have shone inhis eye, there was a tear, and the muscles of his mouth quivered withsuppressed emotion. Mrs. Thompson entered the room, equipped in bonnetand shawl.

  “What! going out again, Rebecca?”

  “Yes, Paul; I am going at once.” Mrs. Thompson looked almost defiantlyat her husband, expecting the next question, and fully prepared toanswer it. But the second question was indefinitely postponed. Ittrembled on the captain’s lips, but something in his wife’s face toldhim if he asked it his power to rule was gone forever.

  “Well, don’t be gone long; it’s lonesome here without you.”

  Mrs. Thompson seemed in turn disappointed, but she said nothing, anddeparted. The captain took a seat upon the sofa, whence he had a viewof the road, and deliberately watched his wife.

  “Hum! told you so,” soliloquized he; “there she goes--straight downthe hill! There never was such a woman! Deliberately disobeying herhusband. Bless her good heart! I knew she’d go. Never could standthat--never! It’s wrong. Obedience is a wife’s first duty. Won’t shemake things fly over there! Poor Delia! She shan’t want for physic aslong as I live; and those young ones--well, well, boys will be boys,and girls will be--tomboys, sometimes, I suppose. There she goes, upthe hill, now. Disobedience,--rank disobedience! I can’t endure thesight of it, and I won’t! I’ll just saddle Uncle Ned, and go and seethe doctor. She must have constant attendance; and my wife,--no, Iwon’t forgive her disobedience--never!”

  The captain now went to the window, and watched until his wifeturned into the gate; then, heaving a sigh (more closely resemblingsatisfaction than regret), went in pursuit of Phil and Uncle Ned.

  Lightning, that swift agent of destruction, has been known, in themidst of its vagaries, to smite gigantic rocks, and lay open veins ofwealth never before discovered. When the bolt of misfortune struckthe Sleeper house, it brought to light a much-needed treasure in theperson of the forlorn, complaining Aunt Hulda. She seemed electrifiedby the stroke that paralyzed the languid mother, and all the powers ofher being sprang into active life. All the theoretical knowledge shehad acquired by her long, useless “helping” of other people, burst intofruitful bloom. From the moment Mrs. Sleeper was laid upon her bed,she was the careful, watchful nurse, quietly but hurriedly arrangingeverything for the comfort of the invalid, laying her plans for a longfit of sickness with all the skill of an old campaigner. Nor did herusefulness end here. From the chamber to the kitchen she flew, washedand put away the dishes, replenished the fire, swept and tidied up thekitchen, re-filled the kettle, made up a batch of bread and set it“rising,” and back again to the bed-side of her patient, without onethought of her own magazine of combustible troubles ready to explode ata spark of complaint. All this with a feverish uneasiness, as thoughshe feared the coming of somebody to take the power to do out of herhands. A gentle knock at the door of the sick chamber, and the entranceof Mrs. Thompson, told her the somebody she feared had come.

  Mrs. Thompson gave her hand to Aunt Hulda with a quiet smile, and wentto the bed. What there was left of life in the body of Delia Sleeperseemed concentrated in her face. She could not move foot or hand; butthe same watchful glance was in her eyes, and the shadow of a smileplayed about her mouth, as her old friend bent over her and kissed her.

  “So kind! so good! I knew you’d come.”

  Faint and tremulous was the voice of the invalid.

  “Yes, dear heart; I’ve come to nurse you, to make you strong and wellagain.”

  Aunt Hulda groaned. Her power was slipping from her.

  “No, no. Aunt Hulda--so kind--she does everything. She will nurseme--thank you. Let me--see you often--that’s all.”

  The eyes wandered to Aunt Hulda with a beseeching look that Mrs.Thompson divined at once.

  “Bless you child! I’ll not interfere with her. She shall be mistress inthe house; and a good one she’ll make.”

  This was said with a smile for Aunt Hulda that warmed the heart of thespinster towards the visitor. There was a pleased look in the eyes ofthe invalid, as those of Mrs. Thompson came back to her full of loveand sympathy.

  “Thank you. Come closer. Becky--my Becky--don’t let her believe shedid this. I’ve brought it on myself--the doctor said so. Too muchwatching--you know--it’s been wearing upon me. The ship--that nevercomes--never, never comes. But it will--I know it will.”

  “I wouldn’t speak of that, Delia, now. The ship will come in God’s goodtime,” said Mrs. Thompson. “Remember the dear ones here, and trust theabsent one to his care.”

  “Yes, yes; but I didn’t,” said the sick one, sighing. “I forgot mytreasures here, hoping to clasp that other every day; and now I’mpunished. Wasted life! Wasted life! Poor little girl! with her mother’sheart shut against her, drifting away--running to waste; and so smartand apt to learn!
God pity me! God pity me!”

  “Leave all to me, Delia. Let no thought of Becky disturb you.”

  “I cannot help it. It seems to me as though I had wilfully neglectedher.”

  “Not as I have, Delia. With all your household cares, my littlenamesake claimed some portion of my attention; and we have not metfor years. Delia, you know the reason. I blame myself for this longneglect.”

  “No, no; you were always a kind, good friend. But I suppose he thoughtit best. Becky is in the sitting-room; won’t you see her and comforther?”

  “Now and always. With Aunt Hulda’s permission, she shall be my especialcharge hereafter.”

  “O, you are so good! No wonder people love you.”

  Mrs. Thompson kissed her friend, and passed out of the room. Aunt Huldasmoothed the bedclothes, and looked at her patient inquiringly.

  “Yes, go, go,” said Mrs. Sleeper. “But first kiss me, Aunt Hulda--won’tyou my best friend?”

  Aunt Hulda made a dash at her lips, and a loud smack resounded throughthe room.

  “You dear, dear, dear child! May the Lord give me strength to do foryou as you deserve!”

  With her apron to her eyes, Aunt Hulda left the room, leaving theinvalid to her solitary vigil. Already was adversity working in herfor good. The mother-love so long repressed in her heart had, by oneof those strange phases of illness, at once asserted itself the rulingpower. Only a few hours had the active forces refused to obey thewill; only a few hours had the brain caught this new power from theheart; yet it had travelled over years and years of neglect and wastedopportunity, with bitter regrets that might yet shape themselves intoguiding forces, in the lonely vigils of the years to come.

  Becky Sleeper, under the shadow of this sudden visitation, had in turnreceived a shock. The terrible sequel to her frolic had, upon herrevival, produced such a nervous state, that for two hours she lay uponthe sofa, trembling and weeping, in the presence of the astonishedTeddy, who never before had seen a tear in the eyes of his volatilesister. Harry Thompson had, when he found her in no danger, consultedhis own safety by driving to the house of Mr. Drinkwater for a changeof raiment. Aunt Hulda’s attention was required at the bed-side ofher patient, and Miss Becky was left to recover at her leisure. Theperiod of lamentation having passed away, she lapsed into a state ofdejection, so long and silent that Teddy, weary with waiting for her tobreak the silence, quietly fell asleep.

  Becky’s thoughts ran over and over the recent events; but in themidst of them all this was uppermost: “I’ve killed mother.” Again sheswept across the Basin; again clutched at drifting Teddy; again fellsplashing in the water; again glided down the stream, heard the roar ofthe dam, the voice of Harry; but all mixed with this one thought, “I’vekilled mother.” And she buried her head in the sofa, shut her eyeshard, and thrust her fingers into her ears, in vain attempts to shutout the thought. What would become of her? Would she be locked up injail--hanged? She must be, for it was murder!

  Becky was not well skilled in reasoning. She could not have told whythis feeling took possession of her; but there was a dim consciousnessthat she must be an awful wicked girl, and that it was somebody’s dutyto punish her for this, and a wild wish that somebody would be quickabout it, and have it all over with. In this state she was consciousof the opening of the door, and the presence of some one in the room.There was a light step by her side; a soft hand was placed upon herhead.

  “Becky, my child, you are making yourself miserable.”

  Becky knew that well enough. Why should she be told what she knew sowell? It was nobody’s business, any way. Why didn’t people attend totheir own affairs? She failed to recognize the voice, and, being in anugly state of misery, snatched the soft hand from its resting-place,and flung it rudely from her, with her eyes defiantly closed.

  Mrs. Thompson did not replace the hand, did not repeat the words. Shestood looking at the girl a moment, then passed across the room, andtook a seat by the window. This movement set Becky to thinking. Whocould it be? It was a kind voice, a warm, soft hand. There was nofeeling of punishment in either. Why didn’t the visitor speak again?How rude she had been! Then there came a long pause. She was listeningintently for some signs of her visitor’s presence. Hush! No; thatwas Teddy, snoring. She recognized that; and then--yes, some one wasbreathing by the window. Who could it be? Some one quietly waiting forher to get over her ugly fit. She felt a pair of eyes were fastenedupon her. Wondered if her hair was fit to be seen, if there were anyrents in her dress, and--and--O, dear, this was terrible! She wouldknow the worst.

  Suddenly she sprang up, and looking across the room, met the lovingeyes of Mrs. Thompson; saw a smile wreathing about the lips; saw thearms of the good woman stretched out to her so invitingly, that,without further invitation, she ran into them, and nestled her headamong the plaits of Mrs. Thompson’s merino, as if she had an undoubtedright there. Then of course, she fell to crying again.

  “O, Aunt Rebecca! you’re so good! and I’m so wicked!”

  “No, no, pet. I’m a wicked woman for neglecting you so long. But it’sall right now. I have you in my arms, just as I had you when you were ababy; and I don’t mean to let you go. Now tell me what’s the matter.”

  “Why, don’t you know? I’ve killed my mother!”

  “No, no, pet. Dismiss that fear from your mind. She is very ill;perhaps may never recover; but the doctor says her disease has been along time coming on.”

  “And that I tumbled into the water, got most drowned, and frightenedthe life out of her,” burst out Becky. “O dear, dear! what will becomeof me?” And another deluge of tears swept over the placid bosom of Mrs.Thompson.

  “Hush, hush, dear child! You were not to blame. Any sudden shock mighthave caused the disaster.”

  “Aunt Rebecca, do you mean to say I am not a bad, wicked girl?”

  Becky straightened up with such an air of _injured guilt_ that Mrs.Thompson looked at her in surprise.

  “Becky, how old are you?”

  “Sixteen, Aunt Rebecca.”

  “Quite a young lady, I declare. Now that mother is laid upon a sickbed, the care of the house devolves upon you. Girls of sixteen areusually fitted for that position. Do you feel prepared to attend tothose duties?”

  Becky hung her head.

  “No, Becky, you are not a wicked girl. But it is time for some goodfriend to show you how you have wasted the powers God has given you.Had you given the same attention to learning to keep house that youhave to playing ball and tag, to robbing orchards and shooting theBasin, you would have been ready to take your place at your mother’sbed-side, or to take charge of cooking. You would have gained the goodopinion of everybody, instead of being shunned as a tomboy; and youwould not then have reproached yourself, as you do now, for being thecause of your mother’s illness.”

  “I know it, I know; ’tis all my fault, ’tis all my fault!” sobbed Becky.

  “Not altogether your fault, pet. You have had no one to lead youaright. But ’tis time you learned a young woman’s duties. You arequick, intelligent, apt to learn. Will you let me give you a fewlessons, Becky?”

  “O, Aunt Rebecca, if you don’t hate me, if you will try and makesomething of me, I’ll never go out doors again as long as I live!”

  Mrs. Thompson smiled.

  “Plants will not thrive without air, Becky: you shall have plenty ofit. Now, dry your eyes, and come with me to see mother.”

  “Not now, Aunt Rebecca; I’m not fit. I hope you’ll make something ofme; but it’s an awful bad job. One thing I mean to do. I’ll try just ashard as ever I can to do just what you tell me.”

  “That’s right, Miss Becky Sleeper; and if you do what that angel womantells you, you are on the straight road to heaven, I can tell you.”

  Mr. Harry Thompson came running into the room.

  “Don’t scold, mother. I’ve been listening outside the door for the lastfive minutes. Let me congratulate you on your promising pupil.”

  “I think I can ma
ke something of her,” said Mrs. Thompson looking withpride at her handsome son.

  “Not without my help, mother. I know all the good points of thatsportive genius, for, alas! I helped to train them in the wrong way.So, to make amends, employ me in the good work of training thiswandering vine in the proper direction. What do you say, Miss Becky?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Harry,” said Becky, soberly. “Is it somenew game you want to teach me? If it is, I can’t learn it, for I’vepromised not to play any more.”

  Harry laughed.

  “Yes, Becky, ’tis a new game. We’ll call it ‘Excelsior,’ a game whichrequires work, and not play.”

  “Don’t puzzle the child, Harry,” said Mrs. Thompson.

  “Child!” echoed Harry. “Sweet sixteen; and yet she’s but a child.”

  “You saved my life, Harry,” said Becky, with tears in her eyes. “Idon’t know as I ought to thank you for doing it, for Aunt Rebecca saysit’s been a wasted life. But I do thank you all the same.”

  “Perhaps I’ve brought you into a new life, Becky. I hope I have--thelife of usefulness we all should live.”

  “Look out, Becky! she’s drifting!” shouted Teddy, in his sleep. “She’sdrifting! she drifting!”

  He moved uneasily in his sleep, started, rolled off his chair, and_drifted_ on to the floor, with a crash that shook the house.

  “Teddy Sleeper, what ails you? Wake up!” cried Becky, running to him,and shaking him. “Don’t you see we’ve got company?”

  Teddy rolled over, sat up, and stared wildly about him.

  “I don’t care, Becky Sleeper. I ain’t a goin’ to be stumped by a girl,any way.”

  Harry Thompson laughed so loud that Teddy sprang to his feet inconfusion.

  “Stick to that, Teddy, and we’ll make a man of you.”