Mistress Pat

by L. M. Montgomery

  “I’ve always thought nobody understood me quite as well as I understood myself,” resumed Mr. Tillytuck. “It isn’t likely I’ll ever marry now. But while there’s life there’s hope.” This time it was at Judy he winked and Judy felt that she was not half as “mad” as she should be. She gave her soup a final stir and stood up briskly.

  “Wud ye be jining us in a sup av soup, Mister Tillytuck?”

  “Ah, some small refreshment will not be amiss,” responded Mr. Tillytuck in a gratified tone. “I am not above the pleasures of the palate in moderation. And ever since I entered this dwelling I’ve been saying to myself whenever you stirred that pot, ‘Of all the smells that I ever did smell I never smelled a smell that smelled half as good as that smell smells.’”

  Pat and Cuddles proceeded to set the table. Mr. Tillytuck watched them with approbation.

  “A pair of high-steppers,” he remarked presently in a hoarse aside to Judy. “Some class to them. The little one has the wrist of an aristycrat.”

  “Oh, oh, and so ye’ve noticed that now?” said Judy, highly gratified.

  “Naturally. I’m an expert in regard to weemen. ‘There’s elegance for you,’ I said to myself the moment I opened the door. Some difference from the girls at the fox farm. Just between friends, Miss Plum, they looked like dried apples on a string. One of them was as thin as a weasel and living on lettuce to get thinner. But these two now…Cupid will be busy I reckon. No doubt you’ve a terrible time with the boys hanging round, Miss Plum?”

  “Oh, oh, we’re not altogether overlooked,” said Judy complacently. “And now, Mister Tillytuck, will ye be sitting in?”

  Mr. Tillytuck slid into a chair.

  “I wonder if you’d mind leaving out the ‘mister,’” he said. “I’m not used to it and it makes me feel like a pilgrim and sojourner. Josiah, now…if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Oh, oh, but I wud,” said Judy decidedly. “Sure and Josiah has always been a name I cudn’t bear iver since old Josiah Miller down at South Glen murdered his wife.”

  “I was well acquainted with Josiah Miller,” remarked Mr. Tillytuck, taking up his spoon. “First he choked his wife, then he hanged her, then he dropped her in the river with a stone tied to her. Taking no chances. Ah, I knew him well. In fact, I may say he was a particular friend of mine at one time. But after that happened of course I had to drop him.”

  “Did they hang him?” demanded Cuddles with ghoulish interest.

  “No. They couldn’t prove it although everybody knew he did it. They kind of sympathized with him. There’s an odd woman that has to be murdered. He died a natural death but his ghost walked. I met it once on a time.”

  “Oh!” Cuddles didn’t notice Judy’s evident disapproval of this poaching on her preserves. “Really, Mr. Tillytuck?”

  “No mistake, Miss Gardiner. Most ghosts is nothing but rats. But this was a genuwine phantom.”

  “Did he…did he speak to you?”

  Mr. Tillytuck nodded.

  “‘I see you’re out for a walk like myself,’ says he. But I made no reply. I have discovered it is better not to monkey with spooks, miss. Interesting things, but dangerous. So irresponsible, speaking romantically. So, as Friend Josiah was right in the road and I couldn’t get past him I just walked through him. Never saw him again. Miss Plum, this is soup.”

  Judy had spent the evening swinging from approval to disapproval of Mr. Tillytuck…which continued to be the case during his whole sojourn at Silver Bush. His appreciation of her soup got him another bowlful. Pat was wishing father would come home from Swallowfield. Perhaps Mr. Tillytuck didn’t know he had to sleep in the granary. But Mr. Tillytuck said, as he got up from the table,

  “I understand my quarters is in the granary…so if you’ll be kind enough to tell me where it is…”

  “Miss Rachel will be taking the flashlight and showing ye the way,” said Judy. “There do be plinty av good blankets on the bed but I’m afraid ye’ll find it cold. There do be no fire since we didn’t be knowing ye were coming.”

  “I’ll kindle one in a jiffy.”

  “Oh, oh, thin ye’ll be smoked out. That fire has to be lit for an hour afore it’ll give over smoking. There do be something out av kilter wid the chimney. Long…Mr. Gardiner is maning to have it fixed.”

  “I’ll fix it myself. I worked with a mason for years. Down at the fox farm they had a bad chimney and I built it over in fine shape.”

  “Did it draw?” asked Judy skeptically.

  “Draw! Miss Plum, that chimney drew the cat clean up it one night. The poor animal was never seen again.”

  Judy subsided. Mr. Tillytuck possessed himself of his bag and his violin and his owl and his dog.

  “I’m ready, Miss Gardiner. And as for the matter of names, Miss Plum, the Prince of Wales called me Josiah the whole summer I worked on his ranch in Alberta. A very democratic young man. But if you can’t bring yourself to it plain Tillytuck will do for me. And if you’ve warts or anything like that on your hands”…Cuddles guiltily put a hand behind her…“I can cure them in a jiffy.”

  Judy primmed her mouth and took a high tone.

  “Thank ye kindly but we do be knowing a few things at Silver Bush. Me grandmother did be taching me a charm for warts whin I was a girleen and it works rale well. Goodnight, Mister Tillytuck. I’m hoping yell be warm and slape well.”

  “I’ll be in the arms of old Murphy in short order,” assured Mr. Tillytuck.

  They heard Cuddles’ laughter floating back through the rain all the way to the granary. Evidently Mr. Tillytuck was amusing her.

  “Certainly he is peculiar,” said Pat. “But peculiar people give color to life, don’t they, Judy?”

  Cuddles ran in, her face sparkling and radiant from wind and rain.

  “Isn’t he a darling? He told me he belonged to one of the best families in Nova Scotia.”

  “Av which statement I have me doubts,” said Judy. “I’m thinking he was spaking symbolically, as he sez himself. And it didn’t use to be manners, taking yer story right out av yer mouth as ye heard him do to mesilf. But he sames a good-natured simple sort av cratur and likely we can put up wid him as long as our family animals can.”

  “He thinks you’re wonderful, Judy. And he wishes you would call him Josiah.”

  “That I’ll not thin. But I’m not saying I won’t be laving off the Mister after a day or two. It’s too much of a strain. Cuddles dear, to-morry I’ll be fixing up a bit av a charm for that liddle wart av yours. I’m knowing it shud av been attinded to long ago but what wid all these comings and goings and hirings it wint out av me head. Oh, oh, I’ll not be having any Mister Tillytuck wid a side-whisker casting up the fam’ly warts to me!”

  “I must write Hilary all about him,” laughed Pat. “He would delight in him. Oh, Judy, if Hilary could only drop in some of these November evenings as he used to do things would be perfect. It’s over two years now since he went away and it seems like a hundred. Is there any soup left for Sid, Judy?”

  “Loads and lashings av it. Was it to the dance at South Glen he was going?”

  “Wherever he went he took Madge Robinson,” said Cuddles. “He’s giving her quite a rush now. All summer it was Sara Russell. I believe Sid is a dreadful flirt.”

  Pat smiled contentedly. There was safety in numbers. After all, Sid had never seemed really to have a serious notion of any girl since Bets had died. It pleased Pat to think he would be faithful to her sweet memory all his life…as she, Pat, would be. She would never have another intimate girl friend. She liked to think of herself as a happy old maid and Sid a happy old bachelor, living gaily together all their lives, loving and caring for Silver Bush, with Winnie and Cuddles and Joe coming home for long visits with their families, and McGinty and the cats living forever and Judy telling stories in the kitchen. One couldn’t think of Silver Bush without J
udy. She had always been there and of course she always would be.

  “Judy,” said Cuddles solemnly, turning back in the hall doorway on her way to bed, “Judy, mind you don’t go and fall in love with Josiah. I saw him winking at you.”

  Judy’s only reply was a snort.

  CHAPTER 4

  The days of that late autumn seemed to Pat to slip by like a golden river of happiness, even after the last cricket song had been sung. Mother was keeping well…father was jubilant over the good harvest…Cuddles was taking more interest in her lessons…the surplus kittens of the summer’s crop had all found excellent homes…and there was enough of dances and beaus to satisfy Pat’s not very passionate love of social life. Almost any time she would have preferred to roast apples and bandy lovely ghost stories in Judy’s kitchen to going to a party. Cuddles could not understand this: she was longing for the day when she would be old enough to go to dances and have “boyfriends.”

  “I mean to have a great deal of attention,” she told Judy gravely. “A few flirtations…nice ones, Judy…and then I’ll fall in love sensibly.”

  “Oh, oh,” said Judy with a twinkle, “I’m thinking that can’t be done, Cuddles darlint. A sinsible love affair now…it do be sounding a bit dull to me.”

  “Pat says she’s never going to fall in love with anybody. I really believe she does want to be an old maid, Judy.”

  “I’ve been hearing girls talk that way afore now,” scoffed Judy. But she was secretly uneasy. The Silver Bush girls in any generation had never been flirts but she would have liked Pat to show a little more interest in the young men who came and went at Silver Bush and took her to dances and pictures and corn-roasts and skating parties and moonlight snowshoe tramps. Pat had any number of “boyfriends” but friends were all they were or seemed likely to be. Judy was quite elated when Milton Taylor of South Glen began haunting Silver Bush and taking Pat out when she would go. But Pat would not go often enough to please Judy.

  “Oh, oh, Patsy dear, he’ll have the finest farm in South Glen someday and the nice boy he is! It’s the affectionate husband he’d be making ye.”

  “‘An affectionate husband,’” giggled Pat. “Oh, Judy, you’re so Victorian. Affectionate husbands are out of date. We like the cave men, don’t we, Cuddles?”

  Cuddles and Pat exchanged grins. In spite of the difference in their ages they were great chums and Pat had a dreadful habit of telling Cuddles all about her beaus, what they did and what they said. Pat had a nippy tongue when she chose and the youths in question would not have been exactly delighted if they could have overheard her.

  “But don’t you intend to get married sometime, Pat?” Cuddles asked once.

  Pat shook her brown head impatiently.

  “Oh…sometime perhaps…when I have to…but not for years and years. Why, Silver Bush couldn’t spare me.”

  “But if Sid brings a wife in sometime…”

  “Sid won’t do that,” cried Pat passionately. “I don’t believe Sid will ever marry. You know he was in love with Bets, Cuddles. I believe he will always be faithful to her memory.”

  “Judy says men aren’t like that. And everyone says May Binnie is making a dead set at him.”

  “Sid will never marry May Binnie…that’s one thing I’m sure of,” said Pat. The very thought made her feel cold. She and May Binnie had always hated each other.

  Tillytuck was almost as much interested in Pat’s affairs as was Judy. Every young man who came to Silver Bush got a severe scrutiny, though he knew it not, from Tillytuck’s little black eyes. It delighted him to listen to Pat’s badinage.

  “Gosh, but she knows how to handle the men!” he exclaimed admiringly one night, when the door closed behind Pat and Milton Taylor. “She’ll make a fine wife for someone. I admit that I admire her deportment, Judy.”

  “Oh, oh, we all do know how to be handling the men at Silver Bush, Tillytuck,” said Judy loftily.

  For it was “Judy” and “Tillytuck” now. Judy would have none of Josiah and “mister” was too formal to keep up for long. They were excellent friends after a fashion. It seemed to Judy, as to everybody, that Tillytuck must have always been at Silver Bush. It was impossible to believe that it was only six weeks since he had dropped in with his owl and his fiddle and Just Dog. The very cats purred louder when he came into the house. To be sure, Gentleman Tom never quite approved of him. But then Gentleman Tom had always been a reserved, taciturn cat who never really took up with anyone but Judy.

  Tillytuck had his prescriptive corner and chair in the kitchen and he was always slipping in to ask Judy to make a cup of tea for him. The fun of it, to Pat and Cuddles, was that Judy always made it, without a word of complaint. She soon discovered that Tillytuck had a sweet tooth where pies and cake were concerned and when she was in a good humor with him there was usually a triangle of one or a slice of the other waiting for him, to the amusement of the girls who affected to believe that Judy was “sweet” on Tillytuck, much to her scorn. Sometimes she would even sit down on the other side of the stove and drink a cup of tea with him. When she felt compelled to scold him he always soothed her with a compliment.

  “See how I can manage the weemen,” he would whisper complacently to Pat. “Ain’t it the pity I’m not a marrying man?”

  “Perhaps you may marry yet,” responded Pat with a grave face, dropping a dot of red jelly like a gleaming ruby in the pale yellow center of her lemon tarts.

  “Maybe…when I make up my mind whether I want to take pity on Judy or not,” Tillytuck answered with a wink. “There’s times when I think she’d suit me. She’s fond of talking and I’m fond of listening.”

  Judy ignored nonsense of this kind. She had, so she informed the girl, taken Tillytuck’s measure once and for all.

  She was, however, very bitter because he never went to church. Judy thought all hired men ought to go to church. It was only respectable. If they did not go who knew but that censorious neighbors would claim it was because they were so overworked at Silver Bush during the week that they did not be having the strength to go to church on Sundays. But Tillytuck was adamantine to her arguments.

  “I don’t approve of human hymns,” he said firmly. “Nothing should be sung in churches but the psalms of David…with maybe an occasional paraphrase on special occasions. Them’s my principles and I sticks to them. I always sing a psalm before I go to bed and every Sunday morning I read a chapter in my testament.”

  “And on Waping Willy’s tombstone,” muttered Judy, who for some mysterious reason resented Tillytuck’s habit of going into the graveyard to read the said chapter.

  And then…Christmas was drawing near and Great Preparations were being made. You could hear the capitals in Tillytuck’s voice when he referred to them. They were going to have a real “re-union.” Winnie and Frank would come and Uncle Tom and Aunt Edith and Aunt Barbara from Swallowfield and Aunt Hazel and Uncle Rob Madison and their five children and the Bay Shore Great-aunts if their rheumatism let them. In fact, it was to be what Judy called “a regular tommyshaw” and Pat was brimful of happiness and expectation over it all. It would be the first “real” Christmas since she had become the virtual mistress of Silver Bush. The previous one Frank had had bronchitis, so he and Winnie couldn’t come, and the one before that Aunt Hazel’s family had measles and Hilary was not there for the first time in years, and it hadn’t been a Christmassy Christmas at all. But everything would be different this year. And Joe expected to be home for the first Christmas since he went away. Judy’s turkeys were fat as fat could be and there was to be a goose because dad liked goose and a couple of ducks because Uncle Tom liked ducks. As for the rest of the bill of fare, Pat was poring over cookbooks most of her spare time. Many and old were the cook-books of Silver Bush, full of clan recipes that had stood the test of time. Most of them had nice names linked up with all kinds of people who had invented the recipes…many of
them people who were dead or in far lands. It gave Pat a thrill to thumb them over…Grandmother Selby’s jellied cabbage salad…Aunt Hazel’s ginger cookies…Cousin Miranda’s beef-steak pie…the Bay Shore pudding…Great-grandmother Gardiner’s fruit cake…Old Joe Pingle’s mince pie…Uncle Horace’s raisin gravy. Pat never could find out who Old Joe Pingle was. Nobody, not even Judy, seemed to know. But Uncle Horace had brought the recipe for raisin gravy home from his first voyage and told Judy he had killed a man for it…though nobody believed him.

  Judy was planning to get a new “dress-up dress” for the occasion. Her old one, a blue garment of very ancient vintage, was ralely a liddle old-fashioned.

  “And besides, Patsy dear, I’d be nading it if I took a run over to ould Ireland some av these long-come-shorts. I can’t be getting the thought out av me head iver since Cuddles put it in. Sure and if I wint I’d want to make a rale good apparance afore me ould frinds, not to spake av a visit to Castle McDermott. What wud ye think av a nice wine-color, Patsy? They tell me it’s rale fashionable, this fall. And mebbe sating as a bit av a change from silk.”

  Pat, although the thought of Judy going to Ireland, even if only for a visit, gave her a nasty sensation, entered heartily into the question of the new dress and went to town with Judy to help in the selection and bully the dressmaker into making it exactly as Judy wanted it. Uncle Tom was in town that day and they saw him dodging out of a jeweler’s shop, trying hastily to secrete a small, ornately wrapped parcel in his pocket before he encountered them. Not succeeding, he muttered something about having to see a man and shot down a side street.

  “Uncle Tom is awfully mysterious about something these days,” said Pat. “What do you suppose he has been buying in that shop? I’m sure it couldn’t have been anything for Aunt Edith or Aunt Barbara.”

  “Oh, oh, Patsy dear, I’m belaving yer Uncle Tom has a notion av getting married. I know the signs.”

  Pat experienced another disagreeable sensation. Change at Swallowfield was almost as bad as change at Silver Bush. Uncle Tom and the aunts had always lived there…always would. Pat couldn’t fit an Aunt Tom into the picture at all.