by E. W. Howe
CHAPTER XIV.
THE ANCIENT MAIDEN.
Jane Benton, old Thompson's maiden sister, was as good as anybody,though no one urged the point as steadily as she did herself. Had thePresident walked into Jane Benton's presence, she would have believedthat he had heard of her (although there was no reason that she shouldentertain that opinion) and had called to pay his respects; and insteadof being timid in so great a presence, she would have expected him to betimid in hers.
There were people who cared to distinguish themselves: very well, letthem do it; but Jane Benton did not have that ambition, though she hadthe ability, and could have easily made a name for herself which wouldhave gone thundering down the ages. Let other people distinguishthemselves and pay the price; Jane Benton was distinguishednaturally--effort was not necessary in her case. If the people did notacknowledge it, it was their loss, not hers.
The Ancient Maiden was a book-worm, and devoured everything she heardof; but only with a determination to tear it to pieces, for of course noone could hope to amuse or instruct a lady of forty-five, who not onlyknew everything worth knowing already, but who had taught school in heryounger days on the strength of a certificate ranging from ninety-eightto ninety-nine. This certificate had been issued by three learned men,each one of whom knew absolutely everything; and it was agreed by themthat Jane Benton should have had an even hundred but for thecircumstance that her "hand write" was a little crooked. This fault hadsince been remedied, and the Ancient Maiden still retained thecertificate, and the recollection of the conclusion by the three learnedmen, as an evidence that, so far as education was concerned, she lackednothing whatever.
When she consented to favor a book by looking through it, there wasunutterable disgust on her features as she possessed herself of thecontents, since she felt nothing but contempt for the upstarts whoattempted to amuse or instruct so great a woman as Jane Benton. And herpatience was usually rewarded.
Thompson! Annie! Ring the bells, and run here! The ignorant pretenderhas been found out! A turned letter in the book! A that for a which! Awill for a shall! A would for a should! Hurrah! Announce it to thepeople! Another pretender found out! Lock the book up! It is worthless!Jane Benton's greatness, so long in doubt, is vindicated!
But while there is not a perfect book in existence now, there is likelyto be one, providing Jane Benton lives three or four hundred yearslonger, for the thought has often occurred to her that she ought to dosomething for the race, although it does not deserve such a kindness, asa pattern for all future writers. She has done nothing in forty-fiveyears; but she has been busy during that time, no doubt, in preparingfor a book which will not only astonish the living, but cause the deadto crawl out of their graves, and feel ashamed of themselves. Let thepeople go on in their mad ignorance; Jane Benton is preparing to pointout their errors, and in the course of the present century--certainlynot later than toward the close of the next one--a new prophet willappear in such robes of splendid perfection that even the earth willacknowledge its imperfections, and creep off into oblivion.
But notwithstanding her rather remarkable conceit, Jane Benton was auseful woman. For fifteen years she had "pottered around," as oldThompson said, and made her brother's home a pleasant one. Since shecould not set the world on fire, she said she did not want to, and atleast knew her own home perfectly, and had it under thorough control.When old Thompson needed anything, and ransacked the house until heconcluded that it had been burned up, his sister Jane could put her handon the article immediately; and perhaps Jane Benton's genius, in whichshe had so much confidence, was a genius for attempting only what shecould do well; for whatever her intentions were, she had certainlyaccomplished nothing, except to distinguish her brother's house as theneatest and cleanest in Davy's Bend.
Notwithstanding her lofty ambitions, and her marvellous capacity inhigher walks, she was jealous of what she had really accomplished; andthe servant girl who promised to be industrious and generallysatisfactory around old Thompson's house was soon presented with herwalking papers, for Jane Benton believed that she was the only womanalive who knew the secret of handling dishes without breaking them, orof sweeping a carpet without ruining it; therefore a servant whothreatened to become a rival was soon sent away, and a less thrifty oneprocured, who afforded the mistress opportunity of regretting that thegirls of recent years knew nothing, and stubbornly refused to learn. OldThompson had been heard to say once, after his sister had ordered thecook to leave in an hour, that he would finally be called upon to sendhis daughter Annie away, for no other reason than that she was useful,and careful, and industrious, and sensible; but the Ancient Maiden hadgood sense, in spite of her eccentricities, and dearly loved her prettyniece; and it is probable that old Thompson only made the remark in fun.
Thompson Benton was too sensible a man to go hungry in anticipation ofimprobable feasts in the future; therefore his sister Jane and hisdaughter Annie were well provided for; and were seated in a ratherelegant room in a rather elegant house, on a certain wet afternoon inthe spring of the year, busy with their work. The girl had been quietand thoughtful all day, but finally she startled her aunt byinquiring,--
"Aunt Jane, were you ever in love?"
The Ancient Maiden dropped her work, and looked at the girl inindignation and astonishment.
"Annie," she sharply said, "what do you mean by asking me such aquestion as that?"
The Ancient Maiden was particularly severe on the men who attempted towrite books, but the sex in general was her abomination. Every man whopaid court to a young woman, in Jane Benton's opinion, was a marriedman, with a large family of children; and though it sometimes turned outthat those she accused of this offence were only twenty years old, orsuch a matter, she said that made no difference; they had married young,probably, and investigation would reveal that they had ten or twelveragged children and a pale wife somewhere in poverty. Therefore thepresumption of the girl in asking such a question caused her to repeatagain, and with more indignation than before:--
"What do you mean by asking me such a question as that?"
Annie Benton was like her father in another particular; she was notafraid of Jane, for they both loved her; therefore she was notfrightened at her indignation, but laughingly insisted on the question.
"But _were_ you ever in love?"
"Annie," her aunt replied, this time with an air of insulted dignity, "Ishall speak to your father about this when he comes home to-night. Theidea of a chit of a girl like you asking me if I have ever been in love!You have known me all your life; have I ever _acted_ as though I were inlove?"
"The question is easy to answer," the girl persisted. "Yes or no."
Seeing that the girl was not to be put off, Jane Benton pulled a needleout of her knitting--for Thompson Benton wore knit socks to keep peacein the family, since his sister believed that should he go down townwearing a pair of the flimsy kind he kept for sale, he would return inthe evening only to fall dead in her arms--and picked her teeth with itwhile she reflected. And while about it, her manner softened so muchthat, when she went out of the room soon after, Annie believed there wasa suspicion of tears in her eyes. She remained away such a length oftime that the girl feared she had really offended the worthy woman, andwas preparing to go out and look for her, when she came back wiping hereyes with her apron, and carrying a great packet of letters, which shethrew down on the table in front of Annie.
"There!" she said pettishly. "Since you are so curious, read them."
The girl was very much amused at the turn affairs had taken, and, afterbreaking the string which held the letters together, looked over severalof them. They were dated in the year Annie was born, and one seemed tohave been written on her birthday. They all referred to her aunt in themost loving and extravagant terms possible; and while thinking how funnyit was that her wrinkled aunt should be referred to as dear littleangel, the Ancient Maiden said,--
"In love! I was crazy! And I can't laugh about it yet, though it seemsto be so am
using to you."
"It only amuses me because I know now that you are like other women,"the girl replied quietly. "I think more of you than ever, now that Iknow you have been in love."
"Well, you ought to think a good deal of me, then," the Ancient Maidensaid, "for I was so crazy after the writer of those letters that Icouldn't sleep. Love him! I thought he was different from any other manwho ever lived, and I worshipped him; I made a god of him, and wouldhave followed him to the end of the earth."
There was more animation in Aunt Jane's voice than Annie had evernoticed before, and she waved the knitting needle at her niece as thoughshe were to blame for getting her into a love mess.
"He knew every string leading to my heart," the excited maid continued,"and he had more control over me than I ever had over myself. It was afortunate thing that he was an honorable man. Now you know it all, and Ifeel ashamed of myself."
Miss Jane applied herself to knitting again, though she missed a greatmany stitches because of her excitement.
"But why didn't he marry you, since he loved you?" Annie inquired.
"Well, since you _must_ know, he found a girl who suited him better,"the Ancient Maiden replied. "But before that girl came in the way, he_thought_ he loved me, and I was so well satisfied with his mistakennotion that I worshipped him. And if his old fat wife should die now,I'd marry him were he to ask me to. After you have lived as long as Ihave, you'll find out that fickleness is not such a great fault, afterall. Why, sometimes it bothers me to have your father around, and a mancan as easily tire of his wife or sweetheart as that!"
She snapped her fingers in such a manner that it sounded like the reportof a toy pistol, and the girl looked at her in surprise.
"We're all fickle; you and I as well as the rest of them," shecontinued. "Had the wives of this country pleasant homes to go back to;were their fathers all rich men, for example, who would be glad toreceive them, half of them--more than that, two thirds of them--wouldleave their husbands, as they ought to do; but a wife usually has noother home than that her husband has made for her, and she gets alongthe best she can. The men are no worse than the women; we are allfickle, fickle, fickle. As sure as we are all selfish, we are allfickle. If I were married to a rich man who treated me well, I would bemore apt to love him than one who was poor, and who treated me badly;sometimes we forget our own fickleness in our selfishness. Look at thewidowers; how gay they are! Look at the widows; how gay _they_ are! Ihave known men and women so long that I feel like saying fiddlestickswhen I think of it."
"But father is a widower, Aunt Jane," the girl said, "and he is notgay."
"Well, he had to run away with his wife, to get her," the Ancient Maidenreplied, after some hesitation. "There seems to be a good deal in love,after all, in cases where people make a sacrifice for it. These runawaymatches, if the parties to it are sensible, somehow turn out well."
"Did father ever think any less of my mother because she ran away withhim?" the girl asked.
"No," her aunt replied. "He thought more of her for it, I suppose.Anyway, I never knew another man to be as fond of his wife as he was."
Annie Benton and the Ancient Maiden pursued their work in silence for awhile, when the girl said,--
"I want to make a confession to you, too, Aunt Jane. I am in love withAllan Dorris."
"Don't hope to surprise me by telling me that," her aunt returnedquickly, and looking at the girl as if in vexation. "I have known it forsix months. But it won't do you any good, for he is going away on theearly train to-morrow morning. Your father told me so this morning, andhe seemed glad of it. You haven't kept your secret from him, either."
To avoid showing her chagrin at this reply, the girl walked over to thewindow, and looked out. Allan Dorris was passing in the road, and shefelt sure that he was walking that way hoping to catch a glimpse of her;perhaps he was only taking a farewell look at the house in which shelived. But she did not show herself, although he watched the houseclosely until he passed out of sight.
"I supposed everyone knew it," the girl said, returning to her chairagain. "I have always thought that any girl who is desperately in lovecannot hide it; but I wanted to talk to you about it, and I am glad youtold me what you did, for I can talk more freely after having heard it.I have no one else to make a confidant of, and I am very much concernedabout it. The matter is so serious with me that I am scared."
"Don't be scared, for pity's sake," the Ancient Maiden replied, with ashow of her old spirit. "They all feel that way, but they soon get overit. When I was in love I wondered that the sun came up in the morning,but everything went on just as usual. I thought the people were watchingme in alarm, fearing I would do something desperate, but those who knewabout it paid little attention, and I _had_ to get over it, whether Iwanted to or not. You will feel differently after he has been gone aweek."
"The certainty that I will not is the reason I have spoken to you,"Annie continued gravely. "Allan Dorris loves me as the writer of theletters you have shown me loved you before the other girl came in hisway; and I love him as you have loved the writer of the letters allthese years. You have never forgotten your lover; then why should yousay that I will forget mine within a week? What would you advise me todo?"
"Ask me anything but that," the aunt replied, folding up her work withan unsteady hand. "No matter how I should advise you, I should finallycome to believe that I had advised you wrong, love is so uncertain. Itis usually a matter of impulse, and some of the most unpromising loversturn out the best. I cannot advise you, Annie; I do not know."
Jane Benton imagined that Dorris was going away because Annie would notmarry him; but the reverse was really the case,--he was going away forfear she would become his wife.
"My greatest fear is," the girl continued again, "that I do not feel asa woman should with reference to it. I would not dare to tell you howmuch concerned I am; I am almost afraid to admit it to myself. I amthoroughly convinced that his going away will blight my life, and that Ishall always feel toward him as I do now; yet there are grave reasonswhy I should not become his wife. Do you think the women are better thanthe men?"
The Ancient Maiden leaned back in her chair to think about it, andpicked her teeth with the knitting-needle again.
"What is your honest opinion?" the girl insisted.
"Sometimes I think they are, and sometimes I think they are not," theaunt replied, bending over her work again. "When I hear a man's opinionof a woman, I laugh to myself, for they know nothing of them. The womenall seem to be better than they really are, and the men all seem to beworse than they really are; I have often thought that. Women have somany _little_ mean ways, in their conduct toward one another, and are soinnocent about it; but when a man is mean, he is mean all over, andperfectly indifferent to what is thought about him. A lot of women gettogether, and gabble away for hours about nothing, but the men areeither up to pronounced mischief or they are at work."
"If you were in love with a man, would you have as much confidence inhis honesty as you had in your own?" the girl asked.
"Certainly," her aunt replied promptly.
"Then won't you advise me? Please do; for I have as much confidence inAllan Dorris as I have in myself."
"If you will see that all the doors are fastened," Jane Benton repliedexcitedly, "I will. Quick! Before I change my mind."
The girl did as she was directed, and hurried back to her aunt's side.
"Since there is no possibility of anyone hearing," Jane Bentoncontinued, "I will tell you the best thing to do in my judgment; butwhatever comes of it, do not hold me responsible. Think over the mattercarefully, and then do whatever you yourself think best. No one canadvise you like yourself. You are a sensible girl, and a good girl, andI would trust your judgment fully, and so would your father, though hewould hardly say so. There; that's enough on _that_ subject. But you candepend on one thing: there is a grand difference between a lover and ahusband; and very few men are as fond of their wives as they were oftheir sweethearts
. All the men do not improve on acquaintance like yourfather, and I have known girls who were pretty and engaging one year whowere old women the next; matrimony has that effect on most of them, andyou should know it. The women do the best they can, I suppose, but youcan't very well blame a man sometimes. In 1883 he falls in love with afresh and pretty girl, and marries her; in 1884 she has lost her beautyand her freshness, and although he feels very meanly over it, somehowhis feelings have changed toward her. Of course he loves her a little,but he is not the man he was before they were married--not a bit of it.A good many husbands and wives spend the first years of their marriagein thinking of the divorce courts, but after they find out that theyshould have known better than to expect complete happiness frommatrimony, and that they are not different from other people, they geton better. Since you have locked the door to hear the truth, I hope youare satisfied with it."
"But is it _necessary_ for girls to become old so soon?" Annie inquired.
"Well, I don't suppose that it is," her aunt replied, "but the men hadbetter expect it; and the women had better expect that since there neverwas yet an angel in pants, there never will be one. The trouble is, notthe men and women, but the false notions each entertain toward theother. Now run and open the doors, or I'll faint."
Annie Benton, after opening the doors and watching her aunt revive, didnot seem at all impressed by what she had heard; indeed, she acted asthough she did not believe it, so the Ancient Maiden gave her anotherdose.
"I imagine I have been rather satisfactory to your father," she said,"but had I been his wife I doubt if we would have got along so well. Aman who is rather a good fellow is often very mean to his wife; and itseems to be natural, too, for he does not admit it to himself, andthinks he has justification for his course. I don't know what thetrouble is, but I know that the most bitter hatreds in the world arethose between married people who do not get along. Since you are socurious about matrimony, I'll try and give you enough of it. Even a manwho loves his wife will do unjust things toward her which he would notdo to a sister he was fond of; and there is something about marriagewhich affects men and women as nothing else will. There are thousands ofgood husbands, but if you could see way down to the bottom of men'swicked hearts not one in ten would say he was glad he had married.That's a mean enough thing to say about the women, I hope, and if you donot understand what my real preferences in your case are, you must beblind."
Thompson Benton came in soon after, and they spent a very quiet eveningtogether. Annie retired to her own room early, and when she came to bidher father good-night, tears started in her eyes.
"What is the matter with the girl?" he asked his sister after Annie haddisappeared.
Jane Benton did not reply for a long time, keeping her eyes on the pagesof a book she held in her hand, but at last she said,--
"I don't know."
Thompson Benton must have noticed that his sister was nervous, and hadhe followed her up the stairs when she retired for the night, he musthave marvelled that she went into Annie's room, and kissed her over andover, and then went hurriedly away.