the sake of the common cause ofanger they now had. She glanced across the way, as she huddled up inher shawl, taking the sun on the back-porch. If she had seen anysoftness in the lines of Miss Duty's back, as she stood washingwindows on her own porch, Miss Resigned Elizabeth almost felt as ifshe could cough, or perhaps even speak, just to pass the time of day.But Miss Duty's back was as rigid as her principles; and though sheknew well enough that her sister was near, she gave no sign ofconsciousness. The younger sister felt forlorn and old, and drew hershawl closer around her, as if a cold air blew from that stiff figureon the other porch.
But 'twas warmer here than in the house, anyway.
The house seemed strangely cold and cheerless since Betsy went away.There was no one singing in the little pantry, or making a cheerfulclatter among the milk-pails. If Miss Resigned Elizabeth had onlyknown how things were going to turn out, she would never have hired agirl; but now, it didn't seem as if she could get along withoutone,--coming winter, too.
But it was not so easy to get a girl in Verona. "Help is turribleskurce!" was the answer to all Miss Resigned Elizabeth's inquiries;nor did Miss Duty fare better in her search for a boy to fill theplace of the delinquent Bijah. They both had to send for old John, thevillage chore-man, a surly elder, who grumbled bitterly at thehalf-mile walk on the Indiana road, and wanted to know what folkslived out there in the wilderness for, anyway. A sad time the poorladies had now. Their pails were mixed up, because old John saw noreason for giving way to such foolishness on the part of the Butegirls, with whom he had gone to school forty years before, and whohad never been so all creation as they thought they were, that heknew of. The indignant maidens found baskets marked with hostileinitials in the shed; and if old John did not find what he wanted onthe premises of one sister, he coolly took it from the other house,without so much as "by your leave." They could not even tell whetherthey were drinking their own cow's milk, or that of the critter over'nthe next yard; for John drove the cows together to whichever pasturehe happened to fancy, and milked them together, whistling defiance ashe did so. Any remonstrance was met with the announcement that he,John, was only coming to accommodate, and the sooner they found someone else to do their putterin', the better he should be pleased.
It was really a dreadful state of things. Why, they might almost aswell be living together again, Miss Duty thought; and Miss ResignedElizabeth thought so, too. And so the days wore on, and the weeks, andmade themselves into months; and the Misses Bute mourned in secret forBetsy Garlick and Bijah Green.
A year passed, as years do, whether people are comfortable or not.Miss Duty and Miss Resigned Elizabeth were not comfortable; but nobodyseemed to care, and help continued to be "turrible skurce." Summer hadcome again, the late summer even, and the harvest-moon. One evening,just at sunset, as Miss Duty was straining the milk, there came asharp knock at the door. Miss Duty did not altogether approve ofpeople's knocking at her door at any time, and it was a specialoutrage just now, when anybody with brains in his head must know thatshe was busy; so she set down the pan and waited to see what wouldcome next. Another knock came next, so imperious that Miss Duty wipedher hands on her apron and went to the door, outwardly calm, butinwardly raging.
There stood Calvin Parks, the driver of the Beulah stage, with a strawin his mouth and a twinkle in his eye.
"Lady out here to see you, Miss Bute," he said. "Very importantbusiness. Good evenin'!"
He was gone before the indignant lady could say a word. If you came tothink of it, this was shameless impudence. A lady indeed! An agent,likely, selling some trash that wasn't fit for stove-kindlings. At anyrate, Miss Duty must go and give the woman a piece of her mind, comin'traipsin' round, just when folks was busy. The idea!
Out she went, fire in her eye, thunder ready rolling on her tongue.Out she went, and found--Betsy Garlick.
Betsy Green, rather; for the maiden Betsy never had this air ofprosperity, this sweet, matronly look; was never dressed like thisyoung woman, who sat on the boundary-stone that divided Miss Duty'slot from that of the other house, and smiled,--actually smiled in MissDuty's face; and in her sister's too, for Calvin Parks had summonedMiss Resigned Elizabeth also, and she was approaching with feebler,slower steps. And who was this, standing by Betsy's side, erect,beaming, jubilant? Who but the recreant Bijah?
"Oh, Miss Butes!" cried Betsy, lifting her sweet face to one and thento the other of the sisters. "Please, Bijah and me couldn't passthrough Verony without stoppin' to pass the time of day, and see howyou was gettin' on. We're real sorry we went off and left you thatway, without notice. 'Twan't right, we know that now; but, then, wecouldn't find no other way to fix it, seemed's though. I hope youdon't bear malice, Miss Butes. We've done real well, Bijah and me.We're goin' now to look at a farm in Cortez't we've heard of. Bijah'sgrandmother has left him quite consid'able of means, for us, and wewant to have a place of our own, though no one couldn't be kinder thanMother Green and Delilah has been. I--I hope you've both been rightsmart, this time, and had good help right along?"
Oh, wicked little Betsy! You knew very well that they have _not_ beenright smart. Calvin Parks told you and Bijah all about their forlorncondition, and how old John bullied them (How did he know? Why, whatis the use of being a stage-driver, if you do not know everything?),and you have come here with the very slyest scheme in your little headthat ever kindness and cleverness concocted. And now you are going toplay your trump-card, seeing that the two ladies are still silent,each, perhaps, waiting for the other to speak.
"And another reason we had for stoppin'," says Betsy, looking down ata great bundle in her lap, from which faint sounds now began to issue."Oh, Miss Butes, we--I _did_ feel to have you see Baby, 'cause I don'tbelieve you ever did see such a darling in this world." With thesewords, she drew the shawl aside, and there on her lap lay the child,all warm and rosy, just waking from his nap, and stretching his littlelimbs, and blinking his eyes in the light.
A baby! When had the Bute ladies seen a baby as near as this? MissResigned Elizabeth felt a tugging at her heart-strings; she had alwaysbeen fond of children. Miss Duty felt--she hardly knew what; but shesaw the tears on her sister's cheek; saw, too, how old and feeble shehad grown, and what a pitiful look there was in her pale blue eyes.And yet she had a look of Mother, too!
At this moment the baby gave a crow and a kick, and made a grab atMiss Duty's dress. In the effort, he nearly rolled off his mother'slap. Instinctively the two sisters bent down to catch him, and as theydid so their heads came together with a smart crack. Miss ResignedElizabeth began to cry, she could not tell why, and Miss Duty laughed."You ain't fit to live alone, Resigned Eliz!" she said, and she hardlyrecognized her own voice.
"Well, I ain't, sister; that's a fact!" responded Miss ResignedElizabeth, meekly. "My eyesight ain't what it was. But he _is_ alovely child, Betsy; and--and I'm right glad to see you, Betsy, if you_didn't_ act quite as you should."
"Why, you're as blind as a mole!" cried the elder sister, in high goodhumor. "And you ain't had the sense to get glasses fitted." (Miss Dutycould read the very smallest print, as well as she could twenty yearsago) "The idea! And that thin dress ain't fit for you to wear thiscold day." Miss Duty seemed to meditate. "Bije Green!" she saidsharply, turning for the first time to her quondam "help."
"Yes, ma'am!" said Bije, meekly. He had kept silence till now, havingabsolute confidence in Betsy's diplomatic powers; but now he steppedboldly forward, and met Miss Duty's gaze without flinching.
"You behaved scandalous, Bije Green, when you was here before, as wellyou know. But I'm willin' to let bygones be bygones, seein' things ishow they is. You go get the wheelbarrow, and bring it here. Resigned'Liz," she added, turning to her sister, "go on in, and pack up yourthings. I s'pose it's fitting I should see to you, from now on. Youcome home, and we'll see. Mebbe I used to be a little cuterin',sometimes--though you did try me."
"I know I did, sister!" Miss Resigned Elizabeth cried. "Most prob'lythe fault was mine, though I did feel your cuttin' u
p the hairbracelet. But there! I've been dretful lonesome sence Betsy went.I--I'd be real glad to come home, sister!"
"So that's all there is to it," said Miss Duty, in a final manner. "Asfor the other house--"
"Miss Bute!" cried Betsy Green, her eyes sparkling, her breath comingquickly. "We--we weren't so dretful set on goin' to Cortez. We'denough sight ruther find a place nearer home. I never thought--" hereshe stopped short, being a truthful Betsy; for she _had_ thought,
Narcissa, or the Road to Rome; In Verona Page 11