University of Virginia Library

8. VIII.
THE HOUSEKEEPER'S STORY. — DOCTOR
BIDDIKIN.

AT nine o'clock that morning, Aaron Burble was
dressing Colonel Bannington; Aaron's wife was
shelling green pease in the kitchen; and Archy,
sitting in the door, was watching her, with his pocket-knife
open, his mouth ditto, and his mind vaguely oscillating between
Lucy and a patent pea-sheller.

“If the colonel don't want ye, Archy,” observed Mrs.
Burble in a confidential whisper, “I'll tell ye what we'll do.
Soon as Ann Mari' comes back, and Aaron gits away (for
Aaron is dead set against her being a medium), we'll have
another little circle. Jest help me shell these pease, and we'll
be all ready.”

“Ma says she's afraid to have me set in circles; thinks
it'll hurt me. I told her how we sot” —

“Oh!” said the housekeeper, “there's Aaron!” at sight
of whom the subject was judiciously dropped, and the two
sat silently intent upon opening the innocent pea-pods.

“I've got him into his chair: if he want's you, he'll ring,”
Aaron said to Archy, and disappeared.

“He hates wus'n pizon to hear a word about sperits,”
whispered Mrs. Buble, looking up slyly. “He won't be
back much 'fore noon, I guess; and we'll have a re'l comfortable
time on't. Here comes Ann Mari'!”

A red-cheeked girl of thirteen came running in, bringing a
bag of groceries and a budget of news.

“Only think, mother!” she cried breathlessly: “Lucy
Arlyn has run away!”

“Why, Ann Mari', how you talk!”

“Yes; and Mrs. Pinworth feels dreadfully! She went to
her room this morning, and found her gone: she took with
her lots of things, and left nothing but a letter to say good-by.
And, don't you think! Jenkins at the depot says he
see Guy jump on to the same cars she took, jest as they had
started; and it's all over the village how they've gone off
together!”

“Massy sakes!” said Mrs. Burble, “won't this be a nice
mess for Colonel Bannington to hear! He hates the Arlyns
so like — You're spillin' the pease, Archy!”

Arousing from his stupor, the genius righted his dish.

“I don't see what makes him: I don't see how anybody
can hate her,” he murmured.

“Her father and the colonel was great friends once, you
know,” said the housekeeper; “and I believe it always happens,
that, when friends quarrel, they spite each other wus'n
as if they'd always been enemies.”

“What made 'em ever quarrel?”

“That I don't know; and I guess they never knowed
themselves. Bannington got Arlyn to come and take charge
of his farming business; and for a long time they was jest
like a couple o' brothers. But” — in a cautious whisper —
“the colonel's got an awful temper: I guess you've found
that out! Arlyn was quick too, and high-sperited: he
couldn't stand nobody's domineerin' ways. So you see
'twan't in natur' 't them two should git along together; and,
when they did fall out, 'twas like flint and steel, and the fire
flew. Arlyn took a miff, and quit short off in the middle of
summer: that madded the colonel. They couldn't agree
about a settlement; and so they went to law. Most folks
thought Arlyn was in the right on't; but Bannington had the
most money, and he kep' the law-suits goin', carryin' on 'em
up from one court to another, till bime-by there was a final
judgment. It went against Arlyn, and it jest broke him all
to pieces. He's a great, strong, big-hearted man; but I
once see him cry like a child, talkin' about it. He wouldn't
mind the loss of his property, he said, only for Lucy's sake;
and he couldn't speak her name without chokin' right up, as
if his very heart was broke. It'll be the dreadfulest blow of
all when he hears of this.”

“Of course, Guy'll marry her,” said the simple-hearted
genius.

But Mrs. Burble shook her sagacious head.

“A young man that thinks as much of dogs and hosses

and good times as he does won't be apt to give 'em up for
any girl: though I believe Lucy is good enough for him, any
day; and they've always been partial to each other. But the
colonel” —

“He thinks Mr. Arlyn give him them bad legs,” suggested
Archy.

“I know something about that. You remember, all Arlyn's
property was seized; and, with the rest, a colt he sot
every thing by. Jest to spite him, the colonel bid in the
colt, and used to ride it. One day, Arlyn was in the village,
and went to cross the street. It was wet and muddy; and, jest
as he got half-way acrost, who should come along but the
colonel on that very colt, dancing and prancing in fine style,
and spatterin' Arlyn all over from head to foot.

“`You better take care!' says Arlyn, says he; for he
wouldn't stir out of his way for any thing under heavens. He
stood with his fists doubled. `Prince!' says he to the colt,
`don't ye know me?'

“But the colt kep' kind o' backin' around, and caperin'
sideways, as you know some hosses will; till bime-by the
colonel's boot hit Arlyn's arm. The colonel always said he
didn't mean to; but, whether he did or not, that was enough
for Ben Arlyn. My husband he was the fust to run and
dick up the colonel: he says it happened jest like a flash.
The colt was gallopin' away with the empty saddle; the
colonel was a-lyin' on the ground, jest where he had been
flung; and Arlyn he was walkin' away like a king o' the

'arth. He's a large, tall man, ye know; and with his blood
up, and fists doubled, you can imagine nobody das' to touch
him.

“Aaron helped git the colonel home. He didn't seem
to be much hurt, though he was stunted at fust; but he
was the excitedest man! And the consequence was, he had
that stroke of paralysis; and waked up the next morning, as
he says, with a couple of sticks o' wood in bed with him
'stid of legs. But come now, we're all ready, and le's have
that settin' 'fore Aaron comes.”

Mrs. Burble made haste to dispose of the pease, and prepare
for the comfortable time she anticipated. Just then, the
colonel's bell jingled. Archy was wanted; and, to the
grievous disappointment of the spiritual-minded housekeeper,
it became necessary to postpone intercourse with the higher
spheres till a more convenient season.

“I feel as though we should have a setting yet this forenoon,”
said Ann Maria; “and that somebody is going to
come.”

“Is it an impression?” her mother asked.

Ann Maria “guessed so;” and, whatever it was, it received
a remarkable fulfilment about half an hour afterwards.

A rickety old chaise, with a torn and faded top, drawn by
a raw-boned white horse, drew up at the foot of the avenue.
There it stopped, and two persons got out. One of them, a
shrivelled and seedy little old man, advanced briskly into the
garden.

“Colonel Bannington, how do you do?” he cried with an
air of great vivacity, grasping the invalid's hand.

“Why didn't you drive in, doctor?” asked the colonel
with icy sarcasm.

The seedy little man smiled a droll smile, screwed up his
face, and put his hands together with the air of one accustomed
to keeping up an appearance of gayety and fine manners
on a very small capital.

“The truth is, I've a borrowed horse; and my vehicle isn't
quite so elegant as it might be: but I've seen better times, —
you can say that for me, colonel.”

The paralytic, glancing up cynically at the chattering little
old man, looked like a modern Diogenes in a wheeled tub.
“What!” he said, “haven't you dug up your money yet?”

“Well, no, not yet,” pleasantly replied the doctor: “I'm
very near it, though, — very near it. Here's a gentleman
that can tell you something about it. Colonel Bannington,
my friend Mr. Murk, the philanthropist.”

Mr. Murk, the philanthropist, offered to shake hands; a
civility which Diogenes did not notice, or did not choose to
reciprocate.

“Ha! a suffering brother!” observed Mr. Murk, not in
the least disconcerted; and he proceeded to manipulate the
colonel's legs, while the colonel's eyes blazed.

“Hem!” coughed the little doctor, with his thumbs
joined, rising upon his toes: “we have come on what you
will call a very singular errand, Colonel Bannington. This

gentleman has been told all about that treasure of mine by
invisible intelligences, — you know what I mean, — the
spirits!”

Diogenes gave a snort of contempt.

Mr. Murk, the philanthropist, not at all discouraged, then
began to thwack his breast with his fists, and make solemn
grimaces; whereat Archy, looking on, suddenly exploded
with a sense of the grotesque.

“It is very singular: don't you think so, colonel? The
spirits have told him that there are two mediums in the neighborhood
which we must consult. I said I believed there were
one in your kitchen: were I right?” And the doctor,
with his puny arms folded primly across his epitome of an
abdomen, bent over genteelly, with a twist of his long, lean
neck, which brought that eager, skinny, smirking face of his
into disagreeable proximity with the colonel's.

“Doctor Biddikin!” exclaimed the latter with immense
disgust, “do you believe that stuff?”

“Ah! I — I'm not wholly prepared to believe it!” cried
Biddikin, catching his cue from the colonel. “They can't
blame us for being sceptical, — old settlers like you and me,
Colonel Bannington! But there can't be much harm in investigating,
can there, do you think? Accordingly, I consented
to come and see if Maria — I think that's her name
— can tell us any thing; with your permission, of course,
colonel!” — deferentially, and with a tendency to rise upon
the toes.

“I won't hinder you,” snarled the colonel; “but you are
hindering me. Take away that wind-mill!” meaning Mr.
Murk, the philanthropist.

Doctor Biddikin, disguising his chagrin, if he felt any, under
an airy exterior, rubbed his hands, and smiled his droll
smile.

“Ah, ha! well said! — Come, Mr. Murk!”

Mr. Murk stood before the chair, imperturbable, with his
right arm extended, and his eyes closed.

“This individual,” he said, indicating Diogenes, “can be
made to arise and walk; but he has not sufficient faith:
therefore we shall not be able to do any thing for him at this
time.” And, like one suddenly awaking, he winked his
fishy eyes, looked round with a dry smile, and walked off
with Doctor Biddikin to find Ann Maria.

Archy had to work hard during the next quarter of an
hour to wheel the colonel into good-humor. This task was
hardly accomplished when Dr. Biddikin re-appeared, bareheaded,
bowing and smirking.

“Beg a thousand pardons, Colonel Bannington! But
could you spare us this young man a few minutes?”

“Halt!” said Diogenes sharply. The tub stood still; and,
turning his grim white face, he measured the doctor's meagre
anatomy with jeering and sparkling malice. “What was
your cool remark, Doctor Cucumber?”

“I'm not responsible,” that seedy vegetable hastened to
say: “it were rapped out by the alphabet, `Have Archy
present: he is a medium.'”

“Are you a medium, Archy?”

“No, not as I know on!” said Archy sheepishly. “Only
I sot with Miss Burble and Ann Mari' twice, and sumpthin'
jerked my arms like sixty: I d'n' know what 'twas!”

“Couldn't you stop the jerking?”

“No! no more'n nothin'!” exclaimed Archy, with a face
honest enough even for the supicious eyes of the colonel.

“That were certainly very singular!” said Doctor Biddikin.
“I'm very anxious to investigate! Shall Archy
come?”

“Yes,” answered the colonel, showing his teeth; “and I'll
come too!” he added, to the great surprise and consternation
of Doctor Biddikin. And, to the still greater consternation
of Mrs. Burble, he was wheeled to the dining-room, and
placed in the midst of the circle around the table.

“I don't hear any thing yet from my son,” the doctor said
aside to the colonel.

“I should think you'd be damned glad you don't,” the
colonel said aside to the doctor.

“It's a great trial to me to have him gone,” remarked
Biddikin sympathetically.

“It was a still greater trial to have him at home, I should
think,” answered Bannington cynically. “I swear, I believe
I never saw you yet but you had something to say about
your troubles with that precious rascal!”

“His conduct has well-nigh broken my heart!” sighed
the doctor. “This continued anxiety — I'm in hopes, if there

be any thing in spiritualism, that I may hear something about
him.”

“All please to set up near, and put your hands on the
table,” said Mrs. Burble, recovering her equanimity.

Archy giggled. Mr. Murk thwacked his breast, and informed
the company that Swedenborg was present. Ann
Maria, bending over the table, inquired if Swedenborg would
rap.

No response.

“Are there any sperits here that will rap?” asked Mrs.
Burble, spreading her large arms on the table, and turning
her ear to listen. Hearing nothing, she naturally placed her
mouth near the surface, on which the raps were expected to
come, and called in a louder key, “Any sperits here?”

“Are they deaf? or are they supposed to be somewhere
in the cellar?” said the colonel aside to Doctor Biddikin.

“I don't know, I'm sure!” replied the doctor, embarrassed
between his desire to appear affable and the fear of
seeming irreverent.

Mrs. Burble, intent on calling the spirits, and quite unconscious
of the ludicrous inconsistency of shouting down to
them, put her mouth close to the table, and in a louder voice
exclaimed, —

“Swedenborg!”

Mr. Murk's arm jerked; but there was no rap.

“Swedenborg!” cried Mrs. Burble: “be you here?”

“He is in the refrigerator, or covered up in the potatobin,”

said the colonel. “Scream louder, Rhody, and you'll
fetch him!” A playful suggestion, which threw the good
woman into confusion.

“There ain't harmony in the circle,” observed Ann Maria.

Mr. Murk, the philanthropist, whose fist kept wagging in
the air, then remarked that Swedenborg was in his arm, but
that he would soon leave it, and go to the table.

“We had very distinct raps before you came, colonel,”
said Doctor Biddikin. “Suppose you take the alphabet.”