University of Virginia Library

ROGER had written to Frank, congratulating him upon
his approaching marriage, but declining to be present
at the wedding. He wished to know as little as possible
of the affairs at Millbank, and tried to dissuade Hester
from her visit to Mrs. Slocum. But Hester would go, and
three days before the great event came off she was installed in
Mrs. Slocum's best chamber, and had presented that worthy
woman with six bottles of canned fruit, ten yards of calico, and
an old coat of Aleck's, which, she said, would cut over nicely
for Johnny, Mrs. Slocum's youngest boy. After these presents,
Hester felt that she was not “spunging,” as she called it, and
settled herself quietly to visit, and to reconnoitre, and watch
the proceedings at Millbank. And there was enough to occupy
her time and keep her in a state of great excitement.

The house had been painted brown, and Hester inveighed
against that, and scolded about the shrubbery, which had been
removed, and cried a little over the trees which, at Bell's instigation,
had been cut down to open a finer view of the river
from the rooms appropriated to the bride. Into these rooms
Hester at last penetrated, as well as into all parts of the house.
Mrs. Walter Scott had gone to Boston, and Frank had gone
with her. Hester saw them as they drove by Mrs. Slocum's in
their elegant new carriage, with their white-gloved colored
driver on the box, and she had represented her blood as “bilin'
like a caldron kettle, to see them as had no business a-ridin'
through the country and spending Roger's money.”

She knew where they were going, and that the coast was clear
at Millbank, and with Mrs. Slocum, who was on good terms
with the housekeeper, she went there that afternoon and saw
“such sights as her eyes never expected to see while she lived.”

“I mean to write to Magdalen and let her know just what
carryin's on there is here,” she said to Mrs. Slocum; and she
commenced a letter that night, telling Magdalen where she
was, and what she was there for, and not omitting to speak of
the “things” she had brought, and which would pay for what
little she ate for a week or two.

“Such alterations!” she wrote. “The house as brown as
my hands, and a picter in it that cost two thousan' dollars, the
awfullest daub, I reckon, that ever was got up. Why, I had
rather a hundred times have that picter in my room of Putnam
goin' in after the wolf; that means somethin', and this
one don't. But the rooms for the bride, they are just like a
show-house, I'm sure, with their painted walls and frisky
work, I b'lieve, they call it, and the lam-kins at the winders,
fifty dollars a winder, as I'm a livin' woman, and a naked boy
in one of 'em holdin' a pot of flowers on his head; and then
her boode'r or anything under heavens you are a mind to call
that little room at the end of the upper south hall, and which
opens out of her sleepin' room. There's a glass as long as she
is set in a recess like, and in the door opposite is a lookin'-glass,
and in the door on t'other side, — three lookin'-glasses in
all, so that you can see yourself before and behind and beside,
and silk ottermans, and divans and marble shelves and drawers,
and a chair for her to sit in and be dressed, and she's got a
French waitin'-maid, right from Paris, they say, and some of
her underclothes cost a hundred dollars apiece, think of that,
when three yards of factory would make plenty good enough
and last enough sight longer. I'm glad I don't have to iron
'em; they've got a flutin'-iron they paid thirty dollars for, and
Miss Franklin's bed, that is to be, is hung with silk curtains. I
should s'pose she'd want a breath of air; the dear knows I
should; and one of the rooms they've turned into a picter
gallery, and the likenesses of the Burleighs is there now,
'cause Mrs. Franklin must have 'em to look at. There's her
granny, a decent-lookin' woman enough, with powdered hair,
and her husband took when he was younger, and her mother

in her weddin' close, exactly the fashion, I remember, and her
father and herself when she was younger by a good many years
than she is now, for them as has seen her says she's thirty if
she's a day, and Frank ain't quite twenty-eight.”

There was a break just here in Hester's epistle. She had decided
to remain with Mrs. Slocum until after the party which
was to be given for the bride at Millbank as soon as she returned
from her wedding trip, and so she concluded not to
finish her letter until she had seen and could report the doings.
The wedding day was faultlessly fair; not a cloud broke the deep
blue of the summer sky, and the air had none of the sultry heat
of July, but was soft and balmy, and pure from the effects of the
thunder-shower of the previous day. If the bride be blessed
on whom the sun shines, Bell Burleigh was surely blessed and
ought to have been happy. There was no cloud on her brow,
no brooding shadow of regret in her dark eyes, and if she sent
a thought across the seas after the Fred whose life of toil she
would once have shared so gladly, it did not show itself
upon her face, which belied Hester's hint of thirty years, and
was all aglow with excitement. She made a beautiful bride,
and the length of her train was for days and days the theme of
gossip among the crowd who saw it as she walked from the
carriage to the church upon the carpets spread down for the
occasion. She wore no ornaments, but flowers. Her diamonds,
and pearls, and rubies, and amethysts were reserved for
other occasions, and she looked very simple and elegant and
self-possessed, and made her responses in a firmer, clearer
voice than Frank. He was nervous, and thought of Magdalen,
and was glad she and Alice had made their mother's recent death
an excuse for not being present, and wondered if her voice
would have been as loud and steady as Bell's when she said,
“I, Isabel, take thee, Franklin,” and so forth. On the whole,
the occasion was a trying one for him; his gloves were too
tight, and his boots were tighter and made him want to scream
every time he stepped, they hurt his feet so badly. He took
them off when he returned from the church, and thus relieved,

felt easier, and could see how beautiful his new wife was, and
how well she bore her honors, and felt proud and happy, and
did not think again of Magdalen, but rather what a lucky
fellow he was to have all the money he wanted and such a
bride as Bell.

They were going West for a week or two, then back to Millbank
for a few days, and then to Saratoga or the sea-side, just
where the fancy led them. Mrs. Walter Scott returned to
Millbank and sent out a few cards to the élite of the town,
the Johnsons, and Markhams, and Woodburys, and the clergyman
and her family physician. As for the nobodys, they were
not expected to call, and they consoled themselves with invidious
remarks and watching the proceedings.

On Sunday the Irving pew was graced by Mrs. Walter Scott,
who wore a new bonnet and a silk which rustled with every step.
She was very devout that day, and made a large thank-offering
for her new daughter-in-law, a crisp ten-dollar bill, given so that
all who cared could see and know it was a ten. She did not see
Hester Floyd until service was out, — then she started a little
as the old lady stepped into the aisle before her, but offered
her hand cordially, and felt that she was very good, and very
pious, and very democratic to walk out of church in close conversation
with Hester, whom she invited to come and see the
changes they had made in the house, and stop to tea, if she
liked, with the housekeeper.

Mrs. Walter Scott had nothing to fear from Hester now, and
could afford to be very gracious, but the old lady was neither
deceived nor elated with her attention. She had been to the
house, she said, rather crisply, and seen all she wanted to, and
she did think they might have let some of the rooms alone and
not fixed 'em up like a play-house, and she'd cover up that naked
boy in Mrs. Franklin's room before she got there, for if she was
a modest woman, as was to be hoped, she'd feel ashamed. And
then, having reached the new carriage, with its white-gloved
driver, the two women said good-day to each other, and Mrs.
Walter Scott's dove-colored silk was put carefully into the carriage

by the footman, and the door was closed and the two shining
horses were off like the wind, leaving Hester to watch the
cloud of dust and the flash of the wheels which marked the
progress of the fast-moving vehicle.

The particulars of this interview were faithfully recorded for
Magdalen's benefit, the old lady breaking the Sabbath for the
sake of “writing while the thing was fresh in her mind” and
she could do it justice.

Ten days more went by, and then it was reported in the
street that the workmen in the shoe-shop and factory were to
have a holiday on Thursday in honor of their master's return to
Millbank with his bride. It was whispered, too, that in his letter
to his foreman Frank had hinted that some kind of a demonstration
on his arrival would be very appropriate and acceptable,
and if his agents would see to it he would defray any expense
they might incur for him. Some of the workmen laughed,
and some sneered, and some said openly they had no demonstration
to make, but all accepted the holiday willingly enough,
and a few of the young men, with all the boys, decided to get up
a bonfire and fireworks, on a large scale, inasmuch as the bill
was to be paid by “the Gov.”

Accordingly a hundred dollars' worth of fireworks were ordered
from Springfield, and Frank, who came about eight o'clock,
was greeted with a rocket which went hissing into the air and
fell in sparks of fire just over his shoe-shop, the shingles of
which were dry with age and the summer heat. There was a
crowd after all to honor him, and an impromptu band, which
played “Hail to the Chief,” and “Come, Haste to the Wedding,”
and finished up with a grand flourish of “Dixie,” to
which many bare feet kept time upon the lawn in front of Millbank.
A collation, which Hester in her journal-letter called a
“collection,” had been prepared for them on the grounds, and
the small boys ate themselves almost sick on ice-cream and
raisins, and then halloed with might and main for the bride, who
appeared, leaning on her husband's arm, smiling and bowing,
and offering her hand to be shaken, while all the while she was

wondering if “the miserable little wretches hadn't warts or some
worse disease which she would catch of them.”

The collation over, the bridal party returned to the house,
and the crowd went back to their fireworks, to which the tired
and slightly disgusted Bell hardly gave a look. She had the
headache, and went early to her room, and closing her blinds to
shut out the glare of the blue and red lights which annoyed her
terribly, she fell asleep, and was dreaming of the missionary
Fred when the cry of “Fire, Fire,” aroused her, and Frank
looked in with a white, frightened face, telling her the large
shoe-shop was on fire, and bidding her not to be alarmed.
Some sparks from the first rocket sent up had fallen on the dry
roof of the shoe-shop, and set it on fire, the flames creeping
under the shingles, and making great headway before they
were discovered. It was a long time since there had been
a fire in Belvidere, and the excited people hardly knew
how to act. Roger had always been tolerably well prepared
for such an emergency, but matters at Millbank were
managed differently now from what they were when he was
master there. The rotary pump was out of order, the engine
would not work well at all, and after half an hour or more of
orders and counter-orders, of running to and fro, and accomplishing
but little, it was certain that nothing could save the huge
building, whose roof was one mass of flame, and from whose
windows a light was shining brighter than any bonfire ever yet
kindled in honor of a bride. When Frank had hinted at demonstrations,
for which he would pay, he never dreamed of a
bonfire like this, where jets of flame rose far into the sky and
shone across the river upon the hills beyond, and made the village
as light as day. Bell never went to fires, she said to Mrs.
Walter Scott, who, in her dressing-gown, with her shawl over
her head, looked in upon her daughter-in-law on her way to join
the multitude in the streets. She was too thoroughly city bred
to go to fires, and she saw every member of the household depart,
— her bridesmaids, sister Grace and all; and then, as from

her bed she could see the whole, she lay down among her pillows
and rather enjoyed watching the flames, as they attacked
first one part of the building and then another, making the sight
every moment more beautiful and grand. It never occurred to
her how much of her husband's fortune might be consuming before
her very eyes, and when toward morning he came up to
her, pale, smoke-stained, and burned, she merely asked what
time it was, and how he could bear to stay so long where he
could do no good.

Frank's first thought, when he saw the fire, was of Holt and
the insurance. During his wedding tour, he had heard that the
company in which his shop was insured had failed, and he had
telegraphed at once to Holt “to see to it, and insure in another
company.” Since his return he had not thought of the matter
until now, when something told him that his orders had been
neglected, and that if the building burned his loss would be
heavy. Taking off his coat, he had worked like a hero, and
done much to inspirit his men, who, encouraged by his intrepidity,
had followed wherever he led and done whatever he bade
them do. But it was all in vain, and Frank went back to Millbank
a poorer man by many thousands than the setting of the
sun had found him, while a hundred people or more were
thrown out of employment, and suddenly found themselves
with nothing to do.

In this emergency their thoughts turned to Roger. They had
heard that a large shoe manufactory was in process of erection
at Schodick, and that Roger was to have the superintendence of
it, and never before had there been so heavy a mail sent from
Belvidere as there was the day following the fire. More than
forty men wrote to Roger, telling him of the disaster, asking
for situations under him, and offering to work for less than they
had been receiving. To many of these favorable answers were
returned, and the consequence was that the tide of emigration
from Belvidere to Schodick set in at once, and a number of
Frank's houses were left tenantless on his hands. The party,
however, came off the following week, and servants were imported

from New York, with cake and flowers and fruit, and a
band came out from Springfield, and lights were hung in every
tree upon the lawn and boys hired to watch them, for Frank
had learned a lesson from the still smouldering ruins of his shop,
and was exceedingly nervous and uncomfortable on the subject
of fires and lights, and read a lesson on caution to his mother
and the servants and all the family, save his wife. There was
something in her black eyes which prevented his taking liberties
with her, and her lamp was suffered to remain in close
proximity to the lace curtains of her room, and he did not say a
word.

Roger wrote to his nephew immediately after the fire, expressing
his sorrow, and consoling him by saying he could
afford to lose the shop and still be the richest man in the
county. Frank thought of the piles and piles of money he had
spent, and wondered what Roger would say could he know of
all his extravagances. But Roger did not know, and his letter
comforted Frank, who, after reading it, felt better than he had
before since the fire, and who was quite like himself on the night
when, with his bride, he stood to receive the congratulations of
his dear four hundred friends who came from Boston and Worcester
and Springfield and Hartford and New York, but not
many from Belvidere. A few only of the citizens were considered
good enough to enter the charmed presence and take the
white hand on which a thousand-dollar ring was shining. Bell
wore her diamonds that night, her husband's bridal present, for
which ten thousand dollars were paid, and she shone and flashed
and sparkled, and turned her proud head proudly, and never
spoke to Frank when she could help it, but talked instead with
her old friends from Boston, — scholars and professors, whose
discourse she found far more congenial than Frank's commonplaces
were.

It was a grand affair, and old Hester, who was at the house,
and from the kitchen and side passages saw much that was
going on, added to her journal a full account of it, after having
described the fire, which she said was “just a judgment from

the Lord.” Hester had rather enjoyed the fire, and felt as if
justice was being meted out to Mrs. Walter Scott, who cried
and wrung her hands, and reproached the people for standing
idle and seeing her son's property burned before their eyes.
Hester ached to give her a piece of her mind, but contented
herself with saying in her presence, “that folks didn't seem
very anxious. She guessed if it had been Roger's shop they'd
have stepped more lively, and not sat on the fence, a whole
batch on 'em, doin' nothin'.”

“I was a little mad at 'em,” she wrote to Magdalen, “and
felt pretty bad when the ruff tumbled in, but I didn't screech as
that woman (meaning Mrs. Walter Scott) did. She nigh about
fainted away, and they carried her into Miss Perkins's house and
flung water in her face till them curls of hern were just nothin'
but strings. T'other one, Miss Franklin, wasn't there, and I
heard that she lay abed the whole time and watched it from the
winder. That's a nice wife for you. Oh, I tell you, he'll get
his pay for takin' the property from Roger, and givin' such a
party as he did, and only invitin' fust cut in town, and not all
of them. There was Miss Jenks, and Miss Smith and Miss
Spencer s'posed of course they'd have an invite, and Miss
Jenks got her a new gown and had it made in Hartford, and
then wan't bid; and if you'll believe, that sneakin,' low-lived,
ill-begotten horse-jockey of a Holt was there, and his wife, with
a yeller gownd and blue flower stuck in the middle of her
forehead. How he came to be bid nobody knows, only they
say he and Frank is thick as molasses, and agree on the hoss
question. Madam's sister was there, a pretty enough lookin'
girl with yellow curls and blue eyes, and it's talked that she's to
live there, and the whole coboodle of 'em. A nice time they'll
have with Mrs. Walter Scott, who holds her head so high that
her neck must sometimes ache. You or'to see 'em ride on
horseback to Millbank; Miss Franklin in black velvet, her sister
in blue, and even old madam has gone at it, and I seen her
a canterin' by on a chestnut mare that cost the dear knows what.
Think on't, a woman of her age, with a round hat and feather,

ridin' a hoss. It's just ridiculous, I call it. I'm goin' home to-morrow,
for Roger and Aleck is gettin' kind of uneasy. Roger
is a growin' man. He's got some agency in the mill to Schodick
and the shop, and he's makin' lots of money, and folks
look up to him and consult him till he's the fust man in town.
I wish you two would come together some day, and I can't help
thinkin' you will. Nothin' would suit me better, though I was
hard on you once about the will. I was about crazy them days,
but that's all got along with, and so good-by.

“Hester Floyd.”

“There goes the quality from Millbank out to have a picnic,
and the young madam is ridin' with another man. Nice doin's
so soon, though I don't blame her for bein' sick of Frank. He's
growing real fat and pussy-like, and twists up them few white
hairs about his mouth till they look like a shoemaker's waxed
end.