 | Fact and fiction |  |
THE NEIGHBOUR-IN-LAW.
Will find the healing that his spirit needs;
For every flower in others' pathway strewn,
Confers its fragrant beauty on our own.
“So you are going to live in the same building with
Hetty Turnpenny,” said Mrs. Lane to Mrs. Fairweather,
“You will find nobody to envy you. If her
temper does not prove too much even for your good-nature,
it will surprise all who know her. We lived
there a year, and that is as long as anybody ever
tried it.”
“Poor Hetty!” replied Mrs. Fairweather, “She
has had much to harden her. Her mother died too
early for her to remember; her father was very severe
with her, and the only lover she ever had, borrowed
the savings of her years of toil, and spent them in dissipation.
But Hetty, notwithstanding her sharp features,
and sharper words, certainly has a kind heart.
In the midst of her greatest poverty, many were the
stockings she knit, and the warm waistcoats she made,
for the poor drunken lover, whom she had too much
good sense to marry. Then you know she feeds and
clothes her brother's orphan child.”
“If you call it feeding and clothing,” replied Mrs.
Lane. “The poor child looks cold, and pinched, and
frightened all the time, as if she were chased by the
East wind. I used to tell Miss Turnpenny she ought
work all the time, without one minute to play. If
she does but look at the cat, as it runs by the window,
Aunt Hetty gives her a rap over the knuckles. I
used to tell her she would make the girl just such
another sour old crab as herself.”
“That must have been very improving to her disposition,”
replied Mrs. Fairweather, with a good-humoured
smile. “But in justice to poor Aunt Hetty,
you ought to remember that she had just such a cheerless
childhood herself. Flowers grow where there is
sunshine.”
“I know you think everybody ought to live in the
sunshine,” rejoined Mrs. Lane; “and it must be confessed
that you carry it with you wherever you go.
If Miss Turnpenny has a heart, I dare say you will
find it out, though I never could, and I never heard of
any one else that could. All the families within hearing
of her tongue call her the neighbour-in-law.”
Certainly the prospect was not very encouraging;
for the house Mrs. Fairweather proposed to occupy,
was not only under the same roof with Miss Turnpenny,
but the buildings had one common yard in the
rear, and one common space for a garden in front.
The very first day she took possession of her new
habitation, she called on the neighbour-in-law. Aunt
Hetty had taken the precaution to extinguish the fire,
lest the new neighbour should want hot water, before
her own wood and coal arrived. Her first salutation
was, “If you want any cold water, there's a pump
across the street; I don't like to have my house slopped
all over.”
“I am glad you are so tidy, neighbour Turnpenny,”
replied Mrs. Fairweather; “It is extremely pleasant
to have neat neighbours. I will try to keep everything
as bright as a new five cent piece, for I see that will
please you. I came in merely to say good morning,
and to ask if you could spare little Peggy to run up and
down stairs for me, while I am getting my furniture
in order. I will pay her sixpence an hour.”
Aunt Hetty had begun to purse up her mouth for a
refusal; but the promise of sixpence an hour relaxed
her features at once. Little Peggy sat knitting a
stocking very diligently, with a rod lying on the table
beside her. She looked up with timid wistfulness, as
if the prospect of any change was like a release from
prison. When she heard consent given, a bright
colour flushed her cheeks. She was evidently of an
impressible temperament, for good or evil. “Now
mind and behave yourself,” said Aunt Hetty; “and
see that you keep at work the whole time. If I hear
one word of complaint, you know what you'll get
when you come home.” The rose-colour subsided
from Peggy's pale face, and she answered, “Yes,
ma'am,” very meekly.
In the neighbour's house all went quite otherwise.
No switch lay on the table, and instead of, “mind
how you do that. If you don't I'll punish you,” she
heard the gentle words, “There, dear, see how carefully
you can carry that up stairs. Why, what a
nice handy little girl you are!” Under this enlivening
influence, Peggy worked like a bee, and soon began
to hum much more agreeably than a bee. Aunt Hetty
was always in the habit of saying, “Stop your noise,
on the head, and said, “What a pleasant voice the
little girl has. It is like the birds in the fields. By
and by, you shall hear my music-box.” This opened
wide the windows of the poor little shut-up heart, so
that the sunshine could stream in, and the birds fly in
and out, carolling. The happy child tuned up like a
lark, as she tripped lightly up and down stairs, on
various household errands. But though she took
heed to observe all the directions given her, her head
was all the time filled with conjectures what sort of a
thing a music-box might be. She was a little afraid
the kind lady would forget to show it to her. She
kept at work, however, and asked no questions; she
only looked very curiously at everything that resembled
a box. At last Mrs. Fairweather said, “I think
your little feet must be tired, by this time. We will
rest awhile, and eat some gingerbread.” The child
took the offered cake, with a humble little courtesy,
and carefully held out her apron to prevent any crumbs
from falling on the floor. But suddenly the apron
dropped, and the crumbs were all strewn about.
“Is that a little bird?” she exclaimed eagerly.
“Where is he? Is he in this room?” The new
friend smiled, and told her that was the music-box;
and after awhile she opened it, and explained what
made the sounds. Then she took out a pile of books
from one of the baskets of goods, and told Peggy she
might look at the pictures, till she called her. The
little girl stepped forward eagerly to take them, and
then drew back, as if afraid. “What is the matter?”
asked Mrs. Fairweather; “I am very willing to trust
amuse children.” Peggy looked down with her finger
on her lip, and answered in a constrained voice,
“Aunt Turnpenny won't like it if I play.” “Don't
trouble yourself about that. I will make it all right
with Aunt Hetty,” replied the friendly one. Thus
assured, she gave herself up to the full enjoyment of
the picture books; and when she was summoned to
her work, she obeyed with a cheerful alacrity that
would have astonished her stern relative. When the
labours of the day were concluded, Mrs. Fairweather
accompanied her home, paid for all the hours she had
been absent, and warmly praised her docility and diligence.
“It is lucky for her that she behaved so well,”
replied Aunt Hetty; “if I had heard any complaint,
I should have given her a whipping, and sent her to
bed without her supper.”
Poor little Peggy went to sleep that night with a
lighter heart than she had ever felt, since she had been
an orphan. Her first thought in the morning was
whether the new neighbour would want her service
again during the day. Her desire that it should be
so, soon became obvious to Aunt Hetty, and excited an
undefined jealousy and dislike of a person who so easily
made herself beloved. Without exactly acknowledging
to herself what were her own motives, she ordered
Peggy to gather all the sweepings of the kitchen and
court into a small pile, and leave it on the frontier
line of her neighbour's premises. Peggy ventured to
ask timidly whether the wind would not blow it about,
and she received a box on the ear for her impertinence.
It chanced that Mrs. Fairweather, quite unintentionally,
Hetty's anger time enough to cool, then stepped out
into the court, and after arranging divers little matters,
she called aloud to her domestic, “Sally, how came
you to leave this pile of dirt here? Didn't I tell you
Miss Turnpenny was very neat? Pray make haste
and sweep it up. I wouldn't have her see it on any
account. I told her I would try to keep everything
nice about the premises. She is so particular herself,
and it is a comfort to have tidy neighbours.” The
girl, who had been previously instructed, smiled as she
came out with brush and dust-pan, and swept quietly
away the pile, that was intended as a declaration of
border war.
But another source of annoyance presented itself,
which could not so easily be disposed of. Aunt Hetty
had a cat, a lean scraggy animal, that looked as if
she were often kicked and seldom fed; and Mrs.
Fairweather had a fat, frisky little dog, always ready
for a caper. He took a distaste to poor poverty-stricken
Tab, the first time he saw her; and no coaxing
could induce him to alter his opinion. His name
was Pink, but he was anything but a piak of behaviour
in his neighbourly relations. Poor Tab
could never set foot out of doors without being saluted
with a growl, and a short sharp bark, that frightened
her out of her senses, and made her run into the
house, with her fur all on end. If she even ventured
to doze a little on her own door step, the enemy was
on the watch, and the moment her eyes closed, he
would wake her with a bark and a box on the ear,
and off he would run. Aunt Hetty vowed she would
folks to keep dogs to worry their neighbours' cats.
Mrs. Fairweather invited Tabby to dine, and made
much of her, and patiently endeavoured to teach her
dog to eat from the same plate. But Pink sturdily
resolved he would be scalded first; that he would.
He could not have been more obstinate in his opposition,
if he and Tab had belonged to different sects in
Christianity. While his mistress was patting Tab
on the head, and reasoning the point with him, he
would at times manifest a degree of indifference,
amounting to toleration; but the moment he was left
to his own free will, he would give the invited guest
a hearty cuff with his paw, and send her home spitting
like a small steam engine. Aunt Hetty considered
it her own peculiar privilege to cuff the poor animal,
and it was too much for her patience to see Pink undertake
to assist in making Tab unhappy. On one
of these occasions, she rushed into her neighbour's
apartments, and faced Mrs. Fairweather, with one
hand resting on her hip, and the forefinger of the other
making very wrathful gesticulations. “I tell you
what, madam, I wont put up with such treatment
much longer,” said she; “I'll poison that dog; see if
I don't; and I shan't wait long, either, I can tell you.
What you keep such an impudent little beast for, I
don't know, without you do it on purpose to plague
your neighbours.”
“I am really sorry he behaves so,” replied Mrs.
Fairweather, mildly. “Poor Tab!”
“Poor Tab!” screamed Miss Turnpenny; “What
do you mean by calling her poor? Do you mean to
eat?”
“I didn't think of such a thing,” replied Mrs. Fairweather.
“I called her poor Tab, because Pink
plagues her so, that she has no peace of her life. I
agree with you, neighbour Turnpenny; it is not right
to keep a dog that disturbs the neighbourhood. I am
attached to poor little Pink, because he belongs to
my son, who has gone to sea. I was in hopes he
would soon leave off quarrelling with the cat; but if
he won't be neighbourly, I will send him out in the
country to board. Sally, will you bring me one of the
pies we baked this morning? I should like to have
Miss Turnpenny taste of them.”
The crabbed neighbour was helped abundantly;
and while she was eating the pie, the friendly matron
edged in many a kind word concerning little Peggy,
whom she praised as a remarkably capable, industrious
child.
“I am glad you find her so,” rejoined Aunt Hetty:
“I should get precious little work out of her, if I
didn't keep a switch in sight.”
“I manage children pretty much as the man did
the donkey,” replied Mrs. Fairweather. “Not an
inch would the poor beast stir, for all his master's
beating and thumping. But a neighbour tied some
fresh turnips to a stick, and fastened them so that
they swung directly before the donkey's nose, and
off he set on a brisk trot, in hopes of overtaking
them.”
Aunt Hetty, without observing how very closely
the comparison applied to her own management of
have plenty of turnips to spare.”
“For the matter of that,” answered Mrs. Fairweather,
“whips cost something, as well as turnips;
and since one makes the donkey stand still, and the
other makes him trot, it is easy to decide which is the
most economical. But, neighbour Turnpenny, since
you like my pies so well, pray take one home with
you. I am afraid they will mould before we can
eat them up.”
Aunt Hetty had come in for a quarrel, and she was
astonished to find herself going out with a pie. “Well,
Mrs. Fairweather,” said she, “you are a neighbour.
I thank you a thousand times.” When she reached
her own door, she hesitated for an instant, then turned
back, pie in hand, to say, “Neighbour Fairweather,
you needn't trouble yourself about sending Pink away.
It's natural you should like the little creature, seeing
he belongs to your son. I'll try to keep Tab in doors,
and perhaps after awhile they will agree better.”
“I hope they will,” replied the friendly matron:
“We will try them awhile longer, and if they persist
in quarreling, I will send the dog into the country.”
Pink, who was sleeping in a chair, stretched
himself and gaped. His kind mistress patted him on
the head, “Ah, you foolish little beast,” said she,
“what's the use of plaguing poor Tab?”
“Well, I do say,” observed Sally, smiling, “you
are a master woman for stopping a quarrel.”
“I learned a good lesson when I was a little girl,”
rejoined Mrs. Fairweather. “One frosty morning, I
was looking out of the window into my father's barnyard,
waiting to drink. It was one of those cold snapping
mornings, when a slight thing irritates both man and
beast. The cattle all stood very still and meek, till
one of the cows attempted to turn round. In making
the attempt, she happened to hit her next neighbour;
whereupon the neighbour kicked and hit another. In
five minutes, the whole herd were kicking and booking
each other, with all fury. Some lay sprawling
on the ice, others were slipping about, with their hind
heels reared in the air. My mother laughed, and
said, `See what comes of kicking when you're hit.
Just so I've seen one cross word set a whole family
by the ears, some frosty morning.' Afterward, if my
brothers or myself were a little irritable, she would
say, `Take care, children. Remember how the fight
in the barn-yard began. Never give a kick for a hit,
and you will save yourself and others a deal of
trouble.”'
That same afternoon, the sunshiny dame stepped
into Aunt Hetty's rooms, where she found Peggy
sewing, as usual, with the eternal switch on the table
beside her. “I am obliged to go to Harlem, on business,”
said she: “I feel rather lonely without company,
and I always like to have a child with me. If
you will oblige me by letting Peggy go, I will pay
her fare in the omnibus.”
“She has her spelling lesson to get before night,”
replied Aunt Hetty. “I don't approve of young
folks going a pleasuring, and neglecting their education.”
“Neither do I,” rejoined her neighbour; “but I
found in books. The fresh air will make Peggy grow
stout and active. I prophesy that she will do great
credit to your bringing up.” The sugared words,
and the remembrance of the sugared pie, touched the
soft place in Miss Turnpenny's heart, and she told
the astonished Peggy that she might go and put on
her best gown and bonnet. The poor child began to
think that this new neighbour was certainly one of
the good fairies she read about in the picture books.
The excursion was enjoyed as only a city child can
enjoy the country. The world seems such a pleasant
place, when the fetters are off, and Nature folds the
young heart lovingly on her bosom! A flock of real
birds and two living butterflies put the little orphan in
a perfect ecstasy. She ran and skipped. One could
see that she might be graceful, if she were only free.
She pointed to the fields covered with dandelious, and
said, “See how pretty! It looks as if the stars had
come down to lie on the grass.” Ah, our little stinted
Peggy has poetry in her, though Aunt Hetty never
found it out. Every human soul has the germ of
some flowers within, and they would open, if they
could only find sunshine and free air to expand in.
Mrs. Fairweather was a practical philosopher, in
her own small way. She observed that Miss Turnpenny
really liked a pleasant tune; and when Winter
came, she tried to persuade her that singing would
be excellent for Peggy's lungs, and perhaps keep her
from going into a consumption.
“My nephew, James Fairweather, keeps a singing
school,” said she; “and he says he will teach her
for her voice will lead the whole school, and her ear
is so quick, it will be no trouble at all to teach her.
Perhaps you would go with us sometimes, neighbour
Turnpenny? It is very pleasant to hear the children's
voices.”
The cordage of Aunt Hetty's mouth relaxed into a
smile. She accepted the invitation, and was so much
pleased, that she went every Sunday evening. The
simple tunes, and the sweet young voices, fell like
dew on her dried-up heart, and greatly aided the
genial influence of her neighbour's example. The
rod silently disappeared from the table. If Peggy
was disposed to be idle, it was only necessary to say,
“When you have finished your work, you may go
and ask whether Mrs. Fairweather wants any errands
done.” Bless me, how the fingers flew! Aunt Hetty
had learned to use turnips instead of the cudgel.
When Spring came, Mrs. Fairweather busied herself
with planting roses and vines. Miss Turnpenny
readily consented that Peggy should help her, and
even refused to take any pay from such a good neighbour.
But she maintained her own opinion that it
was a mere waste of time to cultivate flowers. The
cheerful philosopher never disputed the point; but
she would sometimes say, “I have no room to plant
this rose-bush. Neighbour Turnpenny, would you
be willing to let me set it on your side of the yard?
It will take very little room, and will need no care.”
At another time, she would say, “Well, really my
ground is too full. Here is a root of Lady's-delight.
How bright and pert it looks. It seems a pity to
plant it in what she calls her garden. It will grow
of itself, without any care, and scatter seeds, that will
come up and blossom in all the chinks of the bricks.
I love it. It is such a bright good-natured little
thing.” Thus by degrees, the crabbed maiden found
herself surrounded by flowers; and she even declared,
of her own accord, that they did look pretty.
One day, when Mrs. Lane called upon Mrs. Fairweather,
she found the old weed-grown yard bright
and blooming. Tab, quite fat and sleek, was asleep,
in the sunshine, with her paw on Pink's neck, and
little Peggy was singing at her work, as blithe as a
bird.
“How cheerful you look here,” said Mrs. Lane.
“And so you have really taken the house for another
year. Pray, how do you manage to get on with the
neighbour-in-law?”
“I find her a very kind, obliging neighbour,” replied
Mrs. Fairweather.
“Well, this is a miracle!” exclaimed Mrs. Lane,
“Nobody but you would have undertaken to thaw
out Aunt Hetty's heart.”
“That is probably the reason why it was never
thawed,” rejoined her friend. “I always told you,
that not having enough of sunshine was what ailed
the world. Make people happy, and there will not be
half the quarrelling, or a tenth part of the wickedness,
there is.”
From this gospel of joy preached and practised,
nobody derived so much benefit as little Peggy. Her
nature, which was fast growing crooked and knotty,
straightened up, budded and blossomed, in the genial
atmosphere of cheerful kindness.
Her affections and faculties were kept in such
pleasant exercise, that constant lightness of heart
made her almost handsome. The young musicteacher
thought her more than almost handsome; for
her affectionate soul shone more beamingly on him
than on others, and love makes all things beautiful.
When the orphan removed to her pleasant little
cottage, on her wedding-day, she threw her arms
round the blessed missionary of sunshine, and said,
“Ah, thou dear good Aunt, it is thou who hast made
my life Fairweather.”
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