University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
PAST AND PRESENT.

Four years and a half have passed away since the dark
November night when Matty Kennedy died, and in her
home all things are not as they were then. Janet, the
presiding genius of the household, is gone—married a
second time, and by this means escaped, as she verily believes,
the embarrassment of refusing outright to be Mrs.
Dr. Kennedy, No. 3! Not that Dr. Kennedy ever entertained
the slightest idea of making her his wife, but knowing
how highly he valued money, and being herself “a
woman of property,” Janet came at last to fancy that he
had serious thoughts of offering himself to her. He, on
the contrary, was only intent upon the best means of removing
her from his house, for, though he was not insensible
to the comfort which her presence brought, it was a
comfort for which he paid too dearly. Still he endured
it for nearly three years, but at the end of that time he
determined that she should go away, and as he dreaded a
scene, he did not tell her plainly what he meant, but
hinted, and with each hint the widow groaned afresh over
her lamented Joel.

At last, emboldened by some fresh extravagance, he
said to her one day: “Mrs. Blodgett, ah—ahem,” here he
stopped, while Mrs. Blodgett, thinking her time had come,
drew out Joel's picture, which latterly she carried in her
pocket, so as to be ready for any emergency.

“Mrs. Blodgett, are you paying attention?” asked the
doctor, observing how intently she was regarding the
picture of the deceased.

“Yes, yes,” she answered, and he continued: “Mrs.
Blodgett, I hardly know what to say, but I've been thinking
for some time past”—

“I know you've been thinking,” interrupted the widow,
“but it won't do an atom of good, for my mind was
made up long ago, and I shan't do it, and if you've any
kind of feelings for Matty, which you hain't, nor never
had, you wouldn't think of such a thing, and I know, as
well as I want to know, that it's my property, and nothin'
else, which has put such an idee into your head!”

Here, overcome with her burst of indignation, she began
to cry, while the doctor, wholly misunderstanding her,
attempted to smooth the matter somewhat by saying: “I
had no intention of distressing you, Mrs. Blodgett, but I
thought I might as well free my mind. Were you a poor
woman, I should feel differently, but knowing you have
money”—

“Wretch!” fairly screamed the insulted Janet. “So
you confess my property is at the bottom of it, but I'll
fix it. I'll put an end to it,” and in a state of great excitement
she rushed from the room.

Just across the way, a newly-fledged lawyer had hung
out his sign, and thither, that very afternoon, the wrathful
widow wended her way, nor left the dingy office until one-half
of her property, which was far greater than any one
supposed it to be, was transferred by deed of gift to
Maude Remington, who was to come in possession of it
on her eighteenth birthday, and was to inherit the remainder
by will at the death of the donor.

“That fixes him,” she muttered, as she returned to the
house, “that fixes old maxim good; to think of his insultin'
me, by ownin' right up that 'twas my property he
was after, the rascal! I wouldn't have him if there warn't
another man in the world!” and entering the room where
Maude was sewing, she astonished the young girl by telling
her what she had done. “I have made you my heir,”
said she, tossing the deed of gift and the will into Maude's
lap. “I've made you my heir; and the day you're
eighteen you'll be worth five thousand dollars, besides
havin' the interest to use between this time and that.
Then, if I ever die, you'll have five thousand more. Joel
Blodgett didn't keep thirty cows and peddle milk for
nothin'.”

Maude was at first too much astonished to comprehend
the meaning of what she heard, but she understood it at
last, and then, with many tears, thanked the eccentric
woman for what she had done, and asked the reason for
this unexpected generosity.

“'Cause I like you!” answered Janet, determined not
to injure Maude's feelings by letting her know how soon
her mother had been forgotten. “'Cause I like you, and
always meant to give it to you. But don't tell any one
how much 'tis, for if the old fool widowers round here
know I am still worth five thousand dollars, they'll like
enough be botherin' me with offers, hopin' I'll change
my will, but I shan't. I'll teach 'em a trick or two, the
good-for-nothin' old maxim.”

The latter part of this speech was made as Janet was
leaving the room, consequently Maude did not hear it,
neither would she have understood if she had. She knew
her nurse was very peculiar, but she never dreamed it possible

for her to fancy that Dr. Kennedy wished to make
her his wife, and she was greatly puzzled to know why
she had been so generous to her. But Janet knew; and
when a few days afterward, Dr. Kennedy, determining
upon a fresh attempt to remove her from his house, came
to her side, as she was sitting alone in the twilight, she
felt glad that one half her property at least was beyond
her control.

“Mrs. Blodgett,” he said, clearing his throat, and looking
considerably embarrassed, “Mrs. Blodgett.”

“Well, what do you want of Mrs. Blodgett?” was the
widow's testy answer, and the doctor replied, “I did not
finish what I wished to say to you the other day, and it's
a maxim of mine, if a person has any thing on his mind,
he had better tell it at once.”

“Certainly, ease yourself off, do,” and Janet's little gray
eyes twinkled with delight, as she thought how crestfallen
he would look when she told him her property was
gone.

“I was going, Mrs. Blodgett,” he continued, “I was
going to propose to you”—

He never finished the sentence, for the widow sprang
to her feet, exclaiming, “It's of no kind of use! I've
gin my property all to Maude; half of it the day she's
eighteen, and the rest on't is willed to her when I die, so
you may as well let me alone,” and feeling greatly flurried
with what she verily believed to have been an offer, she
walked away, leaving the doctor to think her the most
inexplicable woman he ever saw.

The next day Janet received an invitation to visit her
husband's sister who lived in Canada. The invitation was
accepted, and to his great delight, the doctor saw her

drive from his door, just one week after his last amusing
interview. In Canada, Janet formed the acquaintance of
a man full ten years her junior. He had been a distant
relative of her husband, and knowing of her property,
asked her to be his wife. For several days Janet studied
her face to see what was in it, “which made every man
in Christendom want her!” and concluding at last, that
“handsome is that handsome does,” said “Yes,” and made
Peter Hopkins the happiest of men.

There was a bridal trip to Laurel Hill, where the new
husband ascertained that the half of that for which he
had married, was beyond his reach; but being naturally
of a hopeful nature, he did not despair of eventually
changing the will, so he swallowed his disappointment,
and redoubled his attentions to his mother-wife, now Mrs.
Janet Blodgett Hopkins.

Meantime, the story that Maude was an heiress, circulated
rapidly, and, as the lawyer kept his own counsel,
and Maude, in accordance with Janet's request, never told
how much had been given her, the amount was doubled,
nay, in some cases trebled, and she suddenly found herself
a person of considerable importance, particularly in
the estimation of Dr. Kennedy, who, aside from setting a
high value upon money, fancied he saw a way by which
he himself could reap some benefit from his step-daughter's
fortune. If Maude had money, she certainly ought to
pay for her board, and so he said to her one day, prefacing
his remarks with his stereotyped phrase, that “'twas a
maxim of his, that one person should not live upon another
if they could help it.”

Since Janet's last marriage, Maude had taken the entire
management of affairs, and without her, there would have

been but little comfort or order in a household whose only
servant was old and lazy, and whose eldest daughter was
far too proud to work. This Maude knew, and with a
flush of indignation upon her cheek, she replied to her
step-father: “Very well, sir, I can pay for my board, if
you like; but boarders, you know, never trouble themselves
with the affairs of the kitchen.”

The doctor was confounded. He knew he could not
well dispense with Maude's services, and it had not before
occurred to him that a housekeeper and boarder were two
different persons.

“Ah—yes—just so,” said he, “I see I'm laboring under
a mistake; you prefer working for your board—all right,”
and feeling a good deal more disconcerted than he ever
supposed it possible for him to feel, he gave up the contest.

Maude was at this time nearly sixteen years of age,
and during the next year she was to all intents and purposes
the housekeeper, discharging faithfully every duty
and still finding time to pursue her own studies and superintend
the education of little Louis, to whom she was
indeed a second mother. She was very fond of books,
and while Janet was with them, she had with Nellie
attended the seminary at Laurel Hill, where she stood
high in all her classes, for learning was with her a delight,
and when at last it seemed necessary for her to remain at
home, she still devoted a portion of each day to her studies,
reciting to a teacher who came regularly to the house,
and whom she paid with her own money. By this means
she was at the age of seventeen a far better scholar than
Nellie, who left every care to her step-sister, saying she
was just suited to the kitchen work, and the tiresome old

books with which she kept her chamber littered. This
chamber to which Nellie referred, was Maude's particular
province. Here she reigned joint sovereign with Louis,
who thus early evinced a degree of intellectuality wonderful
in one so young, and who in some things excelled even
Maude herself.

Drawing and painting seemed to be his ruling taste,
and as Dr. Kennedy still cherished for his crippled boy a
love almost idolatrous, he spared neither money nor pains
to procure for him every thing necessary for his favorite
pursuit. Almost the entire day did Louis pass in what he
termed Maude's library, where, poring over books, or
busy with his pencil, he whiled the hours away without a
sigh for the green fields and shadowy woods, through
which he could never hope to ramble. And Maude was
very proud of her artist brother—proud of the beautiful
boy whose face seemed not to be of earth, so calm, so
angel-like was its expression. All the softer, gentler virtues
of the mother, and all the intellectual qualities of the
father were blended together in the child, who presented
a combination of goodness, talent, beauty, and deformity,
such as is seldom seen. For his sister Maude, Louis possessed
a deep, undying love, which neither time nor misfortune
could in any way abate. She was part and portion
of himself—his life—his light—his all in all—and to his
childlike imagination a purer, nobler being had never been
created than his darling sister Maude. And well might
Louis Kennedy love the self-sacrificing girl who devoted
herself so wholly to him, and who well fulfilled her mother's
charge. “Care for my little boy.”

Nellie, too, was well beloved, but he soon grew weary
of her company, for she seldom talked of any thing save

herself and the compliments which were given to her
youthful beauty. And Nellie, at the age of eighteen, was
beautiful, if that can be called beauty which is void of
heart or soul or intellect. She was very small, and the
profusion of golden curls which fell about her neck and
shoulders, gave her the appearance of being younger than
she really was. Her features were almost painfully regular,
her complexion dazzlingly brilliant, while her large
blue eyes had in them a dreamy, languid expression exceedingly
attractive to those who looked for nothing beyond—no
inner chamber where dwell the graces which
make a woman what she ought to be. Louis' artist eye,
undeveloped though it was, acknowledged the rare loveliness
of Nellie's face. She would make a beautiful picture,
he thought—but for the noble, the good, the pure,
he turned to the dark eyed Maude, who was as wholly
unlike her step-sister as it was possible for her to be. The
one was a delicate blonde, the other a decided brunette,
with hair and eyes of deepest black. Her complexion,
too, was dark, but tinged with a beautiful red, which
Nellie would gladly have transferred to her own paler
cheek. It was around the mouth, however, the exquisitely
shaped mouth, and white even teeth, that Maude's principal
beauty lay, and the bright smile which lit up her features
when at all animated in conversation would have
made a plain face handsome. Some there were who gave
her the preference, saying there was far more of beauty
in her clear, beautiful eyes and sunny smile, than in the
dollish face of Nellie, who treated such remarks with the
utmost scorn. She knew that she was beautiful. She
had known it all her life—for had she not been told so by
her mirror, her father, her school-mates, her aunt Kelsey,
and more than all by J. C. De Vere, the elegant young
man whom she had met in Rochester, where she had spent
the winter preceding the summer of which we now are
writing, and which was four and one half years after Mattie's
death.

Greatly had the young lady murmured on her return
against the dreary old house and lonely life at Laurel Hill,
which did indeed present a striking contrast to the city
gaieties in which she had been mingling. Even the cosy
little chamber which the kind-hearted Maude had fitted
up for her with her own means, was pronounced heathenish
and old-fashioned, while Maude herself was constantly
taunted with being countryfied and odd.

“I wish J. C. De Vere could see you now,” she said
one morning to her sister, who had donned her working
dress, and with sleeves rolled up, and wide checked apron
tied around her waist, was deep in the mysteries of bread
making.

“I wish he could see her, too,” said Louis, who had
rolled his chair into the kitchen so that he could be with
Maude. “He would say he never saw a handsomer color
than the red upon her cheeks.”

“Pshaw!” returned Nellie. “I guess he knows the
difference between rose-tint and sun-burn. Why, he's the
most fastidious man I ever saw. He can't endure the
smell of cooking, and says he would never look twice at
a lady whose hands were not as soft and white as—well,
as mine,” and she glanced admiringly at the little snowy
fingers, which were beating a tune upon the window-sill.

“I wants no better proof that he's a fool,” muttered old
Hannah, who looked upon Nellie as being what she really
was, a vain, silly thing.

“A fool, Hannah,” retorted Nellie; “I'd like to have
Aunt Kelsey hear you say that. Why, he's the very best
match in Rochester. All the girls are dying for him, but
he don't care a straw for one of them. He's out of health
now, and is coming here this summer with Aunt Kelsey,
and then you'll see how perfectly refined he is. By the
way, Maude, if I had as much money at my command as
you have, I'd fix up the parlor a little. You know father
won't, and that carpet, I'll venture to say, was in the ark.
I almost dread to have J. C. come, he's so particular, but
then he knows we are rich, and beside that, Aunt Kelsey
has told him just how stingy father is, so I don't care so
much. Did I tell you J. C. has a cousin James, who may
possibly come too. I never saw him, but Aunt Kelsey
says he's the queerest man that ever lived. He never
was known to pay the slightest attention to a woman
unless she was married or engaged. He has a most delightful
house at Hampton, where he lives with his
mother, but he'll never marry, unless it is some hired girl
who knows how to work. Why, he was once heard to
say he would sooner marry a good-natured Irish girl than
a fashionable city lady, who knew nothing but to dress,
and flirt, and play the piano—the wretch!”

“Oh! I know I should like him,” exclaimed Louis, who
had been an attentive listener.

“I dare say you would, and Maude, too,” returned Nellie,
adding, after a moment: “And I shouldn't wonder if
Maude just suited him, particularly if he finds her up to
her elbows in dough. So, Maude, it is for your interest
to improve the old castle a little. Won't you buy a new
carpet?” and she drew nearer to Maude, who made no
direct reply.

The three hundred and fifty dollars interest money
which she had received the year before, had but little of
it been expended on herself, though it had purchased many
a comfort for the household, for Maude was generous, and
freely gave what was her own to give. The parlor carpet
troubled even her, but she would not pledge herself to buy
another, until she had first tried her powers of persuasion
upon the doctor, who, as she expected, refused outright.

“He knew the carpet was faded,” he said, “but 'twas
hardly worn at all, and 'twas a maxim of his to make
things last as long as possible.”

It was in vain that Nellie, who was present, quoted
Aunt Kelsey, and J. C. DeVere, the old doctor didn't care
a straw for either, unless indeed, J. C. should some time
take Nellie off his hands, and pay her bills, which were
altogether too large for one of his maxims. That this
would probably be the result of the young man's expected
visit, had been strongly hinted by Mrs. Kelsey, and thus
was he more willing to have him come. But on the subject
of the carpet he was inexorable, and with tears of
anger in her large blue eyes, Nellie gave up the contest,
while Maude very quietly walked over to the store, and
gave orders that a handsome three-ply carpet which she
had heard her sister admire, should be sent home as soon
as possible.

“You are a dear good girl after all, and I hope James
DeVere will fall in love with you,” was Nellie's exclamation
as she saw a large roll deposited at their door, but
not a stitch in the making of the carpet, did she volunteer
to take. “She should prick her fingers, or callous her
hand,” she said, “and Mr. DeVere thought so much of a
pretty hand.”

“Nonsense!” said John, who was still a member of the
family, “nonsense, Miss Nellie. I'd give a heap more for
one of Miss Maude's little fingers, red and rough as they
be, than I would for both them soft, sickish feeling hands
of yourn;” and John hastily disappeared from the room
to escape the angry words, which he knew would follow
his bold remark.

Nellie was not a favorite at home, and no one humored
her as much as Maude, who, on this occasion, almost out-did
herself in her endeavors to please the exacting girl,
and make the house as presentable as possible to the fashionable
Mrs. Kelsey, and the still more fashionable J. C.
DeVere. The new carpet was nicely fitted to the floor,
new curtains hung before the windows, the old sofa was
re-covered, the piano was tuned, a hat-stand purchased for
the hall, the spare chamber cleaned, and then very impatiently
Nellie waited for the day when her guests were
expected to arrive.

The time came at last, a clear June afternoon, and immediately
after dinner, Nellie repaired to her chamber, so
as to have ample time to try the effect of her different
dresses, ere deciding upon any one. Maude, too, was a
good deal excited, for one of her even temperament. She
rather dreaded Mrs. Kelsey, whom she had seen but
twice in her life, but for some reason, wholly inexplicable
to herself, she felt a strange interest in the wonderful J. C.,
of whom she had heard so much. Not that he would
notice her in the least, but a man who could turn the heads
of all the girls in Rochester, must be somewhat above the
common order of mortals; and when at last her work
was done, and she, too, went up to dress, it was with an

unusual degree of earnestness that she asked her sister
what she should wear that would be becoming.

“Wear what you please, but don't bother me,” answered
Nellie, smoothing down the folds of her light blue
muslin, which harmonized admirably with her clear complexion.

“Maude,” called Louis, from the adjoining room, “wear
white. You always look pretty in white.”

“So does every black person!” answered Nellie, feeling
provoked that she had not advised the wearing of
some color not as becoming to Maude as she knew white
to be.

Maude had the utmost confidence in Louis' taste, and
when fifteen minutes later, she stood before the mirror,
her short, glossy curls clustering about her head, a bright
bloom on her cheek, and a brighter smile upon her lip, she
thought it was the dress which made her look so well, for
it had never entered her mind that she was handsome.

“Wear your coral ear-rings,” said Louis, who had
wheeled himself into the room, and was watching her with
all a fond brother's pride.

The ear-rings were a decided improvement, and the
jealous Nellie, when she saw how neat and tasteful was
her sister's dress, began to cry, saying, “she herself looked
a fright, that she'd nothing fit to wear, and if her father
did not buy her something she'd run away.”

This last was her usual threat when at all indignant,
and as after giving vent to it she generally felt better, she
soon dried her tears, saying, “she was glad anyway that
she had blue eyes, for J. C. could not endure black ones.”

“Maybe James can,” was the quick rejoinder of Louis,
who always defended Maude from Nellie's envious attacks.

By this time the clock was striking five. Half an hour
more and they would be there, and going through the
rooms below, Nellie looked to see if every thing was in
order, then returning to her chamber above, she waited
impatiently until the sound of wheels was heard in the distance.
A cloud of dust was visible next, and soon a large
traveling-carriage stopped at the gate laden with trunks
and boxes, as if its occupants had come to spend the remainder
of the summer. A straight, slender, dandified-looking
young man sprang out, followed by another far
different in style, though equally as fine looking. The
lady next alighted, and scarcely were her feet upon the
ground when she was caught around the neck by a little
fairy figure in blue, which had tripped gracefully down
the walk, seemingly unconscious, but really very conscious
of every step she took, for the black-moustached young
man, who touched his hat to her so politely, was particular
about a woman's gait.

A little apart from the rest stood the stranger, casually
eyeing the diminutive creature, of whose beauty and perfections
he had heard so much, both from her partial aunt
and his half-smitten cousin. There was a momentary
thrill—a feeling such as one experiences in gazing upon a
rare piece of sculpture—and then the heart of James
De Vere resumed its accustomed beat, for he knew the
inner chamber of the mind was empty, and henceforth
Nellie's beauty would have no attraction for him. Very
prettily she led the way to the house, and after ushering
her guests into the parlor, ran up stairs to Maude, bidding
her to order supper at once, and telling her as a piece of
important news, which she did not already know, that
“Aunt Kelsey, James, and J. C. had come.”