University of Virginia Library

10. X.
MRS. RIGGLESTY'S ADVENTURE.

The grandmother of the Jackwood family, like the greatest
great-grandmother of us all, was tempted by an apple. It came
floating down Huntersford Creek, and was discerned by the modern
Eve, as she walked upon the shore, filling her apron — not a figleaf
— with floodwood fagots for the kitchen fire.

“A good nice June-eatin', true as I live!” said grandmother
Rigglesty, sneezing at the sun in the water. “It 's a pity to have
it wasted.” She looked about for a long stick. “I never see!
Time an' ag'in 't I 've stumbled over sticks in this 'ere shif'liss
pastur', now I can't, for the life o' me, lay my hand on
one!”

The best she could find was a heavy, crooked branch, which
proved to be some less than an inch too short.

“It 's jest the way alluz!” she burst forth, getting up from her
bent posture. “Everything is so hateful! I 've broke my back,
and wet my foot, into the bargain! Sich an awk'ard stick!”

All this time the apple, tossing in the bright waves by the
shore, was progressing still further from her own mouth, towards
the mouth of the creek. She followed, until, her eye resting upon
Mr. Jackwood's old flat-bottomed boat, she hastened to get aboard,
deposited her apron of fagots in the stern, which lay upon the
shore, and placed the dry seat for a bridge over the bilge-water
that had settled in the bow. Upon this she ventured, armed with
her crooked branch; paddling patiently to divert the apple towards
her, until at length she was able to tickle it with the tips
of her fingers. Then, after stretching and straining until she
became purple in the face, she grasped it in her hand. At the

same time she dropped the stick. Recovering the stick, she
dropped the apple. Then she dropped them both. Regaining the
fruit, she placed it on the bow of the boat; but, not feeling at
home on a bow of that description, it quietly fell off, whilst she
was recapturing the stick, and danced laughingly away in the sunshine.

“Hold on! dear me!” she cried, making a desperate effort to
recover it.

The attempt proved literally fruitless; and, in her vexation, she
threw the stick at it spitefully. Having bespattered herself profusely,
and lost both the apple and the branch, she crept back
upon her bridge, with her features all knotted up in a snarl, and
looked around for her apron of fagots. To her dismay, she found
them afloat in the bilge-water, rushing back into the stern.
The boat was unfastened, and, her operations serving to work it
off the shore, she now saw herself sailing slowly and smoothly out
into the stream.

“Whoa! whoa!” cried grandmother Rigglesty, as if the boat
had been a horse or an ox; “whoa, you sir! — Bim'lech! Betsy!
My sakes! can't nobody hear?”

Somebody did hear. It was the dog Rover, who came capering
along the bank, yelping furiously.

“Here, Rover!” she cried, — “that 's a good doggie! Help
me, quick!”

Perhaps, anticipating the sinking of the boat, she looked for
salvation in his bark. But the dog took quite an erroneous view
of the case, regarding the call as of an entirely sportive nature.
Considering his gallantry challenged to assist in some wild fun
projected by the picturesque old lady, he leaped into the water,
and commenced a furious attack upon the boat, with teeth and
paws.

“Git out!” ejaculated grandmother Rigglesty — (he had not
yet got in). “You 'll have me tipped over, sure 's this world!”

The more she was in earnest, the more Rover thought she was
in fun, and persisted in jumping aboard in spite of her. The boat
tipped frightfully, and grandmother Rigglesty screamed. Then
Rover shook himself, showering her with spray as she sat perched

upon her plank; and she screamed again. Thinking it very
funny, he sat down good-naturedly in the bottom, and looked up
wistfully in her face, winking, and churning in the water with his
tail. In her exasperation, she began to kick his chops; upon
which he showed a disposition to take everything in good part, by
playfully masticating her foot.

Meanwhile the boat was filling rapidly, and threatening to go
down, with all her crew on board. By some good fortune, however,
an island appeared, in the shape of a round bowlder, in mid-channel;
and as the bow struck the rock, the old lady scrambled
upon it, leaving her apron and fagots to float down stream in the
abandoned wreck. Rover appeared to consider this phase of the
adventure as the funniest of all, and endeavored to enhance the
sport by crowding her off the rock, and by growling and snapping
at her toes when she refused to jump into the water.

At this pleasant juncture, a voice hailed from below; and Hector
and Charlotte appeared, coming around a clump of bushes
that grew upon the point of a knoll. Thereupon Rover, swimming
to the bank, ran joyfully to his old acquaintance, and
attempted to leap into her face, with intent to lick.

“Go away!” cried Charlotte. “I can't love you when you
are so wet!”

So Rover shook himself again, and set out to rub himself dry
on Hector's trousers. But, being caught up suddenly by the legs,
he described in the air, first a half-circle, then a tangent, then a
gentle curve, — and afterwards came up, snuffing and paddling, in
mid-channel, before he appeared to understand at all the nature
of the phenomenon that had surprised him.

Hector, to the old lady: “What have you got there, grandmother?”

Old lady, crossly: “I 'm in a strait — that 's what I 've got!
Don't stop to parley; but help me, if you 're ever goin' to! I
jest went to git an apple out o' the crick, when that hateful boat
had to go off with me!”

“And did you get the apple?”

“No, I did n't! and that 's what makes me so provoked!”

Hector, gravely: “It might have been expected. I once

saw a juggler take an apple out of an orange; but I never yet
heard of any person taking one out of a current.”

“I 'm sure I don't know a word you 're a talkin' about!”
spluttered the old lady. “I 'm ketchin' my death-cold here, —
both feet soppin' wet, — I 'd have ye know!”

At this point, finding it difficult to restrain her emotions at
sight of her old friend, Charlotte set out to make the Jackwoods
a visit, leaving Hector to get the cast-away off the rock.

“The trollop!” muttered grandmother Rigglesty. “I declare,
if she wan't la'fin' right to my face!”

“What do you say?” demanded Hector. “Take it back, or
I 'll not help you out of the creek!”

“She 'd no bizniss to la'ft!”

“If she is human she could n't help it; you are a pleasing
and picturesque spectacle, grandmother! But you must be better-natured;
you must be kind, and patient, and charitable, my dear
friend.”

“I s'pose I was hasty,” the old lady confessed, reluctantly.
“But you need n't a' snapped me up on 't so short! I did n't
mean no harm!”

“That 'll do pretty well for a beginning. If you keep on, you
will get to have quite a Christian temper,” said Hector, “by the
time you are old.”

The boat had gone aground upon a sand-bar near the bank, and
Hector, reaching it with his fishing-pole, drew it towards him, and
dragged it upon the shore.

“Cultivate patience, grandmother!” he cried; “the craft
stands in need of repairs.”

Having emptied the water, fagots and all, into the creek, he
deliberately set about calking the boat with the old lady's apron.

“Marcy on me!” gasped grandmother Rigglesty; “I shall
fly!”

“Do so,” said Hector; “and you will save me this trouble. Be
careful, though, when you alight; you will frighten people.”

As she gave no decided indication of going up, he went on with
his calking, sparing no expense of time or calico in stopping the
leaks. Having accomplished his work to his satisfaction, he

launched the boat, jumped aboard with his fishing-pole, shoved out
to the rock, and brought the old lady safe to land.

Strange as it may appear, she felt anything but emotions of
benevolence and gratitude. Nothing could soothe her soreness of
heart, and the rheumatic pains in her neck and back, like the
balm of some sweet revenge. Accordingly, while Hector was
picking the seams of her apron out of the seams of the boat, she
commenced a similar operation upon Charlotte's character.

“She 's a gal 't means well, — I can say that for her,” she
began, her fear of Hector preventing her from approaching the
subject too openly, — “and when that 's the case, I 'm sure we 'd
oughter kinder lend a helpin' hand to anybody, no matter 'f
they 've ben the wust critturs 't ever lived.”

Hector was interested; but, pretending indifference, he continued
to pick away at the old lady's apron. She at the same time
picked away at Charlotte. She told the whole history of the disguise,
and of the young girl's exposure, the day before she left
Mr. Jackwood's. As it was the first intelligence of the kind
Hector had received, it troubled him, his mind naturally reverting
to what Charlotte had that morning said of her past life.
Mrs. Rigglesty perceived her advantage, and pursued it venomously.
She said she had known Charlotte for more than twelve
years; and that, on a visit to her son Enoch, in North Nincum.
where she belonged, she had learned all about her recent proceedings.
These had led to the disgrace of her family, and to her
own flight. The story was one that the old lady could not have
invented; and the confident manner in which she identified Miss
Woods with the girl at North Nincum produced an overwhelming
effect upon Hector.

Meanwhile, in company with the bitter old lady, he arrived at
the house. Phœbe being absent, Charlotte was found in conversation
with Mrs. Jackwood, who was busy preparing dinner.
Grandmother Rigglesty moved by them like a muttering cloud,
dropping rain from her wet apron, which she gave a final twist,
before hanging it upon the oven-door to dry.

“O! O!” — starting and clapping her hand behind her, —
“my poor back!”

Mrs. Jackwood ran to her assistance: “I 'll take care o' that,
mother!” — spreading out the apron. — “Sed down, Hector, — I
can't make it come handy to call you Mr. Dunbury. — Le' me take
off your wet shoes an' stockin's,” — to the old lady.

“No, never mind! I can do it, I guess, — if I can't, it 's jest
as well. I wish that door could be kep' shet once! There 's a
draft of air comes right on to my shoulders and neck!”

Charlotte arose and closed the door. Hector's eyes followed
her with a searching look, which startled her, as she turned and
caught his eye.

“O, don't trouble yourself, I beg!” said the old lady, as Mrs.
Jackwood insisted on removing her wet stockings. “'T need n't
make a mite o' difference, jes' cause there 's visitors here; they
won't mind the looks, though you should n't think I 'm wuth
makin' a fuss over, — for I 'm sensible I an't, myself: I 've had
that lesson to larn perty thoroughly in my old age!”

And, with a disconsolate air, grandmother Rigglesty fumbled in
her bag for the Good Samaritan, and consulted him in her trouble,
as of old. Having dried her eyes, she looked down and saw
Rover wagging his tail, and regarding her with an expression that
seemed to say, “Did n't we have capital fun?” — upon which she
converted the handkerchief into a whip, and made a sudden and
spiteful cut with it at the good-natured cur.

“There! I wish to goodness somebody 'd take that dog and
chop his head off!”

“Why, what has the dog done?” cried Mrs. Jackwood.

As she spoke, Rover rallied, and, making a pounce at the Good
Samaritan, seized him with his teeth and paws, and began to
shake and tear him, in a prodigious sham fury.

“You see what he 's done!” ejaculated the old lady. “Gi' me
them tongs!”

Forgetting her rheumatism and wet feet, she started from the
chair, and, with one stocking off, and one stocking on, like “my
son John,” of high-diddle-dumpling memory, commenced an animated
pursuit of Rover around the room. The poor dog was at
last fairly cornered, and the forked thunderbolt was about to fall
prone upon the head and front of his offending, when the door

was opportunely opened, and Bim made his appearance, blustering.

“Here, Rover!” he cried, — “cut!”

At the word, with craven head, and tail depressed, Rover
darted between the legs of his young master, and whisked out of
the house, while the tongs came down upon the floor behind him
with a jar which filled the old lady's arm with stings, from the
fingers to the elbow.

“There! That 's all for you, you good-for-nothing! I 've
broke my arm — perty nigh!”

Bim, undaunted: “You might let the dog alone!”

Mrs. Jackwood: “Bim'lech! Bim'lech!”

Bim, stoutly: “She begun it!”

Old lady: “O, I would n't interfere! Let him sass me all
he wants to; that 's what I was made for, I s'pose! It 's all
owin' to him, 't I got my feet wet. He left the boat right where
he know'd 't would go off with anybody if they jest stepped into
it. I never see sich ugliness!”

After that, there was a lull, — Mrs. Rigglesty heating her feet
at the stove, with now and then a deep, prolonged sigh of ostentatious
suffering; Bim looking sheepish, and drumming on the
window, as Charlotte inquired about his health and spirits;
Hector twirling his hat; and Mrs. Jackwood apologizing.

“Sakes alive!” suddenly burst forth the old lady; “look at
that shoe! I declare if 't an't comin' to pieces! Them new pair
't I bought o' that plaguy pedler o' yourn, only 't other day, an'
paid ten cents more for 'n I ever pay for shoes, on account o' the
extry soles, an' now, the fust time they git a little grain wet,
— only look at 'em!”

“When you have come to my years,” said Hector, “you
will have learned to beware of extra pretensions. As with
people, so with shoes. — Give me a glass of water, Mrs. Jackwood,
and we will go home. We are promised fish for dinner,
and I have a foreshadowing of thirst.”

“Our well 's give out, this summer,” said Mrs. Jackwood.
“Phœbe 's gone to the spring for water, an' I 'm expectin' her
back every minute.”

“She 's off readin' that nasty novil, somewheres!” spoke up
grandmother Rigglesty. “She 's at it every chance she can git.
I 'd burn it up, if she was a child o' mine!”

“If she was a child of mine” — said Hector.

Old lady, sharply: “Wal, what if she was?”

“Then you would be my mother! — Good-by. — We 'll not
wait for Phœbe.”

Old lady, muttering: “I wish that door could be kep' shet!
There, they 're gone, arter so long a time! That Hector 's jes'
like his father, for all the world, — only more so, if anything!”

Bim, following the visitors to the gate, gave vent to his feelings
in breathing defiance against the old lady.

“What are you going to do with that pipe?” asked Charlotte.

Bim, desperately: “It 's hern; and I 'm goin' to put some
powder in it, an' blow her up, to pay her!”

Hector: “I take it, then, she blows you up, sometimes.”

“I don't care for her!” — Bim swung his head, with a swaggering
expression. — “I put thistles in her han'kerchief, t' other
day! Golly! did n't she scream!”

Charlotte, taking the boy's hand: “I 'm afraid you are not so
good to her as you might be.”

Bim, earnestly: “Who could? — Here, Rove,” — pulling the
dog's ears, — “say good-by!”

“Yahowawoooiiii!” said Rover, compromising a howl with a
yawn.

On the way home, Charlotte felt a cloud resting upon her
spirit. It was heaviest and chillest when Hector was nearest.
Through it his smiles looked cold, and his laugh sounded hard
and hollow to her ear.

He appeared to notice her but little, but went bowling large
stones along the road; sometimes throwing them high in the air,
and catching them dexterously as they came down.

“This is life! How we poor mortals toil and sweat over our
serious games! And what is the result of it all? A little dust,
like that this cobble raises in the road!”

The missile, bounding from the path, leaped through the fence
into a clump of bushes, growing on the other side.

“O dear! O! O! O!” screamed a shrill voice; and straightway
out ran a wild-looking creature into the field, bareheaded,
with hair flying, and hands clasped over her ears.

“Ha!” said Hector, “there 's unexpected game!”

“I am afraid she is hurt!” cried Charlotte.

“Not she; else she would scream less, according to the rule of
shams. If a man is frightened, he blusters; if hurt, he says little;
if killed, he maintains a wise silence. This holds good, as a
general rule; but perhaps Phœbe Jackwood is an exception. —
Are you hurt, Phœbe?”

Phœbe: “I guess so! I 'm so scar't I don't know a word I
do, or anything I say! What was that?”

“A hailstone, Phœbe! Come here, and let me look at the
hole in your head.”

Phœbe, quickly putting up her hand: “Is there one? Where?
tell me!”

“Give me your hand, and I 'll show you.”

She ran up to the fence, and Hector reached over to her. “It
opens every time you speak. There!” And, placing her finger
in her mouth, he closed her teeth upon it.

“That 's just like you, Hector Dunbury! If 't was anybody
else, I never 'd speak to you again!”

Pouting a little, and blushing a good deal, Phœbe ran behind
the sumachs, confusedly putting up her hair by the way.

“Is that what you call a hailstone?” she cried, tossing the
cobble over the fence. “You threw it!”

“To be sure; and it was a friendly hail, Phœbe. You should
have hailed me pleasantly in return, instead of going off in a
fright.”

“I guess you 'd 'ave been frightened to have a great rock
come thrashing through the bushes on to your head, when you
was asleep! Would n't he, Charlotte?”

“If anything could frighten him,” said Charlotte. “What
book have you?”

“Alonzo and Melissa. Did you ever read it? I wish I
had n't begun it, for I don't like it a bit, — but I can 't let it
alone till it 's finished, any way. I set up till two o'clock last

night, and got so excited over it that when I went to bed I
could n't sleep a wink, but see balls of fire, and heard doors slam,
and felt cold hands on my arm, all the rest of the night; and I 've
been so sleepy all day I can't hardly keep my eyes open.”

Phœbe handed the book to Charlotte through the rails; then,
having passed her pail of water over to Hector, and asked him
to turn around, and not look, she began to climb the fence.

Hector made a cup of a basswood-leaf, and, having filled it for
Charlotte to drink, and afterwards drank out of it himself, shook
the water from it into Phœbe's face.

“You are a dull girl to fall asleep over Alonzo and Melissa!
Good-by. Your mother is waiting for you.”

“Dont hurry off so! I would n't have got over the fence, only
I thought you 'd stop and talk a minute.”

“I 've no minute to spare. Time is precious, Phœbe, and I
hear Bridget blowing the dinner-horn. Go, and take that fatal
stone with you, as a keepsake. It has waked you from one
dream of romance; and it may save you from many another, if
you will treasure it as a type of man's heart, and look at it
whenever you think of falling in love.”

“If that is a type of man's heart, what is a type of woman's?”
asked Charlotte.

“Still a stone, but it should be hollow. And yet not every
heart is so — not every heart!” added Hector, in a changed
tone.

He walked away with Charlotte in silence, leaving the gay
Phœbe to roll the cobble carefully in her apron, and carry it to
the house with her pail of water.

Scarce another word was spoken by either Hector or his companion,
until they reached home. Then, as they were passing
under the porch, Charlotte, whose heart was full, could restrain
herself no longer.

“How dissatisfied you are with me to-day!” she said, in a low,
tremulous tone.

“With all the world, and with myself most of all!” rejoined
Hector.

Charlotte would have asked “Why?”

“Because,” said Hector, perceiving her thoughts, “I have
made a discovery.”

Discovery! The word fell upon her heart with stunning
power; for a moment nerve and breath and strength were taken
away, and she wished that she might fall down at Hector's feet,
and never rise up more.

“It is,” he added, smiling bitterly, —“I have left my fishing-pole
at Mr. Jackwood's!”

He strode through the hall; while Charlotte, following, and
finding her way to her room, sank, almost lifelessly, upon her bed,
and lay there in trance-like despair, until the harsh voice of
Bridget came to announce that the pickerel was on the table, and
the dinner waiting.