 | CHAPTER XIV.
FLANK MOVEMENT. The guardian angel |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
FLANK MOVEMENT.
MISS CYNTHIA BADLAM was in the habit of
occasionally visiting the Widow Hopkins. Some
said — but then people will talk, especially in the country,
where they have not much else to do, except in haying-time.
She had always known the widow, long before Mr.
Gridley came there to board, or any other special event
happened in her family. No matter what people said.
Miss Badlam called to see Mrs. Hopkins, then, and
the two had a long talk together, of which only a portion
is on record. Here are such fragments as have been preserved.
“What would I do about it? Why, I 'd put a stop to
such carry'n's on, mighty quick, if I had to tie the girl to
the bedpost, and have a bulldog that would take the seat
out of any pair of black pantaloons that come within forty
rod of her, — that 's what I 'd do about it! He undertook
to be mighty sweet with our Susan one while, but ever
sence he 's been talkin' religion with Myrtle Hazard he 's
let us alone. Do as I did when he asked our Susan to
come to his study, — stick close to your girl and you 'll
put a stop to all this business. He won't make love
to two at once, unless they 're both pretty young, I 'll
warrant. Follow her round, Miss Cynthy, and keep your
eyes on her.”
“I have watched her like a cat, Mrs. Hopkins, but I
can't follow her everywhere, — she won't stand what
— we 've done with that at our house. You never know
what that Indian blood of hers will make her do. She 's
too high-strung for us to bit and bridle. I don't want to
see her name in the paper again, alongside of that —”
(She did not finish the sentence.) “I 'd rather have her
fished dead out of the river, or find her where she found
her uncle Malachi!”
“You don't think, Miss Cynthy, that the man means
to inveigle the girl with the notion of marryin' her by and
by, after poor Mrs. Stoker 's dead and gone?”
“The Lord in heaven forbid!” exclaimed Miss Cynthia,
throwing up her hands. “A child of fifteen years
old, if she is a woman to look at!”
“It 's too bad, — it 's too bad to think of, Miss Cynthy;
and there 's that poor woman dyin' by inches, and Miss
Bathsheby settin' with her day and night, — she has n't
got a bit of her father in her, it 's all her mother, — and
that man, instead of bein' with her to comfort her as any
man ought to be with his wife, — in sickness and in
health, that 's what he promised. I 'm sure when my poor
husband was sick.... To think of that man goin' about
to talk religion to all the prettiest girls he can find in the
parish, and his wife at home like to leave him so soon,
— it 's a shame, — so it is, come now! Miss Cynthy,
there 's one of the best men and one of the learnedest
men that ever lived that 's a real friend of Myrtle Hazard,
and a better friend to her than she knows of, — for ever
sence he brought her home, he feels jest like a father to
her, — and that man is Mr. Gridley, that lives in this
house. It 's him I 'll speak to about the minister's carry'n's
on. He knows about his talking sweet to our Susan, and
he does once take hold of anything, I tell you that! Jest
get him to shet up them books of his, and take hold of
anybody's troubles, and you 'll see how he 'll straighten
'em out.”
There was a pattering of little feet on the stairs, and the
two small twins, “Sossy” and “Minthy,” in the home
dialect, came hand in hand into the room, Miss Susan
leaving them at the threshold, not wishing to interrupt
the two ladies, and being much interested also in listening
to Mr. Gifted Hopkins, who was reading some of his
last poems to her, with great delight to both of them.
The good woman rose to take them from Susan, and
guide their uncertain steps. “My babies, I call 'em,
Miss Cynthy. Ain't they nice children? Come to go to
bed, little dears? Only a few minutes, Miss Cynthy.”
She took them into the bedroom on the same floor,
where they slept, and, leaving the door open, began undressing
them. Cynthia turned her rocking-chair round so
as to face the open door. She looked on while the little
creatures were being undressed; she heard the few words
they lisped as their infant prayer; she saw them laid in
their beds, and heard their pretty good-night.
A lone woman to whom all the sweet cares of maternity
have been denied cannot look upon a sight like this without
feeling the void in her own heart where a mother's
affection should have nestled. Cynthia sat perfectly still,
without rocking, and watched kind Mrs. Hopkins at her
quasi parental task. A tear stole down her rigid face as
she saw the rounded limbs of the children bared in their
white beauty, and their little heads laid on the pillow.
They were sleeping quietly when Mrs. Hopkins left the
rose softly from her chair, stole swiftly to the bedside, and
printed a long, burning kiss on each of their foreheads.
When Mrs. Hopkins came back, she found the maiden
lady sitting in her place just as she left her, but rocking in
her chair and sobbing as one in sudden pangs of grief.
“It is a great trouble, Miss Cynthy,” she said, — “a
great trouble to have such a child as Myrtle to think of
and to care for. If she was like our Susan Posey, now!
— but we must do the best we can; and if Mr. Gridley
once sets himself to it, you may depend upon it he 'll make
it all come right. I would n't take on about it if I was
you. You let me speak to our Mr. Gridley. We all
have our troubles. It is n't everybody that can ride to
heaven in a C-spring shay, as my poor husband used to
say; and life 's a road that 's got a good many thank-you-ma'ams
to go bumpin' over, says he.”
Miss Badlam acquiesced in the philosophical reflections
of the late Mr. Ammi Hopkins, and left it to his widow to
carry out her own suggestion in reference to consulting
Master Gridley. The good woman took the first opportunity
she had to introduce the matter, a little diffusely, as
is often the way of widows who keep boarders.
“There 's something going on I don't like, Mr. Gridley.
They tell me that Minister Stoker is following round after
Myrtle Hazard, talking religion at her jest about the same
way he 'd have liked to with our Susan, I calculate. If he
wants to talk religion to me or Silence Withers, — well,
no, I don't feel sure about Silence, — she ain't as young as
she used to be, but then ag'in she ain't so fur gone as some,
and she 's got money, — but if he wants to talk religion
with me, he may come and welcome. But as for Myrtle
what they say, and to have a minister round her all the
time ravin' about the next world as if he had a latch-key
to the front door of it, is no way to make her come to herself
again. I 've seen more than one young girl sent off
to the asylum by that sort of work, when, if I 'd only had
'em, I 'd have made 'em sweep the stairs, and mix the
puddin's, and tend the babies, and milk the cow, and keep
'em too busy all day to be thinkin' about themselves, and
have 'em dress up nice evenin's and see some young folks
and have a good time, and go to meetin' Sundays, and then
have done with the minister, unless it was old Father
Pemberton. He knows forty times as much about heaven
as that Stoker man does, or ever 's like to, — why don't
they run after him, I should like to know? Ministers are
men, come now; and I don't want to say anything against
women, Mr. Gridley, but women are women, that 's the
fact of it, and half of 'em are hystericky when they 're
young; and I 've heard old Dr. Hurlbut say many a time
that he had to lay in an extra stock of valerian and assafœtida
whenever there was a young minister round, — for
there 's plenty of religious ravin', says he, that 's nothin'
but hysteries.”
[Mr. Froude thinks that was the trouble with Bloody
Queen Mary, but the old physician did not get the idea
from him.]
“Well, and what do you propose to do about the Rev.
Joseph Bellamy Stoker and his young proselyte, Miss
Myrtle Hazard?” said Mr. Gridley, when Mrs. Hopkins
at last gave him a chance to speak.
“Mr. Gridley,” — Mrs. Hopkins looked full upon him
as she spoke, — “people used to say that you was a good
but that you did n't know much nor care for much except
books. I know you used to live pretty much to yourself
when you first came to board in this house. But you 've
been very good to my son;.... and if Gifted lives till
you.... till you are in.... your grave,.... he
will write a poem — I know he will — that will tell your
goodness to babes unborn.”
[Here Master Gridley groaned, and repeated to himself
silently,
Carmina quum tribuent fama perennis erit.”
woman's talk.]
“And if ever Gifted makes a book, — don't say anything
about it, Mr. Gridley, for goodness' sake, for he would n't
have anybody know it, only I can't help thinking that some
time or other he will print a book, — and if he does, I
know whose name he 'll put at the head of it, — `Dedicated
to B. G., with the gratitude and respect —' There,
now, I had n't any business to say a word about it, and it 's
only jest in case he does, you know. I 'm sure you deserve
it all. You 've helped him with the best of advice.
And you 've been kind to me when I was in trouble. And
you 've been like a grandfather” [Master Gridley winced,
— why could n't the woman have said father? — that
grand struck his ear like a spade going into the gravel]
“to those babes, poor little souls! left on my door-step like
a couple of breakfast rolls, — only you know it 's the baker
left them. I believe in you, Mr. Gridley, as I believe in
my Maker and in Father Pemberton, — but, poor man!
he 's old, and you won't be old these twenty years yet.”
[Master Gridley shook his head as if to say that was n't
so, but felt comforted and refreshed.]
“You 've got to help Myrtle Hazard again. You
brought her home when she come so nigh drowning. You
got the old doctor to go and see her when she come so
nigh being bewitched with the magnetism and nonsense,
whatever they call it, and the young doctor was so nigh
bein' crazy, too. I know, for Nurse Byloe told me all
about it. And now Myrtle 's gettin' run away with by
that pesky Minister Stoker. Cynthy Badlam was here
yesterday crying and sobbing as if her heart would break
about it. For my part, I did n't think Cynthy cared so
much for the girl as all that, but I saw her takin' on dreadfully
with my own eyes. That man 's like a hen-hawk
among the chickens, — first he picks up one, and then he
picks up another. I should like to know if nobody but
young folks has souls to be saved, and specially young
women!”
“Tell me all you know about Myrtle Hazard and Joseph
Bellamy Stoker,” said Master Gridley.
Thereupon that good lady related all that Miss Badlam
had imparted to her, of which the reader knows the worst,
being the interview of which the keen spinster had been a
witness, having followed them for the express purpose of
knowing, in her own phrase, what the minister was up to.
It is not to be supposed that Myrtle had forgotten the
discreet kindness of Master Gridley in bringing her back
and making the best of her adventure. He, on his part,
had acquired a kind of right to consider himself her adviser,
and had begun to take a pleasure in the thought that he,
the worn-out and useless old pedant, as he had been in the
way of considering himself, might perhaps do something
save this young girl from the dangers that surrounded her.
He loved his classics and his old books; he took an interest,
too, in the newspapers and periodicals that brought the
fermenting thought and the electric life of the great world
into his lonely study; but these things just about him were
getting strong hold on him, and most of all the fortunes of
this beautiful young woman. How strange! For a whole
generation he had lived in no nearer relation to his fellow-creatures
than that of a half-fossilized teacher; and all
at once he found himself face to face with the very most
intense form of life, the counsellor of threatened innocence,
the champion of imperilled loveliness. What business was
it of his? growled the lower nature, of which he had said
in “Thoughts on the Universe,” — “Every man leads or
is led by something that goes on four legs.”
Then he remembered the grand line of the African freedman,
that makes all human interests everybody's business,
and had a sudden sense of dilatation and evolution, as it
were, in all his dimensions, as if he were a head taller, and
a foot bigger round the chest, and took in an extra gallon
of air at every breath. Then — you who have written a
book that holds your heart-leaves between its pages will
understand the movement — he took down “Thoughts on
the Universe” for a refreshing draught from his own wellspring.
He opened as chance ordered it, and his eyes fell
on the following passage: —
“The true American formula was well phrased by the
late Samuel Patch, the Western Empedocles, `Some things
can be done as well as others.' A homely utterance, but it
has virtue to overthrow all dynasties and hierarchies. These
were all built up on the Old-World dogma that some things
can NOT be done as well as others.”
“There, now!” he said, talking to himself in his usual
way, “is n't that good? It always seems to me that I find
something to the point when I open that book. `Some
things can be done as well as others,' can they? Suppose
I should try what I can do by visiting Miss Myrtle Hazard?
I think I may say I am old and incombustible enough
to be trusted. She does not seem to be a safe neighbor
to very inflammable bodies!”
Myrtle was sitting in the room long known as the Study,
or the Library, when Master Byles Gridley called at The
Poplars to see her. Miss Cynthia, who received him, led
him to this apartment and left him alone with Myrtle. She
welcomed him very cordially, but colored as she did so, —
his visit was a surprise. She was at work on a piece of
embroidery. Her first instinctive movement was to thrust
it out of sight with the thought of concealment; but she
checked this, and before the blush of detection had reached
her cheek, the blush of ingenuous shame for her weakness
had caught and passed it, and was in full possession. She
sat with her worsted pattern held bravely in sight, and her
cheek as bright as its liveliest crimson.
“Miss Cynthia has let me in upon you,” he said, “or I
should not have ventured to disturb you in this way. A
work of art, is it, Miss Myrtle Hazard?”
“Only a pair of slippers, Mr. Gridley, — for my pastor.”
“Oh! oh! That is well. A good old man. I have a
great regard for the Rev. Eliphalet Pemberton. I wish all
ministers were as good and simple and pure-hearted as the
Rev. Eliphalet Pemberton. And I wish all the young
people thought as much about their elders as you do, Miss
Myrtle Hazard. We that are old love little acts of kindness.
You gave me more pleasure than you knew of, my
old minister will be greatly pleased, — poor old man!”
“But, Mr. Gridley, I must not let you think these are
for Father Pemberton. They are for — Mr. — Stoker.”
“The Rev. Joseph Bellamy Stoker! He is not an old
man, the Rev. Joseph Bellamy Stoker. He may perhaps
be a widower before a great while. — Does he know that
you are working those slippers for him?”
“Dear me! no, Mr. Gridley. I meant them for a surprise
to him. He has been so kind to me, and understands
me so much better than I thought anybody did. He is so
different from what I thought; he makes religion so perfectly
simple, it seems as if everybody would agree with
him, if they could only hear him talk.”
“Greatly interested in the souls of his people, is n't he?”
“Too much, almost, I am afraid. He says he has been
too hard in his sermons sometimes, but it was for fear he
should not impress his hearers enough.”
“Don't you think he worries himself about the souls of
young women rather more than for those of old ones,
Myrtle?”
There was something in the tone of this question that
helped its slightly sarcastic expression. Myrtle's jealousy
for her minister's sincerity was roused.
“How can you ask that, Mr. Gridley? I am sure I
wish you or anybody could have heard him talk as I have.
There is no age in souls, he says; and I am sure that it
would do anybody good to hear him, old or young.”
“No age in souls, — no age in souls. Souls of forty as
young as souls of fifteen; that 's it.” Master Gridley did
not say this loud. But he did speak as follows: “I am
glad to hear what you say of the Rev. Joseph Bellamy
have had comfort in his companionship, and there are
others who might be very glad to profit by it. I know a
very excellent person who has had trials, and is greatly
interested in religious conversation. Do you think he
would be willing to let this friend of mine share in the
privileges of spiritual intercourse which you enjoy?”
There was but one answer possible. Of course he
would.
“I hope it is so, my dear young lady. But listen to me
one moment. I love you, my dear child, do you know, as
if I were your own — grandfather.” (There was moral
heroism in that word.) “I love you as if you were of my
own blood; and so long as you trust me, and suffer me, I
mean to keep watch against all dangers that threaten you
in mind, body, or estate. You may wonder at me, you may
sometimes doubt me; but until you say you distrust me,
when any trouble comes near you, you will find me there.
Now, my dear child, you ought to know that the Rev. Joseph
Bellamy Stoker has the reputation of being too fond
of prosecuting religious inquiries with young and handsome
women.”
Myrtle's eyes fell, — a new suspicion seemed to have
suggested itself.
“He wanted to get up a spiritual intimacy with our
Susan Posey, — a very pretty girl, as you know.”
Myrtle tossed her head almost imperceptibly, and bit
her lip.
“I suppose there are a dozen young people that have
been talked about with him. He preaches cruel sermons
in his pulpit, cruel as death, and cold-blooded enough to
freeze any mother's blood if nature did not tell her he lied,
young woman he can get to listen to him.”
Myrtle had dropped the slipper she was working on.
“Tell me, my dear, would you be willing to give up
meeting this man alone, and gratify my friend, and avoid
all occasion of reproach?”
“Of course I would,” said Myrtle, her eyes flashing, for
her doubts, her shame, her pride, were all excited. “Who
is your friend, Mr. Gridley?”
“An excellent woman, — Mrs. Hopkins. You know
her, Gifted Hopkins's mother, with whom I am residing.
Shall the minister be given to understand that you will see
him hereafter in her company?”
Myrtle came pretty near a turn of her old nervous perturbations.
“As you say,” she answered. “Is there nobody
that I can trust, or is everybody hunting me like a
bird?” She hid her face in her hands.
“You can trust me, my dear,” said Byles Gridley.
“Take your needle, my child, and work at your pattern, —
it will come out a rose by and by. Life is like that, Myrtle,
one stitch at a time, taken patiently, and the pattern
will come out all right like the embroidery. You can trust
me. Good by, my dear.”
“Let her finish the slippers,” the old man said to himself
as he trudged home, “and make 'em big enough for Father
Pemberton. He shall have his feet in 'em yet, or my name
is n't Byles Gridley!”
| CHAPTER XIV.
FLANK MOVEMENT. The guardian angel | |