University of Virginia Library

15. XV.
With not Much in It.

IT is strange that a man living so comfortably as
Mr. Bodgers should not have been satisfied.
Why, pray, does he not take the world easy? And
you, my dear sir, or madam, turned of forty, with
enough of money and no family; with a house and
old silver; with a horse and gig, and may be, a
good pew in the church; why on earth are you not
satisfied?

What business have you to be troubled about
your cook, or your carpenter, or your broker, or
your life past, or your life to come? Haven't you
it all nearly in your own way? Are you not, like

an old simpleton, quarrelling with yourself all the
while, merely because you haven't any little family
about you to tease you, and worry you, and so give
you some sensible reason for being annoyed?

Well, Mr. Bodgers was fidgety. The fire vexed
him: it wouldn't burn as he wished. The sunshine
vexed him: it was so warm, and so grateful, and so
cheap, and none but he in the great parlor. His
coat vexed him; and the people of the town vexed
him: most of all, it vexed him to see his next-door
neighbor (who was only a carpenter) fondling his
little daughter. What business has a man to be
enjoying himself in this way, and to be eternally
taunting us with our condition? Mr. Bodgers took
snuff for relief.

And having taken snuff, he thinks of his Will,
and of Kitty; and glancing out of the window
again, he thinks he will go to town and see how
little Kit is getting on.

And being in town, and learning that cousin
Phœbe was to give a party, to which the Misses
Fudge, with Kitty, had been invited (at a very late
hour), he insists in his usual way, that Kit should
go and have a sight of the world. Partly, no
doubt, he was anxious to tease the old lady by his
presence, and partly to enjoy the admiration he felt
sure would belong to his little country friend.

“A fig for dress!” said Mr. Bodgers. And so
(although between the discussions of Jemima and
Bridget, about the purple dress and the pink one,
and the salmon-color with gimp trimmings, Kitty
came near having no chance to dress at all), it was
arranged that our little country cousin should wear
a simple white muslin. And very prettily she
looked in it; so prettily that the spinster cousins
insisted upon half a dozen kisses each, much to the
admiration of the fond old Mr. Bodgers; and to
his vexation too.

I think the coral necklace, the only ornament she
wore, rather added to the effect of Kitty's complexion;
it was certainly the most charming color
I ever saw. Mrs. Bright, who had no daughters,
and was a brunette, made the same remark. “Perfectly
irresistible,” said I—“for a blonde.”

Mrs. Bright bowed, and begged me to join her
party for the ninth. (Mrs. Fudge's ball was on the
sixth of the month.)

Kitty enjoyed it all very much, as a sensible
young lady from the country on her first visit ought
to do. For she was made of flesh and blood like
the rest of us, and admired the brilliant dresses, and
the music, and the dancing; and in short, was quite
intoxicated with it all.

“Who is she?” said a great many, looking

through their quizzing-glasses. And Kitty, whose
ears were sharp, heard them say it; and her heart,
which was not altogether a flint one, bounded under
the little white bodice, in a way that sent the blood,
in a very lively manner, over her face.

“And how pretty!” said other ladies (old ladies
mostly); and Kitty heard that too, and received it,
as young ladies always do, in a most cordial and
grateful manner. For she was no saint. I do not
think a saint would make a sensation in our world,
or be greatly admired in New York.

Strange as it may seem, Kitty enjoyed the attentions
of such elegant young gentlemen as Mr. Quid
and Mr. Spindle; so unlike as they proved to the
monotonous chamber-talks of her spinster cousins.
And beside, there belonged to them such piquancy
of chat, and such admirable watchfulness of her
humor (bless her guileless innocence!) and such
playful, good-tempered, sportive sallies about this
old lady's head-dress, or that one's blue and yellow
brocade!

Uncle Truman, with his slung arm, wandering
here and there, provoking smiles, that reddened
more and more the rich color of my aunt Solomon,
kept his eye ever upon the flitting figure in white
muslin, and upon the coral necklace. Indeed, I
suspect it was only to watch that little figure that

he had found his way up to town; and I more than
suspect that all the home vexations which so preyed
on him, would have found very great relief if he
could only have wandered, as in past years he was
used to wander, into Mrs. Fleming's cottage, and
be greeted with one of Kitty's kisses.

Where our benefits and favors go, we like to go
ourselves: and having lavished more than he ever
lavished elsewhere upon Kitty Fleming, it was
natural enough that he should love to watch her.
But in the face of young Mr. Quid there was something
that greatly disturbed Mr. Bodgers; and only
the more because Kitty seemed ever so intent upon
what he whispered in her ear. It was strange
enough that the old man should be so jealous of a
boy, and of a boy he must have seen and despised;
yet a boy, after all, who, when he has Mr. Bodgers'
years, and his gravity, will not look unlike our
uncle Truman himself.

How can it be?

And when, after it is over, Mr. Bodgers, with
Kitty leaning on his arm, strolls to her home,
without any mention of a name (but with very
much thought of the sleek-looking boy), he cautions
her, in an old man's way, against the vanities and
the pretensions of which the world is full.

She, all tremulous with the excitement which

such an evening will strew over the fancies of seventeen,
listens kindly—how kindly! and smiles, and
blushes to the moon, and feels her heart made twin
with the love of the pleasantness gone by, and with
grateful yearnings toward the old man (alas, that
he is so old!) who watches over her, and guards
her.

And Mr. Bodgers, listening to the trip of those
young feet, as they twinkle between the heavy
tread of his own, and looking down—oftener than
he thinks—upon the little hand that clings so confidingly
to his strong arm, provokes her gay prattle,
and drinks it in, and admires, and smiles, and
advises, with most curious and perplexed attention.

“Never mind wealth, or beautiful things, Kitty.”

“Not mind them, Uncle Truman?”

“You shall have enough of them, Kit. I will
see to that.”

And the little hand closes over the stout arm—
so kindly!

“Dresses, and jewels, and whatever you like,
Kitty, if—only”—

“Well, Uncle Truman?”—

“—If only (he cannot say it)—if only—you will
be always the same true-thoughted girl, and not
have your heart turned topsy-turvy by these tricksy,
good-for-nothing fellows.”

“Oh no,” says Kitty, wondering what he means
all the while.

And when they are at the door, he says, with his
hand in hers (which he hurts without meaning it),
“Remeber, Kitty!”

And she says, “Yes, Uncle Truman.”

“I told you you should have whatever you
wished, if you will only take it.”

“You are so kind,” says she.

“Good night, Kit: one kiss.”

And he takes it. “Yes, she shall,” says he to
himself, “everything, everything!”

It is a starry and a moonlight night, and the
old gentleman walks away, summing up the bounties
and the luxuries he could and he will bestow upon
her. There is a luxury, after all, in wealth, when
we can give. But alas for us! it is almost always
given too late.

Bridget is waiting to receive Kitty, who in the
first burst of her excitement tells of all the kindness
of Mr. Bodgers. (If he could only have heard
her!)

“What a dear, good, awkward old gentleman,”
says Bridget. (If he could only have heard her!)

Afterward, upon a very restless pillow, Kitty
runs over the scenes of the evening, and wonders
(as young girls do wonder) if Mr. Quid, and the

rest, were altogether so earnest as they seemed?
And wonders if she herself is altogether so charming
as they would make her believe? And wonders if
this or that one, such elegant young fellows, will come
to call upon her, as they have more than hinted?
And wonders if she could love any one of them truly,
as she only means to love? And wonders what Mr.
Bodgers could mean by promising her “everything,”
in such a gentle manner? And then she
blushes at the wonder, and says, “Oh no, absurd!”
and composes herself for the night's rest.

But even now, her thoughts run swiftly to the
old village, the evening's excitement deepening her
affection only because the blood is flowing faster
and freer (which she does not know), and murmuring
blessings upon that country home, and upon her
mother, and all, she drops asleep with a smile; a
smile that (if one could see it) is all the prettier,
because it is lighted with a tear.