 | CHAPTER XXXIV.
CONSULTATIONS AND CONFIDENCES. The minister's wooing |  |
34. CHAPTER XXXIV.
CONSULTATIONS AND CONFIDENCES.
Meanwhile, the wedding-preparations were going
on at the cottage with that consistent vigor
with which Yankee people always drive matters
when they know precisely what they are about.
The wedding-day was definitely fixed for the first
of August; and each of the two weeks between
had its particular significance and value precisely
marked out and arranged in Mrs. Katy Scudder's
comprehensive and systematic schemes.
It was settled that the newly wedded pair were,
for a while at least, to reside at the cottage. It
might have been imagined, therefore, that no great
external changes were in contemplation; but it is
astonishing, the amount of discussion, the amount
of advising, consulting, and running to and fro,
which can be made to result out of an apparently
slight change in the relative position of two people
in the same house.
Dr. Hopkins really opened his eyes with calm
amazement. Good, modest soul! he had never
From morning to night, he heard his name constantly
occurring in busy consultations that seemed
to be going on between Miss Prissy and Mrs.
Deacon Twitchel and Mrs. Scudder and Mrs. Jones,
and quietly wondered what they could have so
much more than usual to say about him. For a
while it seemed to him that the whole house was
about to be torn to pieces. He was even requested
to step out of his study, one day, into
which immediately entered, in his absence, two of
the most vigorous women of the parish, who proceeded
to uttermost measures, — first pitching everything
into pi, so that the Doctor, who returned
disconsolately to look for a book, at once gave up
himself and his system of divinity as entirely lost,
until assured by one of the ladies, in a condescending
manner, that he knew nothing about the
matter, and that, if he would return after half a
day, he would find everything right again, — a
declaration in which he tried to have unlimited
faith, and which made him feel the advantage of
a mind accustomed to believing in mysteries.
And it is to be remarked, that on his return he
actually found his table in most perfect order,
with not a single one of his papers missing; in
fact, to his ignorant eye the room looked exactly
as it did before; and when Miss Prissy eloquently
demonstrated to him, that every inch of that paint
and washed inside and out, and rinsed through
three waters, and that the curtains had been taken
down, and washed, and put through a blue water,
and starched, and ironed, and put up again, — he
only innocently wondered, in his ignorance, what
there was in a man's being married that made all
these ceremonies necessary. But the Doctor was
a wise man, and in cases of difficulty kept his
mind to himself; and therefore he only informed
these energetic practitioners that he was extremely
obliged to them, accepting it by simple faith, — an
example which we recommend to all good men in
similar circumstances.
The house throughout was subjected to similar
renovation. Everything in every chest or box was
vigorously pulled out and hung out on lines in
the clothes-yard to air; for when once the spirit
of enterprise has fairly possessed a group of women,
it assumes the form of a “prophetic fury,”
and carries them beyond themselves. Let not any
ignorant mortal of the masculine gender, at such
hours, rashly dare to question the promptings of
the genius that inspires them. Spite of all the
treatises that have lately appeared, to demonstrate
that there are no particular inherent diversities between
men and women, we hold to the opinion
that one thorough season of house-cleaning is sufficient
to prove the existence of awful and mysterious
and reserved forces in the female line, before
which the lords of creation can only veil their
faces with a discreet reverence, as our Doctor has
done.
In fact, his whole deportment on the occasion
was characterized by humility so edifying as really
to touch the hearts of the whole synod of matrons;
and Miss Prissy rewarded him by declaring
impressively her opinion, that he was worthy
to have a voice in the choosing of the wedding-dress;
and she actually swooped him up, just in
a very critical part of a distinction between natural
and moral ability, and conveyed him bodily,
as fairy sprites knew how to convey the most
ponderous of mortals, into the best room, where
three specimens of brocade lay spread out upon
a table for inspection.
Mary stood by the side of the table, her pretty
head bent reflectively downward, her cheek just
resting upon the tip of one of her fingers, as she
stood looking thoughtfully through the brocades at
something deeper that seemed to lie under them;
and when the Doctor was required to give judgment
on the articles, it was observed by the matrons
that his large blue eyes were resting upon
Mary, with an expression that almost glorified his
face; and it was not until his elbow was repeatedly
shaken by Miss Prissy, that he gave a sudden
upon the silks. It had been one of Miss Prissy's
favorite theories, that “that dear blessed man had
taste enough, if he would only give his mind to
things”; and, in fact, the Doctor rather verified
the remark on the present occasion, for he looked
very conscientiously and soberly at the silks, and
even handled them cautiously and respectfully
with his fingers, and listened with grave attention
to all that Miss Prissy told him of their price and
properties, and then laid his finger down on one
whose snow-white ground was embellished with a
pattern representing lillies of the valley on a background
of green leaves. “This is the one,” he
said, with an air of decision; and then he looked
at Mary, and smiled, and a murmur of universal
approbation broke out.
“Il a de la délicatesse,” said Madame de Frontignac,
who had been watching this scene with
bright, amused eyes, — while a chorus of loud
acclamations, in which Miss Prissy's voice took
the lead, conveyed to the innocent-minded Doctor
the idea, that in some mysterious way he had distinguished
himself in the eyes of his feminine
friends; whereat he retired to his study slightly
marvelling, but on the whole well pleased, as men
generally are when they do better than they expect;
and Miss Prissy, turning out all profaner
persons from the apartment, held a solemn consultation,
Madame de Frontignac were admitted. For it is
to be observed that the latter had risen daily and
hourly in Miss Prissy's esteem, since her entrance
into the cottage; and she declared, that, if she
only would give her a few hints, she didn't believe
but that she could make that dress look just
like a Paris one; and rather intimated that in
such a case she might almost be ready to resign
all mortal ambitions.
The afternoon of this day, just at that cool
hour when the clock ticks so quietly in a New
England kitchen, and everything is so clean and
put away that there seems to be nothing to do
in the house, Mary sat quietly down in her room
to hem a ruffle. Everybody had gone out of the
house on various errands. The Doctor, with implicit
faith, had surrendered himself to Mrs. Scudder
and Miss Prissy, to be conveyed up to Newport,
and attend to various appointments in relation to
his outer man, which he was informed would be
indispensable in the forthcoming solemnities. Madame
de Frontignac had also gone to spend the
day with some of her Newport friends. And
Mary, quite well pleased with the placid and orderly
stillness which reigned through the house,
sat pleasantly murmuring a little tune to her sewing,
when suddenly the trip of a very brisk foot
was heard in the kitchen, and Miss Cerinthy Ann
healthy glowing cheek wearing a still brighter color
from the exercise of a three-mile walk in a July
day.
“Why, Cerinthy,” said Mary, “how glad I am
to see you!”
“Well,” said Cerinthy, “I have been meaning
to come down all this week, but there's so much
to do in haying-time, — but to-day I told mother
I must come. I brought these down,” she said,
unfolding a dozen snowy damask napkins, “that
I spun myself, and was thinking of you almost
all the while I spun them, so I suppose they aren't
quite so wicked as they might be.”
We will observe here, that Cerinthy Ann, in
virtue of having a high stock of animal spirits
and great fulness of physical vigor, had very
small proclivities towards the unseen and spiritual,
but still always indulged a secret resentment at
being classed as a sinner above many others, who,
as church-members, made such professions, and
were, as she remarked, “not a bit better than she
was.” She had always, however, cherished an unbounded
veneration for Mary, and had made her
the confidante of most of her important secrets.
It soon became very evident that she had come
with one on her mind now.
“Don't you want to come and sit out in the
lot?” she said, after sitting awhile, twirling her
to say and doesn't know exactly how to begin
upon it.
Mary cheerfully gathered up her thread, scissors,
and ruffling, and the two stepped over the window-sill,
and soon found themselves seated cozily under
the boughs of a large apple-tree, whose descending
branches, meeting the tops of the high grass all
around, formed a seclusion as perfect as heart could
desire.
They sat down, pushing away a place in the
grass; and Cerinthy Ann took off her bonnet, and
threw it among the clover, exhibiting to view her
black hair, always trimly arranged in shining
braids, except where some glossy curls fell over
the rich high color of her cheeks. Something
appeared to discompose her this afternoon. There
were those evident signs of a consultation impending,
which, to an experienced eye, are as
unmistakable as the coming up of a shower in
summer.
Cerinthy began by passionately demolishing several
heads of clover, remarking, as she did so, that
she “didn't see, for her part, how Mary could keep
so calm when things were coming so near.” And
as Mary answered to this only with a quiet smile,
she broke out again: —
“I don't see, for my part, how a young girl could
marry a minister, anyhow; but then I think you
say, if I should do such a thing?”
“I don't know,” said Mary, innocently.
“Well, I suppose everybody would hold up
their hands; and yet, if I do say it myself,” — she
added, coloring, — “there are not many girls who
could make a better minister's wife than I could,
if I had a mind to try.”
“That I am sure of,” said Mary, warmly.
“I guess you are the only one that ever thought
so,” said Cerinthy, giving an impatient toss.
“There's father and mother all the while mourning
over me; and yet I don't see but what I do
pretty much all that is done in the house, and
they say I am a great comfort in a temporal
point of view. But, oh, the groanings and the
sighings that there are over me! I don't think it
is pleasant to know that your best friends are
thinking such awful things about you, when you
are working your fingers off to help them. It is
kind o' discouraging, but I don't know what to
do about it;” — and for a few moments Cerinthy
sat demolishing buttercups, and throwing them up
in the air till her shiny black head was covered
with golden flakes, while her cheeks grew redder
with something that she was going to say next.
“Now, Mary, there is that creature. Well, you
know, he won't take `No' for an answer. What
shall I do?”
“Suppose, then, you try `Yes,'” said Mary,
rather archly.
“Oh, pshaw! Mary Scudder, you know better
than that, now. I look like it, don't I?”
“Why, yes,” said Mary, looking at Cerinthy,
deliberately; “on the whole, I think you do.”
“Well! one thing I must say,” said Cerinthy,
— “I can't see what he finds in me. I think he
is a thousand times too good for me. Why, you
have no idea, Mary, how I have plagued him. I
believe that man really is a Christian,” she added,
while something like a penitent tear actually glistened
in those sharp, saucy, black eyes. “Besides,”
she added, “I have told him everything I could
think of to discourage him. I told him that I
had a bad temper, and didn't believe the doctrines,
and couldn't promise that I ever should; and after
all, that creature keeps right on, and I don't know
what to tell him.”
“Well,” said Mary, mildly, “do you think you
really love him?”
“Love him?” said Cerinthy, giving a great
flounce, “to be sure I don't! Catch me loving
any man! I told him last night I didn't; but it
didn't do a bit of good. I used to think that
man was bashful, but I declare I have altered my
mind; he will talk and talk till I don't know
what to do. I tell you, Mary, he talks beautifully,
too, sometimes.”
Here Cerinthy turned quickly away, and began
reaching passionately after clover-heads. After a
few moments, she resumed: —
“The fact is, Mary, that man needs somebody
to take care of him; for he never thinks of himself.
They say he has got the consumption; but
he hasn't, any more than I have. It is just the
way he neglects himself, — preaching, talking, and
visiting; nobody to take care of him, and see to
his clothes, and nurse him up when he gets a little
hoarse and run down. Well, I suppose if I
am unregenerate, I do know how to keep things
in order; and if I should keep such a man's soul
in his body, I should be doing some good in the
world; because, if ministers don't live, of course
they can't convert anybody. Just think of his
saying that I could be a comfort to him! I told
him that it was perfectly ridiculous. `And besides,'
says I, `what will everybody think?' I thought
that I had really talked him out of the notion of
it last night; but there he was in again this
morning, and told me he had derived great encouragement
from what I had said. Well, the poor
man really is lonesome, — his mother 's dead, and
he hasn't any sisters. I asked him why he didn't
go and take Miss Olladine Slocum: everybody
says she would make a first-rate minister's wife.”
“Well, and what did he say to that?” said
Mary.
“Well, something really silly, — about my looks,”
said Cerinthy, looking down.
Mary looked up, and remarked the shining black
hair, the long dark lashes lying down over the
glowing cheek, where two arch dimples were nestling,
and said, quietly, —
“Probably he is a man of taste, Cerinthy; I
advise you to leave the matter entirely to his judgment.”
“You don't, really, Mary!” said the damsel,
looking up. “Don't you think it would injure him,
if I should?”
“I think not, materially,” said Mary.
“Well,” said Cerinthy, rising, “the men will be
coming home from the mowing, before I get home,
and want their supper. Mother has got one of
her headaches on this afternoon, so I can't stop
any longer. There isn't a soul in the house knows
where anything is, when I am gone. If I should
ever take it into my head to go off, I don't know
what would become of father and mother. I was
telling mother, the other day, that I thought unregenerate
folks were of some use in this world,
any way.”
“Does your mother know anything about it?”
said Mary.
“Oh, as to mother, I believe she has been hoping
and praying about it these three months. She
thinks that I am such a desperate case, it is the
That's what set me against him at first; but the
fact is, if girls will let a man argue with them,
he always contrives to get the best of it. I am
kind of provoked about it, too. But, mercy on
us! he is so meek, there is no use of getting provoked
at him. Well, I guess I will go home and
think about it.”
As she turned to go, she looked really pretty.
Her long lashes were wet with a twinkling moisture,
like meadow-grass after a shower; and there
was a softened, childlike expression stealing over
the careless gayety of her face.
Mary put her arms round her with a gentle caressing
movement, which the other returned with
a hearty embrace. They stood locked in each
other's arms, — the glowing, vigorous, strong-hearted
girl, with that pale, spiritual face resting on her
breast, as when the morning, songful and radiant,
clasps the pale silver moon to her glowing bosom.
“Look here now, Mary,” said Cerinthy; “your
folks are all gone. You may as well walk with
me. It's pleasant now.”
“Yes, I will,” said Mary; “wait a minute, till
I get my bonnet.”
In a few moments the two girls were walking
together in one of those little pasture foot-tracks
which run so cozily among huckleberry and juniper
subject she could not leave thinking of. Their
path now wound over high ground that overlooked
the distant sea, now lost itself in little copses of
cedar and pitch-pine, and now there came on the
air the pleasant breath of new hay, which mowers
were harvesting in adjoining meadows.
They walked on and on, as girls will; because,
when a young lady has once fairly launched into
the enterprise of telling another all that he said,
and just how he looked, for the last three months,
walks are apt to be indefinitely extended.
Mary was, besides, one of the most seductive
little confidantes in the world. She was so pure
from selfishness, so heartily and innocently interested
in what another was telling her, that people
in talking with her found the subject constantly increasing
in interest, — although, if they really had
been called upon afterwards to state the exact
portion in words which she added to the conversation,
they would have been surprised to find it
so small.
In fact, before Cerinthy Ann had quite finished
her confessions, they were more than a mile from
the cottage, and Mary began to think of returning,
saying that her mother would wonder where
she was, when she came home.
| CHAPTER XXXIV.
CONSULTATIONS AND CONFIDENCES. The minister's wooing | |