University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

MR. BENJAMIN (but as everybody called him, Uncle Ben)
Pea resided two miles out of Dukesborough. He was a small
farmer — not small in person, but a farmer on a small scale. He
raised a fair crop of corn, a trifle of cotton, great quantities of potatoes,
and some pinders. It was said that in his younger days he used to be
brisk in his business, and to make something by hauling wood to town.
He spent as little as he could and saved as much as he could; but
for a certain purpose he kept as good an establishment as he could.
His little wagon used to be good enough to carry him and the old
woman to town; yet he bought a second-hand gig, and did other things
in proportion. It was extravagant, and he knew it, but he had a
purpose. That purpose was to marry off his daughter Georgiana.
Now, Georgiana had told him for years and years, even before the old
woman died, that if he wanted to marry her off (a thing she cared
nothing about herself), the only way to do that was for the family to go
in a decent way. And now that the old woman had died and her
father had grown old, she had her own way, and that was as decent as
could be afforded, and no more.

Miss Georgiana Pea was heavy — heavy of being married off, and
heavy of body. Her weight for fifteen years at the least had not been

probably less than one hundred and seventy pounds. In her seasons
of highest health, which were probably oftener in the latter part of the
Fall than at any other period of the year, people used to guess that
it might be even more; but there was no getting at it at any time,
because she always stoutly refused to be weighed. True, she laced;
but that did not seem to diminish her materially; for what was pressed
down in one region re-appeared in another. She had a magnificent
bust. This bust was her pride, that was evident. Indeed, she as
good as confessed as much to me one day. I knew the family well;
she didn't mind me, I was a very small boy, and she was aware that I
considered that bust a wonderful work of nature. I have often been
amused, since I have grown old and less impressible by such things,
to remember how tremendously magnificent I used to regard the bust
of Georgiana Pea.

Yet she didn't marry. The old gentleman had been so anxious
about it that he had long ago rather given it out in a public way, that
upon her marriage with his consent (she was the only child — Peterson
died when a boy, of measles) he should give up everything, houses,
lands, furniture, and money, and live upon the bounty of his son-in-law.
These several items of property had been often appraised by the
neighbors as accurately as could be done (considering that the exact
amount of money could not be verified), in view of ascertaining for
their own satisfaction what her dowry might be. The appraisement
had gone through many gradations of figures while the bridegroom
delayed his coming. At the period of which I am now telling, there
were those who maintained that Uncle Ben was worth four thousand
dollars; others shook their heads and said thirty-five hundred; while
others yet, who professed to know more about it than anybody else,
they didn't care who it was, insisted that three thousand was the outside.
Many a man, it seemed to me, and some that would have been worth
having, might have been caught by that bust and that prospective
fortune. But they were not; and now, at thirty, or thereabout, she was
evidently of the opinion that even if she had many desires to enter
into the estate of marriage, their chances of gratification were few.
Indeed, Miss Pea was at that stage when she was beginning to speak
at times of the other sex with disgust.

Mr. Jacob Spouter resided in the very heart of Dukesborough, and
kept a hotel. The town being small, his business was small. He was
a small man, but looked bright, capable, and business-like. He dressed

pretty well. But this was for effect, and was both a delusion and a
snare. It was for a sign for his hotel. To look at him, you would
have supposed that he kept a good hotel; but he did not. It is surprising,
indeed, to consider how few men there are who do. But this
is a great theme, and entirely independent of what I wish to tell,
except so far as it may relate to the fact that Mr. Spouter had yet
living with him an only child, a daughter, whose name was Angeline.
Miss Angeline, instead of taking after the Spouters, who were short,
took after the Fanigans, who were long. She was a very thin young
lady, almost too thin to look well, and her hair and complexion were
rather sallow. But then that hair curled — every hair curled.

Who has not a weakness? Miss Pea had hers, as we have seen; and
now we shall see, as everybody for years had seen, that Miss Spouter
had hers also. It was an innocent one: it was her curls. In the memory
of man that hair had never been done up; but through all changes of
circumstances and weather it had hung in curls, just as it hung on the
day when this story begins. They had been complimented thousands
of times, and by hundreds of persons; the guests of years had noticed
them, and had uttered and smiled their approbation; and there had
been times when Miss Spouter hoped, in spite of the want of other as
striking charms, and in spite of the universally known fact that her
father had always been insolvent and always would be, that those curls
would eventually entangle the person without whom she felt that she
could never be fully blest. While this person was a man, it was not
any particular individual of the speices. Many a time had she seen
one who, she thought, would answer. She was not very fastidious, but
she positively believed (and this belief made her appear to be anxious)
that in view of all the circumstances of her life, the best thing that she
could do for herself would be to marry. Yet Miss Spouter did not
regard herself as wholly selfish in this wish; for there was something
in her, she thought, which she constantly understood to be telling her
that if she had the opportunity she could make some man extremely
happy.

But though those curls had been so often praised — yea, though
they had been sometimes handled — to such a degree did people's
admiration of them extend, that Miss Spouter, like her contemporary
in the country, was unmarried, and beginning to try to feel as if she
despised the vain and foolish world of man.

These young ladies were friends, and always had been. They were

so much attached that each seemed, to a superficial observer, to believe
that she had been born for but one special purpose, and that was to
help the other to get married; for Miss Spouter believed and Miss
Pea knew that marriage was a subject which, without intermission,
occupied the mind of her friend. It was pleasant to hear Miss Pea
extol Miss Spouter's curls; then it was pleasant to hear Miss Spouter,
who was more sentimental and the better talker of the two, praise Miss
Pea's “figger,” by which term she meant only her bust. No one ever
dreamed that it was possible for any jealousy to rise between them;
for Miss Spouter had no figure worth mentioning, and not a hair of
Miss Pea's head could be curled. Not only so, but the fact was, that
in her heart of hearts (so curious a thing is even the most constant
friendship) neither thought much of the other's special accomplishment;
rather, each thought that there was entirely too much of it,
especially Miss Spouter touching the “figger.” If Miss Pea considered
the property qualification in her favor, Miss Spouter did not forget that
she resided right in the very heart of Dukesborough, and that her
father kept a hotel. Now, as long as the world stands, persons of their
condition who live in town will feel a little ahead of those who live in
the country; while the latter, though never exactly knowing why, will
admit that it is so. Miss Pea was generally very much liked by the
neighbors; Miss Spouter had not made a great number of friends.
Probably town airs had something to do in the matter. Miss Pea was
considered the superior character of the two, but neither of them
thought so; Miss Spouter, especially, who knew the meaning of many
more words in the dictionary than her friend, and who had read Alonzo
and Melissa, and the Three Spaniards, until she had the run of them
fully, never dreamed of such a thing.

Miss Spouter was fond of visiting Miss Pea, especially in watermelon
time. Miss Pea valued the friendship of Miss Spouter because
it afforded her frequent opportunities of staying at a hotel, a privilege
which she well knew not many country girls enjoyed. To stay there,
not as a boarder, but as a friend of the family, to eat there and
sleep there, and not to pay for either of these distinctions as other
people did, but to do these things on invitation. Now, while Miss
Pea got much better eating and sleeping at home, yet she could but
consider the former as privileges. She never would forget that once
when there was a show in Dukesborough, given by a ventriloquist
who was also a juggler, she had been at Mr. J. Spouter's, and had been

introduced to the wonderful man, and his wife too, and had heard them
talk about general matters just as other people did.

But time was waxing old. The bust had about ceased to be
ambitious, and the curls, though wishful yet, were falling into the habit
of giving only despondent shakes.