 | II.
A VISIT TO THE WIDOW AND FATHERLESS. Coupon bonds, and other stories |  |
2. II.
A VISIT TO THE WIDOW AND FATHERLESS.
It was half a day's journey from Archy's residence in town
to the rural locality which he had no doubt was all this
time resounding with the lamentations of the bereaved
family. Arrived at the village hotel, he ordered a room
and supper; and, after the necessary ablutions and refreshments,
and certain studious moments devoted to his attire,
he set out, with his immaculate waistcoat and gold-headed
cane, to walk to the Blossom cottage.
It was Archy's first advent in the place; a chronic dislike
of scenes rustic and domestic having hitherto deterred
him from venturing upon a visit. He was surprised to
find the little town so charming. It was the close of a
pleasant June day; the sunset was superb, the air cool and
sweet, the foliage of the sunlit trees thick and refulgent.
“Really,” said Archy to himself, snuffing the odor of
roses and pinks that breathed from somewhere about a
green-embowered cottage, — “really, and upon my soul, a
man might pass an hour or two in this place quite agreeably!
Young man,” — accosting a village youth, in soiled
shirt-sleeves and patched trousers, who approached, pushing
a loaded wheelbarrow before him on the sidewalk, —
“can you inform me where Mrs. Blossom lives?”
“P'scill Blossom?” said the village youth, setting down
the wheelbarrow and tucking up his shirt-sleeves.
“Mrs. Benjamin Blossom,” replied Archy, with dignity.
“That 's P'scill,” said the village youth, twisting his
mouth into a queer expression, and eying Archy with a
slant, shrewd leer. “You 've come past. Foller me, and
I 'll show ye. Look out for your shins!”
He spat upon his hands, rubbed them together, and once
more addressed himself to the wheelbarrow. Archy stepped
aside and walked behind. The young man turned up to
the fence that enclosed the green-embowered cottage, from
about which breathed the delightful odor of pinks and
roses.
“Wish you 'd jest open that gate,” said he, holding the
wheelbarrow.
Archy, who was unaccustomed to opening gates for
people, stood amazed at this audacity. But the young man
repeating his request, he concluded to take a benevolent
and humorous view of the matter, and, stepping before
the wheel, rendered the service.
“Clear the track now!” And the young man began to
push.
“Hold! take care!” cried Archy, in peril of his legs.
“You scoundrel!” He flourished his cane. But as the
wheelbarrow continued to advance, his alternative was
either to suffer a collision or retreat. Preferring the latter,
he went backward into the yard. Going backward into the
yard, he struck his heel against the border of a flower-bed.
Striking his heel, he tripped, as was natural, and lost his
balance, being unable to recover which, he made a formidable
plunge, falling in the most awkward of all positions.
His cane flew into the air, his hat into the bushes, and instantly
he found himself deeply seated amidst some of the
aforesaid odorous pinks and roses.
“Hello! look out! darnation!” ejaculated the youth of
the wheelbarrow; “tumblin' over them beds! P'scill 'll be
in your hair!” Which last allusion prompted the unfortunate
Mr. Blossom to catch at his wig, that useful article
having found a closer affinity with a rosebush than with
the head to which it belonged.
“Young man!” said Archy, regaining his feet and gathering
within an inch of your life!”
“Do I, though?” and the youth's shrewd leer brightened
into an expression of sparkling fun. “I ha'n't done noth'n',
only showed you where we live.”
“Who cares where you live?” retorted Archy, pale and
agitated, hastily brushing his clothes. “You remorseless
idiot! I inquired for Mrs. Blossom's house.”
“Wal, a'n't I showin' ye? This is our house; I 'm her
cousin,” said the youth. “I a'n't to blame, as I see, for
your goin' on to the bed backwards.”
“I must always be a victim!” growled Archy, using his
handkerchief for a duster. “Young man, I am Benjamin
Blossom's brother, and I wish to see Mrs. Blossom.”
“Jimmyneddy!” cried the youth, “be ye, though?
Darned if I did n't think you was the new minister! I
would n't have done it — I mean, I did n't mean to — lemme
brush off the dirt!” And he fell to using his unwashed
hands about Archy's person with a freedom more alarming
than any quantity of unadulterated dirt. The poor bachelor
was endeavoring to defend himself when a young
woman appeared, coming out of the house, and inquiring
eagerly what was the trouble.
A young woman, — she might have been forty; but she
was still fresh and good-looking, with a plump figure, hazel
eyes, a genuine complexion, teeth that were teeth, beautiful
hair of her own, and a pleasing smile. The smile beamed,
and at the same time the hazel eyes shone through tears,
when the youth of the wheelbarrow announced Mr. Blossom's
brother
“O dear, good brother Archy!” she exclaimed, with
something between a sob and cry of joy.
“My afflicted sister — ” began Archy, who had composed
a pathetic little speech, appropriate to the occasion.
made a movement indicative of falling into his arms, he
opened them. Seeing them opened, she could do no less
than fall into them. So the afflicted couple embraced, and
Mrs. Benjamin Blossom wept upon Mr. Archibald Blossom's
shoulder.
“To think we should meet, for the first time since my
marriage, on such an occasion!” murmured Mrs. Blossom.
“You have changed very little since that time,” said
Archy, gallantly, regarding her at arm's-length.
“Brother Archy,” faltered Priscilla, wiping her eyes,
“this is my cousin, Cyrus Drole.” And the bachelor was
formally introduced to the youth of the wheelbarrow.
Cyrus offered to shake hands, and Archy, after some
hesitation, gave him two fingers.
“And these,” said Mrs. Blossom, “are my — his — his
children!” — meaning her late husband's, not the grinning
Cyrus's. She burst into tears, and catching up the youngest
of the lamented Benjamin's progeny, as they came running
out of the house, almost smothered it with kisses.
Archy took out his handkerchief again, wiped first the
two fingers Cyrus had shaken, and then his eyes.
“Poor little dears!” he said, much affected. “How
could Benjamin ever leave for a moment so — so interesting
a family!”
“Benjie — Phidie — Archy,” Mrs. Blossom called the
names of the three older children according to their ages,
“this is your uncle, — your kind, dear uncle, — your father's
only brother, and now all the father you have left!” More
sobs, of the choking species. “Kiss your good uncle!”
“Dear little ones — yes!” said Archy, “give your uncle
a kiss! (I am going to be a victim, — I know I am!”
he added, in a parenthesis, to himself.) “There! there!
there!” embracing the three children in succession, but
touched his, and then putting them immediately away. He
was congratulating himself on having done up this little
business so handsomely, when Mrs. Blossom reminded
him.
“This is the youngest, — the baby, brother Archy; don't
forget the baby!”
“Bless his little heart, no,” said Archy, gayly fencing
with his forefinger; “tut-tut! cock-a-doodle-do! Really,
and upon my soul, what a fine boy it is!”
“But it 's a girl,” said Priscilla, hugging the frightened
little thing to keep it from crying.
“O, indeed! my mistake! But it 's all the same till they
get their baby frocks off,” replied Archy. And the procession
moved into the house, Cyrus Drole bringing up the rear.
Priscilla, hastily emptying the large rocking-chair of a cat,
two kittens, and a doll, offered her brother-in-law a seat.
“That 's my pussy!” said Benjie (young Blossom number
one, æt. 7).
“My doll!” screamed Phidie (number two, æt. 5).
“Mamma's chair!” cried little Blossom number three;
and before Archy the uncle could sit down, Archy the
nephew had scrambled into it.
“Archy, my dear,” remonstrated the mother, “get down
and give his uncle the chair.”
But Archy, laying hold of the arms with both hands, began
to rock with all his might, his bright eyes glistening,
and his curls shaking merrily about his cheeks. Thereupon
the uncle quietly helped himself to another chair,
which Priscilla hastened to dust with her apron before she
would suffer him to sit down.
“Say, P'scill!” cried Cyrus, who had gone into the
kitchen to wash himself; and he appeared at the sitting-room
door, rubbing his hands in a profuse foam of soft-soap
Uncle Archy for a minister?”
“He calls me uncle too!” inwardly groaned the bachelor.
“You have n't been to tea, I suppose?” observed Priscilla,
setting out the table, and putting up a leaf. Archy
said he had taken tea at the hotel. “Indeed! Are you
sure? That was n't very kind in you, brother Archibald!”
The young widow was reluctantly putting down the leaf,
with many expressions of regret, when all were startled by
a sound of shivered glass, and Phidie (abbreviation of Sophia)
uttered a cry of alarm.
“O ma! look at Cilly!” (Blossom number four, æt. 2,
named after her mother.) She had got Uncle Archy's
cane, and had tested the virtue of the pretty gold head by
putting it through a window-pane.
“Why, Cilly! what has she done?” exclaimed her mother.
Cilly began to cry. At that moment young Archy
rocked over. Another cry. The benevolent bachelor
sprang to lift up his namesake from beneath the overturned
chair, and, stooping, struck his head against Phidie's
nose. Third cry added to the chorus. Mrs. Blossom,
meanwhile, was occupied in running over Benjie, whose
fingers she had previously pinched by too suddenly dropping
the table-leaf when the alarm was given. At the same
time Cyrus, with his soapy hands, ran to the rescue, and
took the cane from the affrighted and screaming Cilly.
“What did I tell you, Archibald Blossom?” said the
bachelor to himself. “I knew perfectly well you would be
a victim!” And stepping back upon a kitten's tail, he
elicited a squall of pain from the feline proprietress of
the pinched appendage, and a mew of solicitude from the
maternal cat.
For a few minutes the domestic confusion in the cottage
had ever conceived. But the tumult soon passed; the
broken glass was picked up; the cane (with the streaks of
Cyrus's soapy fingers on it) set away; Phidie's nose washed,
which had bled; and the Blossoms number three and four
put to bed, after saying their prayers and kissing, with
oozy faces, — or, rather, kissing at, — their Uncle Archy.
Benjie and Phidie were suffered to sit up half an hour
longer, upon condition that they should behave themselves;
at the expiration of which time they also said their “Now
I lay me” and “Our Father” at their mother's knee,
greatly to the edification of their uncle, whom they afterward
kissed at, with a good-night, on going to bed. Cyrus,
in the mean time, had gone to spend his evening at the
village stores and bar-rooms; and now the widow and the
surviving brother of the late Benjamin Blossom were left
alone together.
| II.
A VISIT TO THE WIDOW AND FATHERLESS. Coupon bonds, and other stories | |