 | Chapter 11 A Fancy of Hers |  |
Chapter 11
"Theophilus," said Mrs. Wilson, "the flour is out, and we have but half a pound of sugar left."
The minister looked grave.
"My dear," he answered, "it seems to me that something is always out."
"Then," said his wife, smiling faintly, "I suppose you are out of money also."
I have a dollar and thirty seven cents in my pocket book, and I do not know when I shall get any more."
"Doesn't the parish owe you something?"
"Yes, but the treasurer told me yesterday, when I spoke to him on the subject, that we must give them time to pay it; that it would create dissatisfaction if I pressed the matter."
"How do they expect us to live?" demanded Mrs. Wilson, as nearly indignant as so meek a woman could be.
"They think we can get along somehow. Besides, the donation party takes place tomorrow. Mr. Stiles told me that I couldn't expect to collect anything till that was over."
"I wish it were over."
"So do I."
"I suppose it will amount to about as much as the others did. People will bring provisions, most of which they will eat themselves. When it is over we'll be the richer by a dozen pincushions, half a dozen pies, a bushel of potatoes, and a few knick-knacks for which we have no earthly use."
"I am afraid, my dear, you are getting satirical."
There is more truth than satire in it, Theophilus, as you know very well. The worst of it is that we are expected to be grateful for what is only an additional burden."
"Well, my dear, you are certainly right; but perhaps we may be more fortunate tomorrow."
At this point Ralph Wilson, the minister's oldest son, came into the room to recite a lesson in the Iliad, and the conversation took a turn.
"I am afraid Ralph will never be able to go to college after all," said his mother.
"I don't see any way at present," said the minister; "but I hope it may be arranged. I wrote last week to my classmate, Professor Ames, of Dartmouth, to inquire what aid Ralph could depend upon from the beneficiary funds."
"Have you had an answer?"
"I received a letter this morning. From what he writes me, I judge that his necessary expenses will be at least four hundred dollars a year — — "
"Nearly the amount of your salary."
"And that he can probably procure aid to the amount of two hundred from the beneficiary funds."
"Then it is hopeless. You cannot make up the balance."
"I'm afraid you're right. I think, though, that Ralph should continue his preparation, since, even if he is only prepared to enter, that insures him a good education."
"I might defray a part of my expenses by teaching school in winter," suggested Ralph, who had listened intently to a conversation that so nearly concerned his future.
"You could teach during the junior and senior years," said his father. "I did so myself. During the first two years you would be too young, and it would, besides, be a disadvantage."
Since the donation visit had been decided upon at the sewing circle, it had been a prominent topic of conversation in the village. Though designed to give substantial assistance to the minister's family, it was also to be a festive occasion — a sort of ministerial party — and thus was regarded as a social event.
Fair fingers had been busily at work in the minister's service, and it is safe to say that at least ten pincushions were in process of manufacture. Chief among the fair workers was Clarissa Bassett, who had a just pride in the superior size and more elaborate workmanship of her pincushions, of which four or five were already on exhibition in the Wilson household.
"I suppose you are going to the donation party, Miss Frost," said Miss Bassett complacently, for she had that morning set the last stitch in what she regarded as the handsomest pincushion she had ever made.
"Yes, I intend to go."
"Have You got your gift ready? asked Miss Bassett, with natural curiosity.
"I hope to have it ready in time," said Mabel.
"I wish you could see my pincushion," said Clarissa, with subdued
"Is Mr. Wilson's family in particular need of pincushions?" asked Mabel.
Miss Bassett did not deign to notice the question suggested by Mabel, considering it quite irrelevant.
"I always give pincushions," she said. "People say I have a talent for making them."
Mabel smiled.
"I have no talent at all for that kind of work," she returned. "I should not venture to compete with you. But probably yours will be all that will be required."
"Oh, there are several others who are making them," said Miss Bassett; "but," she added complacently, "I am not afraid to compare mine with any that'll be brought. Old Mrs. Pulsifer showed me hers yesterday — such a looking thing! Made up of odds and ends from her scrap bag. It isn't fit for the kitchen."
"So Mrs. Pulsifer is going to give a pincushion, also?"
"She always does; but if I didn't know how to make one better than she I'd give up altogether."
"Does Mrs. Wilson use a great many pins?" asked Mabel.
Miss Bassett stared.
"I don't know as she uses any more than anybody else," she answered.
"How, then, can she use so many pincushions? Wouldn't some other gift be more acceptable?" Mabel inquired.
"Oh, they'll have other things — cake and pies and such things. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to give anything of that kind."
The next was the eventful day. At four o'clock in the afternoon people began to arrive. The parsonage had just been put in order, and the minister and his wife awaited their visitors.
"Is it necessary for me to be here?" asked Ralph.
"It would hardly look well for you to be away, my son."
I will stay if you wish it, of course, father; but it always humiliates me. It looks as if we were receiving charity."
"I confess I can't quite rid myself of the same impression," said his father; "but it may be a feeling of worldly pride. We must try to look upon it differently."
"Why can't they give you the value of their presents in money, or by adding to your salary, father?" suggested Ralph.
"They would not be willing. We must accept what they choose to give, and in the form in which they choose to give it."
"I hope, father, I shall some time be able to relieve you from such dependence."
"I wish, for your own sake, you might have the ability, my son, even if I did not require it."
The first to arrive was old Mrs. Pulsifer. She carried in her hand a hideous pincushion, answering the description which Miss Bassett had given of it.
"I made it with my own hands, Mrs. Wilson," she said complacently. "As the apostle says, `Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I unto thee.'"
"Thank you, Mrs. Pulsifer," said the minister's wife, trying to look pleased, and failing.
The next visitor was Mrs. Slocum, who brought a couple of dyspeptic looking pies and a loaf of bread.
"I thought you might need 'em for the company" she said.
"You are very kind, Mrs. Slocum," said Mrs. Wilson. She was quite resigned to the immediate use of Mrs. Slocum's gift.
Next came Mrs. Breck. She, too, contributed some pies and cake, but of a better quality than her predecessor. Close upon her followed Clarissa Bassett, bearing aloft the gorgeous pincushion, which she presented with a complacent flourish to Mrs. Wilson.
"It'll do for your best room, Mrs. Wilson," she said. "I see you've got one pincushion already," eying Mrs. Pulsifer's offering disdainfully.
"I expect several more," said Mrs. Wilson, smiling faintly. "We are
Next Mrs. and Miss Raymond sailed into the room and made their way to where the minister was.
"Mr. Wilson," said Clementina, with a charming air of patronage, "we do not belong to your flock, but we crave the privilege of participating in this pleasant visit and showing our appreciation of your ministrations. I hope you will accept this small testimonial from my mother and myself."
She left in the minister's hands a bottle of cologne, which she had purchased at the village store that morning for fifty cents.
"Thank you, Miss Raymond," said Mr. Wilson gravely, "quite as much for your words as for your gift."
Was there conscious satire in this speech? If so, neither Miss Raymond nor her mother understood it. They made way for Mr. Randolph Chester, who, indeed, had escorted them to the parsonage.
"Reverend sir," said Mr. Chester with elaborate formality, "I hardly knew what to bring you, but I am sure that books are always welcome to literary men. May I hope that you will give this volume a place in your library?"
As he spoke he handed the minister a small edition of Scott's poems, complete in one volume, and in such fine print as to make it perilous for a person of any except the strongest eyesight to undertake its perusal. Mr. Chester admitted that he was in independent circumstances, and Mr. Wilson had hoped for a present of some real value, but he felt compelled to accept this paltry gift with an appearance of gratitude.
The next half dozen arrivals were laden down with provisions. A committee of ladies took charge of these, and spread a large table, on which all the articles that were cooked were at once placed.
While this was going on, Mrs. Squire Hadley arrived with a dress pattern for Mrs. Wilson. It was a cheap calico of large figure, very repugnant to the taste of the minister's wife, whose heart sank within her as she accepted it, for she knew that Mrs. Hadley would never forgive her if she did not have it made up. Mrs. Hadley had got it at a bargain at the store, where it had lain on the shelves for several seasons without finding a purchaser.
"Dress goods are always acceptable, Mrs. Wilson," she said with the air of one conferring a favor. "I hope you may find this of service."
And Mrs. Wilson was obliged to thank her.
"Brother Wilson," said the Rev. Adoniram Fry in a cheery voice, "I hope I do not intrude. The fact is, I couldn't keep away. I hope you will not be too proud to accept a small gift from your Methodist brother;" and he placed in the minister's hand a five dollar bill.
"Thank you, Brother Fry," said Mr. Wilson, grasping his hand cordially. "I see you understand what I most need;" this last remark being in a lower voice.
"I ought to, Brother Wilson. I never yet knew a minister who couldn't find a use for a five dollar bill."
Deacon Uriah Peabody entered next.
"I've brought you a bushel of apples, parson," he said. "My boy'll carry 'em round to the kitchen. This is a joyful day for you. Your house will overflow with the bounties of Providence."
Such speeches as these the minister, in spite of his meekness, found it hard to listen to without impatience.
"I hope it may," he said gravely. "I shall be glad to have my daily anxieties lightened."
"They will be," said the deacon. "I calc'late you won't to have to buy much for a month to come."
The Rev. Theophilus was better informed. He knew that all but a small remnant of the provisions brought in would be consumed before the company dispersed, and that two days more would suffice to dispose of the last of the donations. But he did not venture to say this. It would have given serious offense to
Mrs. Kent and Mabel were late. The former handed Mr. Wilson an envelope containing a ten dollar bill.
"A joint gift from Miss Frost and myself," she said. "Properly it is not a gift, but a small part of what we owe you."
The minister brightened up, not only because he suspected that the envelope contained money, which was the most acceptable form in which a donation could come, but because the words indicated appreciation, and a proper estimate of his relation to the donation visit. They helped him to bear the patronizing manner of Mrs. Bennett, the butcher's wife, who followed with two cheap collars for Mrs. Wilson.
"Things is brightenin' up for you, Mr. Wilson," said she. "Times is hard, but we're doin' what we can to help you along. I'd like to do more myself, but my husband has so many bad bills, and so much trouble in collectin' his money, that we're straitened when we shouldn't be."
The minister was painfully aware that he was one of the debtors who found it hard to pay his bills, and he knew that Mrs. Bennett's speech was meant for a hint.
Supper was by this time ready, and the ladies and gentlemen filed out to the supper table with alacrity. It was, doubtless, the consciousness that they were engaged in a philanthropic action that increased the appetites of the good people. At any rate, there was very little left on the table when the repast was over. All present seemed in excellent spirits. Congratulations poured in upon the minister and his wife, who, it appeared to be thought, were in great luck.
"Guess this'll put you on your feet, parson," said Deacon Peabody, a little huskily, for he had stuffed half of a large doughnut into his mouth. "The people have come for'ard very liberal today."
"Yes," said the minister unenthusiastically.
"Reminds me of the land flowin' with milk an' honey," resumed the deacon.
"If it could only last," thought Mr. Wilson. On ordinary days there was small appearance of plenty on the minister's frugal board, and, as his guests were consuming about all they brought, there seemed small chance of an improvement.
There was a turn in the tide, however. A parcel was brought from the express office, containing a neat cashmere dress, entirely made up, for Mrs. Wilson. This was accompanied by a note from Mary Bridgman, the donor, to this effect:
DEAR MRS. WILSON: — As I still retain your measure, I have, made up this dress for you, and trust it may prove a good fit. I hope you will receive it in the same spirit in which it was sent. Your true friend, MARY BRIDGMAN.
It was long since the minister's wife had had a new dress, and the prospect of another had seemed remote enough. Nothing, therefore, could be more timely and acceptable, and the little woman, for the first time during the afternoon, seemed actually cheerful.
"I had no idee Mary was doin' so well," said old Mrs. Slocum. "That cashmere dress must have cost a good deal."
"Mary Bridgman was always extravagant," said Mrs. Hadley disapprovingly. "I don't believe she saves a cent."
Mrs. Hadley may perhaps have felt that the dressmaker's handsome gift was a tacit rebuke for her shabby offering.
Thus far the only gifts of any value had been the dress just mentioned and fifteen dollars in money. It spoke poorly for the liberality of an entire parish, especially when it is considered that three out of the four donors — Mr. Fry, Mary Bridgman and Mabel Frost — were outsiders. Mr. Wilson was not much disappointed. If anything, the visit had been more remunerative than he expected. To one of his scanty income fifteen dollars in cash would be a considerable help. He felt that, on
But there was unexpected good fortune in store for him. Ralph came in with a letter from the post-office, postmarked New York.
"I wonder who it can be from, father," he said. "Do you know any one in New York?"
"Only Miss Bridgman, and we have heard from her."
"Better open the letter, parson," said Mrs. Pulsifer, whose curiosity was excited. "We'll all excuse you."
Thus adjured, the minister did so. As he read, his face became luminous with joy, and he fervently ejaculated, Thank God for all His goodness!"
"What is it, parson?" inquired Deacon Peabody.
"My friends," said the minister, clearing his throat, "I want you all to be partakers of my joy. I will read the letter. It is dated New York.
"REV. MR. WILSON — DEAR SIR: — I have this day deposited the sum of five hundred dollars in the Gotham Trust Company of New York city, in your name, and subject to your draft. Pardon me for not communicating my name. Rest assured that it comes from one who appreciates your services, and hopes to be considered your sincere friend and well wisher."
The reading of the letter produced a sensation. Deacon Peabody asked to see it. He put on his spectacles and examined it intently.
"I guess it's genooine," he said cautiously. "Really, Parson Wilson, it makes you a rich man."
"I congratulate you, Mr. Wilson," said Squire Hadley, cordially shaking the minister's hand. "We ain't so liberal as we might be, but I'm glad to find there's somebody that's open handed. Here's ten dollars to add to your five hundred."
"You overwhelm me, Squire Hadley," said the good man. "I feel rebuked for my want of faith in Providence. This morning I awoke with a heavy heart. Little did I dream that the burden was this day to be rolled away. Now I can start fresh, and henceforth I hope to pay my way."
It seemed odd what a sudden
"Oh, Mr. Wilson, don't you be in a hurry about my husband's little account," said Mrs. Bennett. "He'll know you're good for it, and that'll ease his mind."
"Mrs. Bennett," said the minister gravely, "I am obliged for your offer, but I shall attend to your husband's claim at once. I have always wished to pay my debts promptly. Nothing but lack of ability has prevented."
It was quite in order that conjectures should be hazarded as to the unknown donor of this munificent gift. Who was there in New York likely to feel interested in the minister of Granville? Some one suggested that Mr. Randolph Chester lived in New York, and straightway he was questioned on the subject. He smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear madam," said he to old Mrs. Pulsifer, "if I am the person I certainly shall not own it. I prefer to remain silent."
This led to the inference that Mr. Chester really gave the money, though no one had suspected him previously of any tendency to liberality. But there were rival claimant's. The Raymonds were from Brooklyn, and generally supposed to be wealthy. Could they be Mr. Wilson's unknown friends? When it was suggested to them they replied evasively, neither admitting nor denying it. So opinion was divided, but it was generally thought that it lay between Mr. Chester and the Raymonds. Of course it was not Mary Bridgman, because she sent the handsome dress for Mrs. Wilson.
The minister, however, did not share in the belief. He was quite baffled in his conjecture; but he felt confident that the deposit was not made by the gentleman who had presented him with Scott's poems nor by the giver of the bottle of cheap cologne.
His good fortune was a nine days' wonder, but the mystery remained
It was a pleasant circumstance that no one appeared to rejoice more sincerely than Adoniram Fry, the Methodist minister, at the good luck of his ministerial brother. Indeed, his hearty friendliness drew the two parishes into more cordial relations, such as surely should exist between Christian people working together for a common purpose.
Meanwhile the summer was passing rapidly, and Mabel's school approached the end of its term. The Granville school closed unusually late in the season. Three years before, an elderly man, who had all his life lived as a bachelor, and, not without reason, had been regarded as a miser, astonished everybody by leaving, in his will, the sum of ten thousand dollars to the town as a fund, the interest to be devoted to lengthening the summer schools. The reason assigned was that in the long summer holidays he had been annoyed by the village children entering his orchard and robbing his fruit, which led him to believe that they would be better off if the vacation were abridged and the school prolonged.
It was near the middle of August, therefore, when Mabel's labors closed. Before the day of examination her experience was marked by two events which call for notice.
Randolph Chester had fully made up his mind to sacrifice his bachelor independence, and wear the fetters of a married man, if Mabel would accept his hand and fortune. That she would do so he did not seriously doubt. He was annoyed by the frequency with which he met Allan Thorpe, but not greatly alarmed.
"A poor artist, like Thorpe, can't marry," he reflected. "Probably he only earns a few hundred dollars a year, and Miss Frost has nothing. Even if he ventured to offer himself she could not seriously hesitate between him and me. I can make her life easy, and, though I am not so young as I once was, I am well preserved."
Mr. Chester surveyed himself in the mirror and mentally decided that in spite of certain telltale wrinkles about the eyes most persons would not take him for over forty, whereas in reality he would never see fifty again. Do not smile at his delusion. It is a sufficiently common one among people of his age. Indeed, it is natural enough to cling to the semblance of youth. Even philosophers have been known to sigh over the fast coming wrinkles, and express a willingness to resign some of their time earned wisdom for the ruddy bloom of early manhood.
Three days before the school examination Mr. Chester found his opportunity. He called at Mrs. Kent's and found Mabel alone. He felt that the opportunity must be improved.
"I shall attend your examination exercises, Miss Frost," he commenced.
"I shall be glad to see you, Mr. Chester. May I call upon you for a speech?" she added mischievously.
"By no means," said the bachelor hastily. "I am not accustomed to speak on such occasions. Do you intend to leave Granville immediately afterwards?"
"I shall probably remain in the village till the first of September."
Probably she expects an application
"Thank you, Mr. Chester. I am afraid you have learned to flatter."
"Indeed I have not, Miss Frost," said Mr. Chester, earnestly. "I may add that I, perhaps, should miss you most of all."
Mabel looked at his face quickly. She suspected what was coming.
"I am certainly obliged to you for your appreciation, Mr. Chester," she returned, without betraying any maidenly confusion.
"It is something more than that," said the bachelor quickly, feeling that the moment had come. "Miss Frost — Mabel — I have learned to love you. I place my hand and fortune at your feet."
"You are very kind, Mr. Chester, and I am deeply indebted to you for the compliment you have paid me; but I cannot marry without love, and I do not love you."
"It will come in time," urged Mr. Chester. "All I ask is that you marry me, and I will take the risk of that."
"But I cannot," said Mabel. "We should find too late that we had made a mistake."
In spite of his love, Randolph Chester felt a little irritated at Mabel's indifference to her own interests.
"I am afraid, Miss Frost," he said, you don't understand how much I offer you. I possess independent means. I can release you from the slavery of the schoolroom, and provide for you a life of ease. We will live in the city during the greater part of the year, and in the summer come to Granville, or any other place you would prefer. It is not an unpleasant life I offer you."
"I don't think we take the same view of marriage, Mr. Chester," said Mabel. "I should not be willing to marry in order to live at ease, or to escape the `slavery of the schoolroom,' which I have found pleasant. I thank you for the compliment you have paid me, but it is impossible."
She spoke decisively, and Mr. Chester could not escape the conviction that his answer was final. He was not overwhelmed with grief, but he was bitterly angry.
"Of course you can do as you please, Miss Frost," he said sharply. "I hope you won't find out your mistake when it is too late. If you think of marrying that artist fellow, Thorpe, I may as well tell you that he can hardly support himself, much less a wife."
This was more than Mabel could bear. She rose to her feet, and her eyes flashed fire.
"You have no right to say this," she exclaimed. "Mr. Thorpe has never spoken to me of love. As for his circumstances, I have never considered them. I only know that he is a gentleman."
She swept out of the room indignantly, leaving Mr. Chester rather bewildered. He took his hat and left the house, sorely disappointed, and still more angry. His vanity had received a severe wound, which would take a longer time to heal than his heart, which had not been so seriously affected.
As he walked towards the hotel he felt very bitter towards Mabel, and scowled fiercely at Allan Thorpe, whom he happened to meet on the way, though, as it was dark, the artist was happily unconscious of it. He thirsted for revenge. He wished to show Mabel that he was not inconsolable. Unhappily for the bachelor, he was in this mood when he reached the hotel and met Miss Clementina Raymond. He did not care a particle for her, but spite against Miss Frost hurried him on to the avowal of a passion that he did not feel. His offer was rather a cool, business-like proposal than an impulsive declaration of affection. But Clementina made up for his lack of sentiment by a bashful confusion, which was very well assumed.
"I am so surprised, and so embarrassed, Mr. Chester," she said. "How could I dream that you were kind
"If you have any doubt about your answer," said Mr. Chester abruptly, already half regretting his precipitancy, "say so without hesitation."
Evidently the delay would be dangerous, and Clementina decided to settle the matter at once.
"No," she said, "I will not consult mamma. I know her high opinion of you, dear Mr. Chester — let me say Randolph. If you care for this little hand, it is yours," and she timidly laid a large and well developed palm in his. She was rather disappointed that he did not press it to his lips. In all the novels she had taken from the Brooklyn Mercantile Library, that was what enraptured lovers always did when accepted. Mr. Chester just pressed the hand slightly, and, rising, said in a business-like way; "Very well, Miss Raymond, we will consider the matter settled. I will leave you now, as you will probably wish to tell your mother."
This was the way in which Clementina told her mother the news: "Mamma, that old goose has proposed, and I have accepted him."
"What old goose?"
"Randolph Chester, of course. He's as old as the hills, but he's got money."
"And you are nearly twenty five, my love."
"Oh, bother, mamma! What's the use of mentioning my age? Somebody might be within hearing. Remember, if he asks how old I am, you are not to answer so impertinent a question."
"Very well, Clementina. Of course, my child, our interests are the same. I am really glad you will have a husband of means. It has been very hard to keep up a genteel appearance on our limited income, and it will be a relief to have some one to provide."
"You are right, mother. Of course I wouldn't think of marrying the old mummy if he hadn't plenty of money. He thinks we are rich; so you must be careful not to drop any hint of our real situation until after we are married. I wonder if I can't induce him to take me to Europe for our wedding tour."
"That would be a very pleasant arrangement, Clementina. I always wanted to go to Europe."
"Of course you couldn't go, mamma," said the selfish daughter. "I am sure Mr. Chester wouldn't agree to it. I may find it very hard to induce him to take me."
"I should be very lonely if you left me at home," said the disappointed mother.
"I should write you often. That would do almost, as well."
Mrs. Raymond did not think so, but she knew her daughter's hard, ingrained selfishness too well to press the matter. She received Mr. Chester on the footing of a son-in-law most graciously, though it did occur to her that it would have been better if she could have secured him as a husband instead of Clementina; then she could have made the European tour.
It may be as well, however, to say here that neither to mother nor daughter were revealed the scenic charms of Europe. When Randolph Chester discovered that he had married a genteel pauper he was deeply incensed, and was in no mood to grant favors to the wife who had deceived him. He married in haste, to repent at leisure.
| Chapter 11 A Fancy of Hers | |