LISHA WILKINS.

 

WHEN Christie opened the eyes that had closed so wearily, afternoon sunshine streamed across the room, and seemed the herald¹ of happier days. Refreshed by sleep, and comforted by grateful recollections of her kindly² welcome, she lay tranquilly⁴ enjoying the friendly atmosphere about her, with so strong a feeling that a skilful⁵ hand had taken the rudder, that she felt very little anxiety or curiosity about the haven⁶ which was to receive her boat after this narrow escape from shipwreck⁷.

 

Her eye wandered to and fro, and brightened as it went; for though a poor, plain room it was as neat as hands could make it, and so glorified⁸ with sunshine that she thought it a lovely place, in spite of the yellow paper with green cabbage roses on it, the gorgeous plaster statuary on the mantel-piece, and the fragrance⁹ of dough-nuts which pervaded¹⁰ the air. Every thing suggested home life, humble¹¹ but happy, and Christie's solitary¹² heart warmed at the sights and sounds about her.

 

A half open closet-door gave her glimpses of little frocks and jackets, stubby little shoes, and go-to-meeting hats all in a row. From below came up the sound of childish voices chattering¹³, childish feet trotting¹⁴ to and fro, and childish laughter sounding sweetly through the Sabbath stillness of the place. From a room near by, came the soothing¹⁵ creak of a rocking-chair, the rustle¹⁶ of a newspaper, and now and then a scrap¹⁷ of conversation common-place enough, but pleasant to hear, because so full of domestic love and confidence; and, as she listened, Christie pictured Mrs. Wilkins and her husband taking their rest together after the week's hard work was done.

 

"I wish I could stay here; it's so comfortable and home-like. I wonder if they wouldn't let me have this room, and help me to find some better work than sewing? I'll get up and ask them," thought Christie, feeling an irresistible¹⁹ desire to stay, and strong repugnance²⁰ to returning to the room she had left, for, as Rachel truly said, it was haunted for her.

 

When she opened the door to go down, Mrs. Wilkins bounced out of her rocking-chair and hurried to meet her with a smiling face, saying all in one breath:

 

"Good mornin', dear! Rested well, I hope? I'm proper glad to hear it. Now come right down and have your dinner. I kep it hot, for I couldn't bear to wake you up, you was sleepin' so beautiful."

 

"I was so worn out I slept like a baby, and feel like a new creature. It was so kind of you to take me in, and I'm so grateful I don't know how to show it," said Christie, warmly, as her hostess ponderously²¹ descended²² the complaining stairs and ushered²³ her into the tidy kitchen from which tubs and flat-irons were banished²⁴ one day in the week.

 

"Lawful²⁵ sakes, the' ain't nothing to be grateful for, child, and you're heartily²⁶ welcome to the little I done. We are country folks in our ways, though we be livin' in the city, and we have a reg'lar country dinner Sundays. Hope you'll relish²⁷ it; my vittles is clean ef they ain't rich."

 

As she spoke²⁸, Mrs. Wilkins dished up baked beans, Indian-pudding, and brown bread enough for half a dozen. Christie was hungry now, and ate with an appetite that delighted the good lady who vibrated between her guest and her children, shut up in the "settin'-room."

 

"Now please let me tell you all about myself, for I am afraid you think me something better than I am. If I ask help from you, it is right that you should know whom you are helping," said Christie, when the table was cleared and her hostess came and sat down beside her.

 

"Yes, my dear, free your mind, and then we'll fix things up right smart. Nothin' I like better, and Lisha says I have considerable of a knack²⁹ that way," replied Mrs. Wilkins, with a smile, a nod, and an air of interest most reassuring³⁰.

 

So Christie told her story, won to entire confidence by the sympathetic face opposite, and the motherly pats so gently given by the big, rough hand that often met her own. When all was told, Christie said very earnestly:

 

"I am ready to go to work to-morrow, and will do any thing I can find, but I should love to stay here a little while, if I could; I do so dread³¹ to be alone. Is it possible? I mean to pay my board of course, and help you besides if you'll let me."

 

Mrs. Wilkins glowed with pleasure at this compliment, and leaning toward Christie, looked into her face a moment in silence, as if to test the sincerity³² of the wish. In that moment Christie saw what steady, sagacious eyes the woman had; so clear, so honest that she looked through them into the great, warm heart below, and looking forgot the fuzzy, red hair, the paucity³³ of teeth, the faded gown, and felt only the attraction of a nature genuine and genial³⁴ as the sunshine dancing on the kitchen floor.

 

Beautiful souls often get put into plain bodies, but they cannot be hidden, and have a power all their own, the greater for the unconsciousness or the humility³⁵ which gives it grace. Christie saw and felt this then, and when the homely³⁶ woman spoke, listened to her with implicit³⁷ confidence.

 

"My dear, I'd no more send you away now than I would my Adelaide, for you need looking after for a spell, most as much as she doos. You've been thinkin' and broodin' too much, and sewin' yourself to death. We'll stop all that, and keep you so busy there won't be no time for the hypo. You're one of them that can't live alone without starvin' somehow, so I'm jest goin' to turn you in among them children to paster, so to speak. That's wholesome³⁸ and fillin' for you, and goodness knows it will be a puffect charity to me, for I'm goin' to be dreadful drove with gettin' up curtins and all manner of things, as spring comes on. So it ain't no favor on my part, and you can take out your board in tendin' baby and putterin' over them little tykes."

 

"I should like it so much! But I forgot my debt to Mrs. Flint; perhaps she won't let me go," said Christie, with an anxious cloud coming over her brightening face.

 

"Merciful, suz! don't you be worried about her. I'll see to her, and ef she acts ugly Lisha 'll fetch her round; men can always settle such things better'n we can, and he's a dreadful smart man Lisha is. We'll go to-morrer and get your belongins, and then settle right down for a spell; and by-an'-by when you git a trifle more chipper we'll find a nice place in the country some'rs. That's what you want; nothin' like green grass and woodsy smells to right folks up. When I was a gal³⁹, ef I got low in my mind, or riled in my temper, I jest went out and grubbed in the gardin, or made hay, or walked a good piece, and it fetched me round beautiful. Never failed; so I come to see that good fresh dirt is fust rate physic for folk's spirits as it is for wounds, as they tell on."

 

"That sounds sensible and pleasant, and I like it. Oh, it is so beautiful to feel that somebody cares for you a little bit, and you ain't one too many in the world," sighed Christie.

 

"Don't you never feel that agin, my dear. What's the Lord for ef He ain't to hold on to in times of trouble. Faith ain't wuth much ef it's only lively in fair weather; you've got to believe hearty⁴⁰ and stan' by the Lord through thick and thin, and He'll stan' by you as no one else begins to. I remember of havin' this bore in upon me by somethin' that happened to a man I knew. He got blowed up in a powder-mill, and when folks asked him what he thought when the bust⁴¹ come, he said, real sober and impressive: 'Wal, it come through me, like a flash, that I'd served the Lord as faithful as I knew how for a number a years, and I guessed He'd fetch me through somehow, and He did.' Sure enough the man warn't killed; I'm bound to confess he was shook dreadful, but his faith warn't."

 

Christie could not help smiling at the story, but she liked it, and sincerely wished she could imitate the hero of it in his piety⁴², not his powder. She was about to say so when the sound of approaching steps announced the advent⁴³ of her host. She had been rather impressed with the "smartness" of Lisha by his wife's praises, but when a small, sallow, sickly looking man came in she changed her mind; for not even an immensely stiff collar, nor a pair of boots that seemed composed entirely⁴⁴ of what the boys call "creak leather," could inspire her with confidence.

 

Without a particle of expression in his yellow face, Mr. Wilkins nodded to the stranger over the picket⁴⁵ fence of his collar, lighted his pipe, and clumped⁴⁶ away to enjoy his afternoon promenade⁴⁷ without compromising himself by a single word.

 

His wife looked after him with an admiring gaze as she said:

 

"Them boots is as good as an advertisement, for he made every stitch on 'em himself;" then she added, laughing like a girl: "It's redick'lus my bein' so proud of Lisha, but ef a woman ain't a right to think wal of her own husband, I should like to know who has!"

 

Christie was afraid that Mrs. Wilkins had seen her disappointment in her face, and tried, with wifely zeal⁴⁸, to defend her lord from even a disparaging⁴⁹ thought. Wishing to atone⁵⁰ for this transgression⁵¹ she was about to sing the praises of the wooden-faced Elisha, but was spared any polite fibs by the appearance of a small girl who delivered an urgent message to the effect, that "Mis Plumly was down sick and wanted Mis Wilkins to run over and set a spell."

 

As the good lady hesitated with an involuntary glance at her guest, Christie said quickly:

 

"Don't mind me; I'll take care of the house for you if you want to go. You may be sure I won't run off with the children or steal the spoons."

 

"I ain't a mite⁵² afraid of anybody wantin' to steal them little toads⁵³; and as for spoons, I ain't got a silver one to bless myself with," laughed Mrs. Wilkins. "I guess I will go, then, ef you don't mind, as it's only acrost the street. Like's not settin' quiet will be better for you 'n talkin', for I'm a dreadful hand to gab⁵⁴ when I git started. Tell Mis Plumly I'm a comin'."

 

Then, as the child ran off, the stout⁵⁵ lady began to rummage⁵⁶ in her closet, saying, as she rattled⁵⁷ and slammed:

 

"I'll jest take her a drawin' of tea and a couple of nut-cakes: mebby she'll relish 'em, for I shouldn't wonder ef she hadn't had a mouthful this blessed day. She's dreadful slack at the best of times, but no one can much wonder, seein' she's got nine children, and is jest up from a rheumatic fever. I'm sure I never grudge⁵⁸ a meal of vittles or a hand's turn to such as she is, though she does beat all for dependin' on her neighbors. I'm a thousand times obleeged. You needn't werry about the children, only don't let 'em git lost, or burnt, or pitch out a winder; and when it's done give 'em the patty-cake that's bakin' for 'em."

 

With which maternal⁵⁹ orders Mrs. Wilkins assumed a sky-blue bonnet⁶⁰, and went beaming away with several dishes genteelly hidden under her purple shawl.

 

Being irresistibly⁶¹ attracted toward the children Christie opened the door and took a survey of her responsibilities.

 

Six lively infants were congregated⁶² in the "settin'-room," and chaos⁶³ seemed to have come again, for every sort of destructive amusement was in full operation. George Washington, the eldest⁶⁴ blossom, was shearing⁶⁵ a resigned kitten; Gusty⁶⁶ and Ann Eliza were concocting⁶⁷ mud pies in the ashes; Adelaide Victoria was studying the structure of lamp-wicks, while Daniel Webster and Andrew Jackson were dragging one another in a clothes-basket, to the great detriment⁶⁸ of the old carpet and still older chariot.

 

Thinking that some employment more suited to the day might be introduced, Christie soon made friends with these young persons, and, having rescued the kitten, banished the basket, lured⁶⁹ the elder girls from their mud-piety, and quenched⁷⁰ the curiosity of the Pickwickian Adelaide, she proposed teaching them some little hymns⁷².

 

The idea was graciously received, and the class decorously seated in a row. But before a single verse was given out, Gusty, being of a house-wifely turn of mind, suggested that the patty-cake might burn. Instant alarm pervaded the party, and a precipitate⁷⁴ rush was made for the cooking-stove, where Christie proved by ocular demonstration⁷⁵ that the cake showed no signs of baking, much less of burning. The family pronounced themselves satisfied, after each member had poked⁷⁶ a grimy little finger into the doughy⁷⁷ delicacy⁷⁸, whereon one large raisin⁷⁹ reposed⁸⁰ in proud pre-eminence over the vulgar herd⁸¹ of caraways.

 

Order being with difficulty restored, Christie taught her flock an appropriate hymn⁷¹, and was flattering herself that their youthful minds were receiving a devotional bent⁸², when they volunteered a song, and incited⁸³ thereunto by the irreverent Wash, burst forth⁸⁴ with a gem⁸⁵ from Mother Goose, closing with a smart skirmish of arms and legs that set all law and order at defiance⁸⁶. Hoping to quell⁸⁷ the insurrection Christie invited the breathless rioters to calm themselves by looking at the pictures in the big Bible. But, unfortunately, her explanations were so vivid that her audience were fired with a desire to enact⁸⁸ some of the scenes portrayed⁸⁹, and no persuasions⁹⁰ could keep them from playing Ark on the spot. The clothes-basket was elevated upon two chairs, and into it marched the birds of the air and the beasts of the field, to judge by the noise, and all set sail, with Washington at the helm, Jackson and Webster plying⁹¹ the clothes and pudding-sticks for oars⁹², while the young ladies rescued their dolls from the flood, and waved their hands to imaginary friends who were not unmindful of the courtesies of life even in the act of drowning.

 

MRS. WILKINS' SIX LIVELY INFANTS.

 

Finding her authority defied Christie left the rebels to their own devices, and sitting in a corner, began to think about her own affairs. But before she had time to get anxious or perplexed⁹³ the children diverted her mind, as if the little flibberty-gibbets knew that their pranks⁹⁴ and perils⁹⁵ were far wholesomer for her just then than brooding.

 

The much-enduring kitten being sent forth as a dove upon the waters failed to return with the olive-branch; of which peaceful emblem⁹⁶ there was soon great need, for mutiny broke out, and spread with disastrous⁹⁷ rapidity.

 

Ann Eliza slapped Gusty because she had the biggest bandbox; Andrew threatened to "chuck" Daniel overboard if he continued to trample⁹⁸ on the fraternal toes, and in the midst of the fray⁹⁹, by some unguarded motion, Washington capsized the ship and precipitated¹⁰⁰ the patriarchal family into the bosom¹⁰¹ of the deep.

 

Christie flew to the rescue, and, hydropathically treated, the anguish¹⁰² of bumps and bruises¹⁰³ was soon assuaged¹⁰⁴. Then appeared the appropriate moment for a story, and gathering¹⁰⁵ the dilapidated party about her she soon enraptured¹⁰⁶ them by a recital¹⁰⁷ of the immortal¹⁰⁸ history of "Frank and the little dog Trusty." Charmed with her success she was about to tell another moral tale, but no sooner had she announced the name, "The Three Cakes," when, like an electric flash a sudden recollection seized the young Wilkinses, and with one voice they demanded their lawful prize, sure that now it must be done.

 

Christie had forgotten all about it, and was harassed¹⁰⁹ with secret misgivings¹¹⁰ as she headed the investigating committee. With skipping of feet and clapping of hands the eager tribe surrounded the stove, and with fear and trembling Christie drew forth a melancholy¹¹¹ cinder¹¹², where, like Casablanca, the lofty raisin still remained, blackened, but undaunted, at its post.

 

Then were six little vials of wrath¹¹³ poured out upon her devoted¹¹⁴ head, and sounds of lamentation¹¹⁵ filled the air, for the irate¹¹⁶ Wilkinses refused to be comforted till the rash vow¹¹⁷ to present each member of the outraged¹¹⁸ family with a private cake produced a lull¹¹⁹, during which the younger ones were decoyed into the back yard, and the three elders solaced¹²¹ themselves with mischief¹²².

 

Mounted on mettlesome¹²³ broomsticks Andrew and Daniel were riding merrily away to the Banbury Cross, of blessed memory, and little Vie was erecting¹²⁴ a pagoda¹²⁵ of oyster-shells, under Christie's superintendence, when a shrill¹²⁶ scream from within sent horsemen and architects flying to the rescue.

 

Gusty's pinafore was in a blaze; Ann Eliza was dancing frantically¹²⁷ about her sister as if bent on making a suttee of herself, while George Washington hung out of window, roaring, "Fire!" "water!" "engine!" "pa!" with a presence of mind worthy¹²⁸ of his sex.

 

A speedy application of the hearth-rug quenched the conflagration¹²⁹, and when a minute burn had been enveloped¹³⁰ in cotton-wool, like a gem, a coroner sat upon the pinafore and investigated the case.

 

It appeared that the ladies were "only playing paper dolls," when Wash, sighing for the enlightenment of his race, proposed to make a bonfire, and did so with an old book; but Gusty, with a firm belief in future punishment, tried to save it, and fell a victim to her principles, as the virtuous¹³¹ are very apt to do.

 

The book was brought into court, and proved to be an ancient volume of ballads¹³², cut, torn, and half consumed. Several peculiarly developed paper dolls, branded here and there with large letters, like galley-slaves, were then produced by the accused, and the judge could with difficulty preserve her gravity when she found "John Gilpin" converted into a painted petticoat, "The Bay of Biscay, O," situated¹³³ in the crown of a hat, and "Chevy Chase" issuing from the mouth of a triangular¹³⁴ gentleman, who, like Dickens's cherub¹³⁵, probably sung it by ear, having no lungs to speak of.

 

It was further apparent from the agricultural appearance of the room that beans had been sowed broadcast by means of the apple-corer, which Wash had converted into a pop-gun with a mechanical ingenuity¹³⁶ worthy of more general appreciation¹³⁷. He felt this deeply, and when Christie reproved him for leading his sisters astray, he resented the liberty she took, and retired¹³⁸ in high dudgeon to the cellar, where he appeared to set up a menagerie, - for bears, lions, and unknown animals, endowed with great vocal¹³⁹ powers, were heard to solicit¹⁴⁰ patronage¹⁴¹ from below.

 

Somewhat exhausted¹⁴² by her labors¹⁴³, Christie rested, after clearing up the room, while the children found a solace¹²⁰ for all afflictions in the consumption of relays of bread and molasses, which infantile restorative occurred like an inspiration to the mind of their guardian¹⁴⁴.

 

Peace reigned¹⁴⁵ for fifteen minutes; then came a loud crash from the cellar, followed by a violent splashing, and wild cries of, "Oh, oh, oh, I've fell into the pork barrel! I'm drownin', I'm drownin'!"

 

Down rushed Christie, and the sticky innocents ran screaming after, to behold¹⁴⁶ their pickled brother fished up from the briny¹⁴⁷ deep. A spectacle well calculated to impress upon their infant minds the awful consequences of straying from the paths of virtue¹⁴⁸.

 

At this crisis Mrs. Wilkins providentially appeared, breathless, but brisk and beaming, and in no wise dismayed by the plight¹⁴⁹ of her luckless son, for a ten years' acquaintance with Wash's dauntless nature had inured¹⁵⁰ his mother to "didoes" that would have appalled¹⁵¹ most women.

 

"Go right up chamber¹⁵², and change every rag on you, and don't come down agin till I rap on the ceilin'; you dreadful boy, disgracin' your family by sech actions. I'm sorry I was kep' so long, but Mis Plumly got tellin' her werryments, and 'peared to take so much comfort in it I couldn't bear to stop her. Then I jest run round to your place and told that woman that you was safe and well, along'r friends, and would call in to-morrer to get your things. She 'd ben so scart by your not comin' home that she was as mild as milk, so you won't have no trouble with her, I expect."

 

"Thank you very much! How kind you are, and how tired you must be! Sit down and let me take your things," cried Christie, more relieved than she could express.

 

"Lor', no, I'm fond of walkin', but bein' ruther hefty it takes my breath away some to hurry. I'm afraid these children have tuckered you out though. They are proper good gen'lly, but when they do take to trainen they're a sight of care," said Mrs. Wilkins, as she surveyed her imposing¹⁵³ bonnet with calm satisfaction.

 

"I've enjoyed it very much, and it's done me good, for I haven't laughed so much for six months as I have this afternoon," answered Christie, and it was quite true, for she had been too busy to think of herself or her woes¹⁵⁴.

 

"Wal, I thought likely it would chirk you up some, or I shouldn't have went," and Mrs. Wilkins put away a contented¹⁵⁵ smile with her cherished bonnet, for Christie's face had grown so much brighter since she saw it last, that the good woman felt sure her treatment was the right one.

 

At supper Lisha reappeared, and while his wife and children talked incessantly¹⁵⁶, he ate four slices of bread and butter, three pieces of pie, five dough-nuts, and drank a small ocean of tea out of his saucer. Then, evidently feeling that he had done his duty like a man, he gave Christie another nod, and disappeared again without a word.

 

When she had done up her dishes Mrs. Wilkins brought out a few books and papers, and said to Christie, who sat apart by the window, with the old shadow creeping over her face:

 

"Now don't feel lonesome, my dear, but jest lop right down on the sotfy and have a sociable¹⁵⁷ kind of a time. Lisha's gone down street for the evenin'. I'll keep the children as quiet as one woman can, and you may read or rest, or talk, jest as you're a mind."

 

"Thank you; I'll sit here and rock little Vie to sleep for you. I don't care to read, but I'd like to have you talk to me, for it seems as if I'd known you a long time and it does me good," said Christie, as she settled herself and baby on the old settee which had served as a cradle for six young Wilkinses, and now received the honorable name of sofa in its old age.

 

Mrs. Wilkins looked gratified, as she settled her brood round the table with a pile of pictorial¹⁵⁸ papers to amuse them. Then having laid herself out to be agreeable, she sat thoughtfully rubbing the bridge of her nose, at a loss how to begin. Presently Christie helped her by an involuntary sigh.

 

"What's the matter, dear? Is there any thing I can do to make you comfortable?" asked the kind soul, alert at once, and ready to offer sympathy.

 

"I'm very cosy¹⁵⁹, thank you, and I don't know why I sighed. It's a way I've got into when I think of my worries," explained Christie, in haste.

 

"Wal, dear, I wouldn't ef I was you. Don't keep turnin' your troubles over. Git atop of 'em somehow, and stay there ef you can," said Mrs. Wilkins, very earnestly.

 

"But that's just what I can't do. I've lost all my spirits and courage, and got into a dismal¹⁶⁰ state of mind. You seem to be very cheerful, and yet you must have a good deal to try you sometimes. I wish you'd tell me how you do it;" and Christie looked wistfully into that other face, so plain, yet so placid¹⁶¹, wondering to see how little poverty, hard work, and many cares had soured or saddened it.

 

"Really I don't know, unless it's jest doin' whatever comes along, and doin' of it hearty, sure that things is all right, though very often I don't see it at fust."

 

"Do you see it at last?"

 

"Gen'lly I do; and if I don't I take it on trust, same as children do what older folks tell 'em; and byme-by when I'm grown up in spiritual things I'll understan' as the dears do, when they git to be men and women."

 

That suited Christie, and she thought hopefully within herself:

 

"This woman has got the sort of religion I want, if it makes her what she is. Some day I'll get her to tell me where she found it." Then aloud she said:

 

"But it's so hard to be patient and contented when nothing happens as you want it to, and you don't get your share of happiness, no matter how much you try to deserve it."

 

"It ain't easy to bear, I know, but having tried my own way and made a dreadful mess on 't, I concluded that the Lord knows what's best for us, and things go better when He manages than when we go scratchin' round and can't wait."

 

"Tried your own way? How do you mean?" asked Christie, curiously¹⁶²; for she liked to hear her hostess talk, and found something besides amusement in the conversation, which seemed to possess a fresh country flavor as well as country phrases.

 

Mrs. Wilkins smiled all over her plump face, as if she liked to tell her experience, and having hunched¹⁶³ sleepy little Andy more comfortably into her lap, and given a preparatory hem¹⁸ or two, she began with great good-will.

 

"It happened a number a years ago and ain't much of a story any way. But you're welcome to it, as some of it is rather humorsome, the laugh may do you good ef the story don't. We was livin' down to the east'ard at the time. It was a real pretty place; the house stood under a couple of maples¹⁶⁴ and a gret brook¹⁶⁵ come foamin' down the rayvine and away through the medders to the river. Dear sakes, seems as ef I see it now, jest as I used to settin' on the doorsteps with the lay-locks all in blow, the squirrels jabberin' on the wall, and the saw-mill screekin' way off by the dam."

 

Pausing a moment, Mrs. Wilkins looked musingly¹⁶⁶ at the steam of the tea-kettle, as if through its silvery haze¹⁶⁷ she saw her early home again. Wash promptly¹⁶⁸ roused her from this reverie by tumbling off the boiler¹⁶⁹ with a crash. His mother picked him up and placidly¹⁷⁰ went on, falling more and more into the country dialect which city life had not yet polished.

 

"I oushter hev been the contentedest woman alive, but I warn't, for you see I'd worked at millineryin' before I was married, and had an easy time on't, Afterwards the children come along pretty fast, there was sights of work to do, and no time for pleasuring so I got wore out, and used to hanker after old times in a dreadful wicked way.

 

"Finally I got acquainted with a Mis Bascum, and she done me a sight of harm. You see, havin' few pies of her own to bake, she was fond of puttin' her fingers into her neighborses, but she done it so neat that no one mistrusted she was takin' all the sarce and leavin' all the crust to them, as you may say. Wal, I told her my werryments and she sympathized real hearty, and said I didn't ought to stan' it, but have things to suit me, and enjoy myself, as other folks did. So when she put it into my head I thought it amazin' good advice, and jest went and done as she told me.

 

"Lisha was the kindest man you ever see, so when I up and said I warn't goin' to drudge¹⁷¹ round no more, but must hev a girl, he got one, and goodness knows what a trial she was. After she came I got dreadful slack, and left the house and the children to Hen'retta, and went pleasurin' frequent all in my best. I always was a dressy woman in them days, and Lisha give me his earnin's real lavish¹⁷², bless his heart! and I went and spent 'em on my sinful gowns and bunnets."

 

Here Mrs. Wilkins stopped to give a remorseful¹⁷³ groan¹⁷⁴ and stroke her faded dress, as if she found great comfort in its dinginess¹⁷⁵.

 

"It ain't no use tellin' all I done, but I had full swing, and at fust I thought luck was in my dish sure. But it warn't, seein' I didn't deserve it, and I had to take my mess of trouble, which was needful and nourishin,' ef I'd had the grace to see it so.

 

"Lisha got into debt, and no wonder, with me a wastin' of his substance; Hen'retta went off suddin', with whatever she could lay her hands on, and everything was at sixes and sevens. Lisha's patience give out at last, for I was dreadful fractious, knowin' it was all my fault. The children seemed to git out of sorts, too, and acted like time in the primer, with croup and pins, and whoopin'-cough and temper. I declare I used to think the pots and kettles biled over to spite each other and me too in them days.

 

"All this was nuts to Mis Bascum, and she kep' advisin' and encouragin' of me, and I didn't see through her a mite, or guess that settin' folks by the ears was as relishin' to her as bitters is to some. Merciful, suz! what a piece a work we did make betwixt us! I scolded and moped 'cause I couldn't have my way; Lisha swore and threatened to take to drinkin' ef I didn't make home more comfortable; the children run wild, and the house was gittin' too hot to hold us, when we was brought up with a round turn, and I see the redicklousness of my doin's in time.

 

"One day Lisha come home tired and cross, for bills was pressin', work slack, and folks talkin' about us as ef they 'd nothin' else to do. I was dishin' up dinner, feelin' as nervous as a witch, for a whole batch¹⁷⁶ of bread had burnt to a cinder while I was trimmin' a new bunnet, Wash had scart me most to death swallerin' a cent, and the steak had been on the floor more'n once, owin' to my havin' babies, dogs, cats, or hens under my feet the whole blessed time.

 

"Lisha looked as black as thunder, throwed his hat into a corner, and came along to the sink where I was skinnin' pertaters. As he washed his hands, I asked what the matter was; but he only muttered and slopped, and I couldn't git nothin' out of him, for he ain't talkative at the best of times as you see, and when he's werried corkscrews wouldn't draw a word from him.

 

"Bein' riled myself didn't mend matters, and so we fell to hectorin' one another right smart. He said somethin' that dreened my last drop of patience; I give a sharp answer, and fust thing I knew he up with his hand and slapped me. It warn't a hard blow by no means, only a kind of a wet spat¹⁷⁷ side of the head; but I thought I should have flew, and was as mad as ef I'd been knocked down. You never see a man look so 'shamed as Lisha did, and ef I'd been wise I should have made up the quarrel then. But I was a fool. I jest flung fork, dish, pertaters and all into the pot, and says, as ferce as you please:

 

"'Lisha Wilkins, when you can treat me decent you may come and fetch me back; you won't see me till then, and so I tell you.'

 

"Then I made a bee-line for Mis Bascum's; told her the whole story, had a good cry, and was all ready to go home in half an hour, but Lisha didn't come.

 

"Wal, that night passed, and what a long one it was to be sure! and me without a wink¹⁷⁸ of sleep, thinkin' of Wash and the cent, my emptins and the baby. Next day come, but no Lisha, no message, no nuthin', and I began to think I'd got my match though I had a sight of grit¹⁷⁹ in them days. I sewed, and Mis Bascum she clacked; but I didn't say much, and jest worked like sixty to pay for my keep, for I warn't goin' to be beholden to her for nothin'.

 

"The day dragged on terrible slow, and at last I begged her to go and git me a clean dress, for I'd come off jest as I was, and folks kep' droppin' in, for the story was all round, thanks to Mis Bascum's long tongue.

 

"Wal, she went, and ef you'll believe me Lisha wouldn't let her in! He handed my best things out a winder and told her to tell me they were gittin' along fust rate with Florindy Walch to do the work. He hoped I'd have a good time, and not expect him for a consider'ble spell, for he liked a quiet house, and now he'd got it.

 

"When I heard that, I knew he must be provoked the wust kind, for he ain't a hash man by nater. I could have crep' in at the winder ef he wouldn't open the door, I was so took down by that message. But Mis Bascum wouldn't hear of it, and kep' stirrin' of me up till I was ashamed to eat 'umble pie fust; so I waited to see how soon he'd come round. But he had the best on't you see, for he'd got the babies and lost a cross wife, while I'd lost every thing but Mis Bascum, who grew hatefuler to me every hour, for I begun to mistrust she was a mischief-maker, - widders most always is, - seein' how she pampered¹⁸⁰ up my pride and 'peared to like the quarrel.

 

"I thought I should have died more'n once, for sure as you live it went on three mortal days, and of all miser'ble creeters I was the miser'blest. Then I see how wicked and ungrateful I'd been; how I'd shirked my bounden duty and scorned my best blessins. There warn't a hard job that ever I'd hated but what grew easy when I remembered who it was done for; there warn't a trouble or a care that I wouldn't have welcomed hearty, nor one hour of them dear fractious babies that didn't seem precious when I'd gone and left 'em. I'd got time to rest enough now, and might go pleasuring all day long; but I couldn't do it, and would have given a dozin bunnets trimmed to kill ef I could only have been back moilin' in my old kitchen with the children hangin' round me and Lisha a comin' in cheerful from his work as he used to 'fore⁷³ I spoilt his home for him. How sing'lar it is folks never do know when they are wal off!"

 

"I know it now," said Christie, rocking lazily to and fro, with a face almost as tranquil³ as little Vic's, lying half asleep in her lap.

 

"Glad to hear it, my dear. As I was goin' on to say, when Saturday come, a tremenjus storm set in, and it rained guns all day. I never shall forgit it, for I was hankerin' after baby, and dreadful worried about the others, all bein' croupy, and Florindy with no more idee of nussin' than a baa lamb. The rain come down like a reg'lar deluge¹⁸¹, but I didn't seem to have no ark to run to. As night come on things got wuss and wuss, for the wind blowed the roof off Mis Bascum's barn and stove in the butt'ry window; the brook riz and went ragin' every which way, and you never did see such a piece of work.

 

"My heart was most broke by that time, and I knew I should give in 'fore Monday. But I set and sewed and listened to the tinkle¹⁸² tankle of the drops in the pans set round to ketch 'em, for the house leaked like a sieve¹⁸³. Mis Bascurn was down suller putterin' about, for every kag and sarce jar was afloat. Moses, her brother, was lookin' after his stock and tryin' to stop the damage. All of a sudden he bust in lookin' kinder wild, and settin' down the lantern, he sez, sez he: 'You're ruthern an unfortinate woman to-night, Mis Wilkins.' 'How so?' sez I, as ef nuthin' was the matter already. "'Why,' sez he, 'the spilins have give way up in the rayvine, and the brook 's come down like a river, upsot your lean-to, washed the mellion patch slap into the road, and while your husband was tryin' to git the pig out of the pen, the water took a turn and swep him away.'

 

"'Drownded?' sez I, with only breath enough for that one word. 'Shouldn't wonder,' sez Moses, 'nothin' ever did come up alive after goin' over them falls.'

 

"It come over me like a streak¹⁸⁴ of lightenin'; every thin' kinder slewed¹⁸⁵ round, and I dropped in the first faint I ever had in my life. Next I knew Lisha was holdin' of me and cryin' fit to kill himself. I thought I was dreamin', and only had wits enough to give a sort of permiscuous grab at him and call out:

 

"'Oh, Lisha! ain't you drownded?' He give a gret start at that, swallered down his sobbin', and sez as lovin' as ever a man did in this world:

 

"'Bless your dear heart, Cynthy, it warn't me it was the pig;' and then fell to kissin' of me, till betwixt laughin' and cryin' I was most choked. Deary me, it all comes back so livin' real it kinder takes my breath away."

 

And well it might, for the good soul entered so heartily into her story that she unconsciously embellished¹⁸⁶ it with dramatic illustrations. At the slapping episode she flung an invisible "fork, dish, and pertaters" into an imaginary kettle, and glared; when the catastrophe¹⁸⁷ arrived, she fell back upon her chair to express fainting; gave Christie's arm the "permiscuous grab" at the proper moment, and uttered the repentant¹⁸⁸ Lisha's explanation with an incoherent pathos¹⁸⁹ that forbid a laugh at the sudden introduction of the porcine martyr¹⁹⁰.

 

"What did you do then?" asked Christie in a most flattering state of interest.

 

"Oh, law! I went right home and hugged them children for a couple of hours stiddy," answered Mrs; Wilkins, as if but one conclusion was possible.

 

"Did all your troubles go down with the pig?" asked Christie, presently.

 

"Massy, no, we're all poor, feeble worms, and the best meanin' of us fails too often," sighed Mrs. Wilkins, as she tenderly adjusted the sleepy head of the young worm in her lap. "After that scrape I done my best; Lisha was as meek¹⁹¹ as a whole flock of sheep, and we give Mis Bascum a wide berth¹⁹². Things went lovely for ever so long, and though, after a spell, we had our ups and downs, as is but natural to human creeters, we never come to such a pass agin. Both on us tried real hard; whenever I felt my temper risin' or discontent comin' on I remembered them days and kep' a taut¹⁹³ rein¹⁹⁴; and as for Lisha he never said a raspin' word, or got sulky, but what he'd bust out laughin' after it and say: 'Bless you, Cynthy, it warn't me, it was the pig.'"

 

Mrs. Wilkins' hearty laugh fired a long train of lesser¹⁹⁵ ones, for the children recognized a household word. Christie enjoyed the joke, and even the tea-kettle boiled over as if carried away by the fun.

 

"Tell some more, please," said Christie, when the merriment subsided¹⁹⁶, for she felt her spirits rising.

 

"There's nothin' more to tell, except one thing that prevented my ever forgittin' the lesson I got then. My little Almiry took cold that week and pined away rapid. She'd always been so ailin' I never expected to raise her, and more 'n once in them sinful tempers of mine I'd thought it would be a mercy ef she was took out of her pain. But when I laid away that patient, sufferin' little creeter I found she was the dearest of 'em all. I most broke my heart to hev her back, and never, never forgive myself for leavin' her that time." With trembling lips and full eyes Mrs. Wilkins stopped to wipe her features generally on Andrew Jackson's pinafore, and heave a remorseful sigh.

 

"And this is how you came to be the cheerful, contented woman you are?" said Christie, hoping to divert the mother's mind from that too tender memory.

 

"Yes," she answered, thoughtfully, "I told you Lisha was a smart man; he give me a good lesson, and it set me to thinkin' serious. 'Pears to me trouble is a kind of mellerin' process, and ef you take it kindly it doos you good, and you learn to be glad of it. I'm sure Lisha and me is twice as fond of one another, twice as willin' to work, and twice as patient with our trials sense dear little Almiry died, and times was hard. I ain't what I ought to be, not by a long chalk, but I try to live up to my light, do my duty cheerful, love my neighbors, and fetch up my family in the fear of God. Ef I do this the best way I know how, I'm sure I'll get my rest some day, and the good Lord won't forgit Cynthy Wilkins. He ain't so fur, for I keep my health wonderfle, Lisha is kind and stiddy, the children flourishin', and I'm a happy woman though I be a humly one."

 

There she was mistaken, for as her eye roved round the narrow room from the old hat on the wall to the curly heads bobbing here and there, contentment, piety, and mother-love made her plain face beautiful.

 

"That story has done me ever so much good, and I shall not forget it. Now, good-night, for I must be up early to-morrow, and I don't want to drive Mr. Wilkins away entirely," said Christie, after she had helped put the little folk to bed, during which process she had heard her host creaking about the kitchen as if afraid to enter the sitting-room¹⁹⁷.

 

She laughed as she spoke, and ran up stairs, wondering if she could be the same forlorn creature who had crept so wearily up only the night before.

 

It was a very humble little sermon that Mrs. Wilkins had preached to her, but she took it to heart and profited by it; for she was a pupil in the great charity school where the best teachers are often unknown, unhonored here, but who surely will receive commendation and reward from the head master when their long vacation comes.

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