With her mouth firmly set, and assuming the air of a martyr trying to
make himself a little more comfortable against the stake, Miss
Mehitable climbed the hill. In her capable hands were the implements
of warfare--pails, yellow soap, and rags. She carried a mop on her
shoulder as a regular carries a gun.
"Havin' said I would clean house, I will clean house," she mused, "in
spite of all the ingratitude and not listenin'. 'T won't take long,
and it'll do my heart good to see the place clean again. Evelina's got
no gumption about a house--never did have. I s'pose she thinks it's
clean just because she's swept it and brushed down the cobwebs, but it
needs more 'n a broom to take out twenty-five years' dirt."
Her militant demeanour was somewhat chastened when she presented
herself at the house. When the door was opened, she brushed past Miss
Evelina with a muttered explanation, and made straight for the kitchen
stove. She heated a huge kettle of water, filled her pail, and then,
for the first time, spoke.
"I've come to finish cleanin' as I promised I would, and I hope it'll
offset your nursin' of Minty. And if that blackmailing play-doctor
comes while I'm at work, you can tell him that I ain't speakin' to
Minty from the hall, nor settin' foot in her room, and that he needn't
be in any hurry to make out his bill, 'cause I'm goin' to take my time
about payin' it."
She went upstairs briskly, and presently the clatter of moving
furniture fairly shook the house over Miss Evelina's head. It sounded
as if Miss Mehitable did not know there was an invalid in the house,
and found distinct pleasure in making unnecessary noise. The quick,
regular strokes of the scrubbing brush swished through the hall.
Resentment inspired the ministering influence to speed.
But it was not in Miss Hitty's nature to cherish her wrath long, while
the incense of yellow soap was in her nostrils and the pleasing foam of
suds was everywhere in sight.
Presently she began to sing, in a high, cracked voice which wavered
continually off the key. She went through her repertory of hymns with
conscientious thoroughness. Then a bright idea came to her.
"There wa'n't nothin' said about singin'," she said to herself. "I
wa'n't to speak to Minty from the hall, nor set foot into her room.
But I ain't pledged not to sing in the back room, and I can sing any
tune I please, and any words. Reckon Minty can hear."
The moving of the ladder drowned the sound made by the opening of the
lower door. Secure upon her height, with her head near the open
transom of the back room. Miss Mehitable began to sing.
"Araminta Lee is a bad, un-grate-ful girl," she warbled, to a tune the
like of which no mortal had ever heard before. "She fell off of a
step-lad-der, and sprained her an-kle, and the play-doc-tor said it was
broke in or-der to get more mon-ey, breaks being more val-u-able than
sprains. Araminta Lee is lay-ing in bed like a la-dy, while her poor
old aunt works her fingers to the bone, to pay for doc-tor's bills and
nursin'. Four dollars and a half," she chanted, mournfully, "and
no-body to pay it but a poor old aunt who has to work her fin-gers to
the bone. Four dollars and a half, four dollars and a half--almost
five dollars. Araminta thinks she will get out of work by pretending
to be sick, but it is not so, not so. Araminta will find out she is
much mis-taken. She will do the Fall clean-ing all alone, alone, and
we do not think there will be any sprained an-kles, nor any four
dollars--"
Doctor Ralph Dexter appeared in the doorway, his face flaming with
wrath. Miss Mehitable continued to sing, apparently unconcerned,
though her heart pounded violently against her ribs. By a swift change
of words and music, she was singing "Rock of Ages," as any woman is
privileged to do, when cleaning house, or at any other time.
But the young man still stood there, his angry eyes fixed upon her.
The scrutiny made Miss Mehitable uncomfortable, and at length she
descended from the ladder, still singing, ostensibly to refill her pail.
"Let me hide--" warbled Miss Hitty, tremulously, attempting to leave
the room.
Doctor Ralph effectually barred the way. "I should think you'd want to
hide," he said, scornfully. "If I hear of anything; like this again,
I'll send in that bill I told you of. I know a lawyer who can collect
it."
"If you do," commented Miss Mehitable, ironically, "you know more 'n I
do." She tried to speak with assurance, but her soul was quaking
within her. Was it possible that any one knew she had over three
hundred dollars safely concealed in the attic?
"I mean exactly what I say," continued Ralph. "If you so much as climb
these stairs again, you and I will have trouble,"
Sniffing disdainfully, Miss Mehitable went down into the kitchen, no
longer singing. "You'll have to finish your own cleanin'," she said to
Miss Evelina. "That blackmailing play-doctor thinks it ain't good for
my health to climb ladders. He's afraid I'll fall off same as Minty
did and he hesitates to take more of my money."
"I'd much rather you wouldn't do any more," replied Miss Evelina,
kindly. "You have been very good to me, ever since I came here, and I
appreciate it more than I can tell you. I'm going to clean my own
house, for, indeed, I'm ashamed of it."
Miss Hitty grunted unintelligibly, gathered up her paraphernalia, and
prepared to depart. "When Minty's well," she said, "I'll come back and
be neighbourly."
"I hope you'll come before that," responded Miss Evelina. "I shall
miss you if you don't."
Miss Hitty affected not to hear, but she was mollified, none the less.
From his patient's window, Doctor Ralph observed the enemy in full
retreat, and laughed gleefully. "What is funny?" queried Araminta, She
had been greatly distressed by the recitative in the back bedroom and
her cheeks were flushed with fever.
"I was just laughing," said Doctor Ralph, "because your aunt has gone
home and is never coming back here any more."
"Oh, Doctor Ralph! Isn't she?" There was alarm in Araminta's voice,
but her grey eyes were shining.
"Never any more," he assured her, in a satisfied tone. "How long have
you lived with Aunt Hitty?"
"Ever since I was a baby."
"H--m! And how old are you now?"
"Almost nineteen."
"Where did you go to school?"
"I didn't go to school. Aunt Hitty taught me, at home."
"Didn't you ever have anybody to play with?"
"Only Aunt Hitty. We used to play a quilt game. I sewed the little
blocks together, and she made the big ones."
"Must have been highly exciting. Didn't you ever have a doll?"
"Oh, no!" Araminta's eyes were wide and reproachful now. "The Bible
says 'thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.'"
Doctor Ralph sighed deeply, put his hands in his pockets, and paced
restlessly across Araminta's bare, nun-like chamber. As though in a
magic mirror, he saw her nineteen years of deprivation, her cramped and
narrow childhood, her dense ignorance of life. No playmates, no
dolls--nothing but Aunt Hitty. She had kept Araminta wrapped in cotton
wool, mentally; shut her out from the world, and persistently shaped
her toward a monastic ideal.
A child brought up in a convent could have been no more of a nun in
mind and spirit than Araminta. Ralph well knew that the stern
guardianship had not been relaxed a moment, either by night or by day.
Miss Mehitable had a well-deserved reputation for thoroughness in
whatever she undertook.
And Araminta was made for love. Ralph turned to look at her as she lay
on her pillow, her brown, wavy hair rioting about her flushed face.
Araminta's great grey eyes were very grave and sweet; her mouth was
that of a lovable child. Her little hands were dimpled at the
knuckles, in fact, as Ralph now noted; there were many dimples
appertaining to Araminta.
One of them hovered for an instant about the corner of her mouth. "Why
must you walk?" she asked. "Is it because you're glad your ankle isn't
broken?"
Doctor Ralph came back and sat down on the bed beside her. He had that
rare sympathy which is the inestimable gift of the physician, and long
years of practice had not yet calloused him so that a suffering
fellow-mortal was merely a "case". His heart, was dangerously tender
toward her.
"Lots of things are worse than broken ankles," he assured her. "Has it
been so bad to be shut up here, away from Aunt Hitty?"
"No," said the truthful Araminta. "I have always been with Aunt Hitty,
and it seems queer, but very nice. Someway, I feel as if I had grown
up."
"Has Miss Evelina been good to you?"
"Oh, so good," returned Araminta, gratefully. "Why?"
"Because," said Ralph, concisely, "if she hadn't been, I'd break her
neck."
"You couldn't," whispered Araminta, softly, "you're too kind. You
wouldn't hurt anybody."
"Not unless I had to. Sometimes there has to be a little hurt to keep
away a greater one."
"You hurt me, I think, but I didn't know just when. It was the smelly,
sweet stuff, wasn't it?"
Ralph did not heed the question. He was wondering what would become of
Araminta when she went back to Miss Mehitable's, as she soon must. Her
ankle was healing nicely and in a very short time she would be able to
walk again. He could not keep her there much longer. By a whimsical
twist of his thought, he perceived that he was endeavouring to wrap
Araminta in cotton wool of a different sort, to prevent Aunt Hitty from
wrapping her in her own particular brand.
"The little cat," said Araminta, fondly. "I thought perhaps it would
come to-day. Is it coming when I am well?"
"Holy Moses!" ejaculated Ralph. He had never thought of the kitten
again, and the poor child had been waiting patiently, with never a
word. The clear grey eyes were upon him, eloquent with belief.
"The little cat," replied Ralph, shamelessly perjuring himself, "was
not old enough to leave its mother. We'll have to wait until to-morrow
or next day. I was keeping it for a surprise; that's why I didn't say
anything about it. I thought you'd forgotten."
"Oh, no! When I go back home, you know, I can't have it. Aunt Hitty
would never let me."
"Won't she?" queried Ralph. "We'll see!"
He spoke with confidence he was far from feeling, and was dimly aware
that Araminta had the faith he lacked. "She thinks I'm a
wonder-worker," he said to himself, grimly, "and I've got to live up to
it."
It was not necessary to count Araminta's pulse again, but Doctor Ralph
took her hand--a childish, dimpled hand that nestled confidingly in his.
"Listen, child," he said; "I want to talk to you. Your Aunt Hitty
hasn't done right by you. She's kept you in cotton when you ought to
be outdoors. You should have gone to school and had other children to
play with."
"And cats?"
"Cats, dogs, birds, rabbits, snakes, mice, pigeons,
guinea-pigs--everything."
"I was never in cotton," corrected Araminta, "except once, when I had a
bad cold."
"That isn't just what I mean, but I'm afraid I can't make you
understand. There's a whole world full of big, beautiful things that
you don't know anything about; great sorrows, great joys, and great
loves. Look here, did you ever feel badly about anything?"
"Only--only--" stammered Araminta; "my mother, you know. She was--was
married."
"Poor child," said Ralph, beginning to comprehend. "Have you been
taught that it's wrong to be married?"
"Why, yes," answered Araminta, confidently. "It's dreadful. Aunt
Hitty isn't married, neither is the minister. It's very, very wrong.
Aunt Hitty told my mother so, but she would do it."
There was a long pause. The little warm hand still rested trustingly
in Ralph's. "Listen, dear," he began, clearing his throat; "it isn't
wrong to be married. I never before in all my life heard of anybody
who thought it was. Something is twisted in Aunt Hitty's mind, or else
she's taught you that because she's so brutally selfish that she
doesn't want you ever to be married. Some people, who are unhappy
themselves, are so constituted that they can't bear to see anybody else
happy. She's afraid of life, and she's taught you to be.
"It's better to be unhappy, Araminta, than never to take any risks. It
all lies in yourself at last. If you're a true, loving woman, and
never let yourself be afraid, nothing very bad can ever happen to you.
Aunt Hitty has been unjust to deny you life. You have the right to
love and learn and suffer, to make great sacrifices, see great
sacrifices made for you; to believe, to trust--even to be betrayed.
It's your right, and it's been kept away from you."
Araminta was very still and her hand was cold. She moved it uneasily.
"Don't, dear," said Ralph, his voice breaking. "Don't you like to have
me hold your hand? I won't, if you don't want me to."
Araminta drew her hand away. She was frightened.
"I don't wonder you're afraid," continued Ralph, huskily. "You little
wild bird, you've been in a cage all your life. I'm going to open the
door and set you free."
Miss Evelina tapped gently on the door, then entered, with a bowl of
broth for the invalid. She set it down on the table at the head of the
bed, and went out, as quietly as she had come.
"I'm going to feed you now," laughed Ralph, with a swift change of
mood, "and when I come to see you to-morrow, I'm going to bring you a
book."
"What kind of a hook?" asked Araminta, between spoonfuls.
"A novel--a really, truly novel."
"You mustn't!" she cried, frightened again. "You get burned if you
read novels."
"Some of them are pretty hot stuff, I'll admit," returned Ralph,
missing her meaning, "but, of course, I wouldn't give you that kind.
What sort of stories do you like best?"
"Daniel in the lions' den and about the ark. I've read all the Bible
twice to Aunt Hitty while she sewed, and most of the _Pilgrim's
Progress_, too. Don't ask me to read a novel, for I can't. It would
be wicked."
"All right--we won't call it a novel. It'll be just a story book. It
isn't wrong to read stories, is it?"
"No-o," said Araminta, doubtfully. "Aunt Hitty never said it was."
"I wouldn't have you do anything wrong, Araminta--you know that.
Good-bye, now, until to-morrow."
Beset by strange emotions, Doctor Ralph Dexter went home. Finding that
the carriage was not in use, he set forth alone upon his feline quest,
reflecting that Araminta herself was not much more than a little grey
kitten. Everywhere he went, he was regarded with suspicion. People
denied the possession of cats, even while cats were mewing in defiance
of the assertion. Bribes were offered, and sternly refused.
At last, ten miles from home, he found a maltese kitten its owner was
willing to part with, in consideration of three dollars and a solemn
promise that the cat was not to be hurt.
"It's for a little girl who is ill," he said. "I've promised her a
kitten."
"So your father's often said," responded the woman, "but someway, I
believe you."
On the way home, he pondered long before the hideous import of it came
to him. All at once, he knew.