MRS. BARTLETT’S LITTLE SCHEME.
“Do you mean that I am to get along without Nancy, Mr. Tarbox?” Mrs.
Tarbox said quickly.
“I’ve met with losses, Mrs. T.,” replied Seth, “and I don’t feel as if I
could afford to pay out seventy-five cents every Monday for work that
might as well be done in the family.”
“Does that mean that you expect me to do it, Mr. Tarbox?”
“Ahem!” said Tarbox, a little embarrassed. “It’s your duty to help bear
my burden.”
“I think I do that. I am sure that I work beyond my strength.”
“We all have to work. Don’t I work in the fields, Mrs. Tarbox?”
“You choose to do it. You are able to lead an easier life.”
“Who says I am?”
“Everybody in the village knows that you are well to do, and have a
large sum in the savings-bank.”
Seth Tarbox frowned.
“If I have got a little money ahead,” he said, “I don’t mean to squander
it in extravagant living.”
“I don’t think you are in any danger of it,” remarked Mrs. Tarbox dryly.
Mr. Tarbox left the house, and made it in his way to call at the home of
Nancy Stokes and give her notice that her services would not be needed
on the coming Monday.
Nancy opened her eyes in surprise.
“Why, Mr. Tarbox,” she said, “I’ve been goin’ to your house for ten
years. Have you got any other woman in my place?”
“No, Miss Stokes; but I’ve been thinkin’ that I can’t afford to pay
seventy-five cents a week for washin’.”
“Why, you haven’t failed, have you, Mr. Tarbox?”
“No; but I’ve met with losses,” answered Seth vaguely.
“They must be big losses if you can’t afford the little money you’ve
paid me.”
“You may call it little, Nancy, but seventy-five cents a week amounts in
a year to thirty-nine dollars.”
“It’ll take more‘n one thirty-nine dollars to break you, Mr. Tarbox.”
“You seem to know a good deal about my affairs, Nancy. I’m the best
judge of that.”
“Who’s goin’ to do the washin’, then?”
“Mrs. Tarbox will do it.”
“The whole of it?”
“Yes; my first wife used to do it.”
“And died of broken health at forty.”
Seth Tarbox did not relish the plain speaking of Miss Stokes, and
turning on his heel, walked away.
Nancy made it a point to call at the farm during the day.
“I hear, Mrs. Tarbox,” she said, “that you are going to do all the
washing hereafter.”
“Who told you?” asked Mrs. Tarbox quickly.
“Mr. Tarbox.”
“He is mistaken,” said Mrs. Tarbox calmly. “I shall do nothing of the
kind.”
“He expects it.”
“I can’t help that.”
“Good for you, Mrs. Tarbox. Don’t let him impose upon you. He’s too mean
to live.”
The next Monday Seth Tarbox went out to his farm work in a complacent
frame of mind. His wife had said nothing of the washing, and he
concluded that when she found Nancy absent, she would turn to and do the
whole herself. But when he returned to dinner he looked in vain for the
clothes line.
“You’re late about your washin’, Mrs. T.,” he said, as he entered the
kitchen.
“I am not going to wash, Mr. Tarbox.”
“How’s that? You can’t get along without having the clothes washed.”
“I intend to wash my own, but I don’t propose to do the rest.”
“Wh-what?” ejaculated Seth, in dismay.
“You have taken it upon yourself to discharge Nancy. If the clothes
remain unwashed, you are responsible.”
“But, Mrs. T., my first wife used to do all the washing. She didn’t have
Nancy to help her.”
“What your first wife did does not concern me. I do not propose to
follow in her footsteps and die of overwork, as she did.”
“It seems to me, Mrs. T., you don’t realize your duty as helpmeet to
your husband.”
“And I don’t propose to, if it requires me to work beyond my strength.”
“If you do all the washing this week, Nancy may come to your assistance
next Monday as usual.”
“I decline to do it.”
Seth Tarbox found that he was checkmated, and was obliged to make a
second call upon Miss Stokes and countermand his first notice. But he
felt very much dissatisfied, and the next day called on his daughter and
laid the matter before her.
“I am not surprised,” said Sophia. “Of course Mrs. Tarbox married you
for your money. She expects you will leave her a good slice of your
estate.”
“She’ll be disappointed,” said Seth angrily.
“I don’t know about that. Have you made a will?”
“No; why should I? You don’t expect I’m going to die right off, do you?”
“No; but still, life is uncertain. If you don’t leave a will, the law
will give her something.”
“Perhaps I shall live longer than she does.”
“Perhaps so, but she is twenty years younger than you. When she gets
your money, she and her boy will have fine times.”
“Can’t that be prevented?” asked Seth.
“There is one way.”
“What is that?”
“I hardly like to tell.”
“Out with it, Sophia!”
“If you should make me a deed of gift of the property—at any rate, of
the real estate—she couldn’t do anything.”
“But I don’t want to give the farm away.”
“Oh, it would only be a mere form. Things would go on just the same as
before. But it would put a spoke in your wife’s wheel. Of course, pa,
you know that I wouldn’t take any advantage of what you did. It makes me
laugh, though, to think how you would come up with that mercenary
woman.”
“Just so,” chuckled Seth. “Well, I’ll think of it.”
“That’s the first step,” reflected Mrs. Bartlett. “Now I know how to
work on pa’s feelings, it won’t be long before he’ll adopt my plan.”
From that time Sophia lost no opportunity to enlarge to her father on
his wife’s expectations of profiting by his death, till at last she
accomplished her purpose. One day she and her father called at a
lawyer’s office, and the deed of gift was made out, and Mrs. Bartlett
took charge of the document.
“Mrs. Tarbox won’t know anything of this,” she said. “We’ll keep it
secret, pa.”
“Yes, we’ll keep it secret.”
“If she knew, you’d find it hard to get as much work out of her.”
“That’s so!” chuckled Seth.
He would not have felt as well pleased had he known what a power he had
put into the hands of his daughter.
We will now reproduce the letter which Grant received from his mother.
After expressing the hope that he was in good health, and had something
to do, she went on:
I am very unpleasantly situated at present. Grant. A week ago Mr. Tarbox
fell from a scaffold in the barn, and broke his leg. His daughter, Mrs.
Bartlett, on hearing of it, came to the house with Rodney, and has taken
possession of the sick chamber. I am kept out of it, though his wife. I
won’t pretend that it hurts my feelings, but I don’t like to be treated
as a servant in the house of which I ought to be the mistress. Mrs.
Bartlett treats me with very little respect, and I have reason to think
that she means to influence Mr. Tarbox to leave all his property to her.
This would be a very poor return for all I have done since I married
him. As you know, it was chiefly on your account that I did so. If you
were doing well, I would not mind so much, but I can hardly hope that a
boy like you can earn much among strangers.
Grant showed this letter to Mr. Crosmont.
“Write to your mother,” said the Englishman, “that she need feel no
anxiety about you or herself. I will see that neither of you is in
want.”
Grant accordingly wrote a letter to his mother that raised her spirits
and gave her hope for the future.