A BEQUEST.
As Mehetabel became strong, the better feeling towards her in the
heart of Sally Rocliffe sank out of sight, and the old ill-humor
and jealousy took the upper hand once more. It was but too obvious
to the young mother that the woman would have been well content
had the feeble flame of life in the child been extinguished. This
little life stood between her son Samuel and the inheritance of the
Kink's farm.
Whatever was necessary for the child was done, but done grudgingly,
and Mehetabel soon learned that the little being that clung to
her, and drew the milk of life from her bosom, was without a
friend except herself, in the Punch-Bowl. Jonas maintained a cold
estrangement from both her and the babe, its aunt would have
welcomed its death.
The knowledge of this rendered her infant only more dear to
Mehetabel. Hers was a loving nature, one that hungered and panted
for love. She had clung as much as was allowed to the hostess at
the inn. She had been prepared with all her heart to love the man
to whom she had promised love. But this had been rendered difficult,
if not impossible, by his conduct. She would have forgiven whatever
wrong he had done her, had he shown the smallest token of affection
for his child. Now that he refused the poor, helpless creature the
least particle of the love that was its due, her heart that had
expanded towards him, turned away and poured all its warmth on the
child.
And in love for it she was satisfied. She could dispense with the
love of others. She thought, cared for, lived but for this one
little object which engrossed her entire horizon, filled every
corner of her heart.
Marvellous is maternal love above every other love on earth,
the most complete reflex of the love of the Creator for His
creatures. In connubial love there is something selfish. It
insists on reciprocity. In filial love there is an admixture
of gratitude for treatment in the past. In maternal love there
is nothing self-seeking, it is pure benevolence, giving, continuous
giving, of time, of thought, of body labor, of sleep, of everything.
It asks for nothing in return, it expects nothing.
Under the power of this mighty love Mehetabel rapidly became strong,
and bloomed. The color returned to her cheek, the brightness to her
eye, the smile to her lips, and mirth to her heart.
Whatever seeds of love for Iver had sprung up in her were smothered
under the luxuriance of this new love that left in her soul no
space for any other. She thought no more of Iver, for she had no
thought for any one other than her child.
She who had never had any one of her own round whom to throw her
arms, and to clasp to her heart, had now this frail infant; and
the love that might have been dispersed among many recipients was
given entire to the child--a love without stint, a love without
bounds, a love infinitely pure and holy as the love that reigns
in Heaven. So completely absorbed was Mehetabel in her love of the
child, that the ill-humors of Sarah Rocliffe affected her not, nor
did the callousness of her husband deeply wound her. So absorbed
was she, that she hardly gave a thought to Simon Verstage and
Susanna, and it was with a pang of self-reproach that she received
an urgent appeal from the latter to visit her, sent through a
messenger, along with a request that she would bring her infant
with her in the conveyance sent from the Ship Inn for the purpose.
With readiness and at once Mehetabel obeyed the summons. There was
a bright flush of pleasure in her cheek as she mounted to her place
in the little cart, assisted by Joe Filmer, the ostler at the Ship,
and folded her shawl about the living morsel that was all the world
to her.
"Well, upon my word," said Joe, "I think, Matabel, you've grown
prettier than ever, and if Bideabout bain't a happy man, he's
different constituted from most of us."
Joe might well express his admiration. The young mother was
singularly lovely now, with sufficient of the delicacy of her
late confinement still on her, and with the glow of love and pride
glorifying her face.
She was very pleased to go to the Ship, not so much because she
wanted to see the hostess, as because she desired to show her the
babe.
"How is mother?" she asked of Joe Filmer.
The ostler shook his head.
"I should say she hain't long to live. She changed terrible last
week. If it weren't for her stories about Gilly Cheel, and one or
another, one wouldn't believe it was the same woman. And the master,
he is that composed over it all--it is wonderful, wonderful."
Mehetabel was shocked. She was not prepared for this news, and the
brightness went out of her face. She was even more alarmed and
troubled when she saw Mrs. Verstage, on whose countenance the
shadow of approaching death was plainly lying.
But the hostess had lost none of the energy and directness of her
character.
"My dear Matabel," she said, "it's no use you wishin' an' hopin'.
Wishin' an' hopin' never made puff paste without lard. I haven't
got in me the one thing which could raise me up again--the power
to shake off my complaint. That is gone from me. I thought for
long I could fight it, and by not givin' way tire it out. You can
do that with a stubborn horse, but not with a complaint such as
mine. But there--no more about me, show me the young Broom-Squire."
After the usual scene incident on the exhibition of a babe that is
its mother's pride, a scene that every woman can fill in for
herself, and which every man would ask to be excused to witness,
Mrs. Verstage said: "Matabel, let there be no disguise between us.
How do you and your husband stand to each other now?"
"I would rather you did not ask me," was the young wife's answer,
after some hesitation.
"That tells me all," said the hostess. "I did hope that the birth
of a little son or daughter would have made all right, assisted by
the cookery book, but I see plainly that it has not. I have heard
some sort of talks about it. Matabel, now that I stand, not with
one, but with two feet on the brink of my grave, I view matters in
a very different light from what I did before, and I do not mind
tellin' you that I have come to the conclusion that I did a wrong
thing in persuadin' you to take Bideabout. I have had this troublin'
me for a long time, and it has not allowed me rest. I have not had
much sleep of late, because of the pain, and because I always have
been an active woman, and it puts me out to be a prisoner in my own
room, and not able to get about. Well, Matabel, I have fretted a
good deal over this, and have not been able to set my conscience at
ease. When Polly knocked off the spout of my china teapot, I said
to her, 'You must buy me another out of your wages.' She got one,
but 'twasn't the same. It couldn't be the same. The fashion is gone
out, and they don't make 'em as they did. It is the same with your
marriage with Bideabout. The thing is done and can't be undone. So
I need only consider how I can make it up in some other way."
"Mother, pray say nothing more about this. God has given me my
baby, and I am happy."
"God has given you that," said Mrs. Verstage, "but I have given you
nothing. I have done nothin' to make amends for the great wrong I
did you, and which was the spoiling of your life. It is not much I
can do, but do somethin' I must, and I will, or I shall not die
happy. Now, my plan is this. I have saved some money. I have for
many years been puttin' away for Iver, but he does not want it
greatly. I intend to leave to you a hundred pounds."
"Mother, I pray you do nothing of the kind.
"I must do it, Matabel, to ease my mind."
"Mother, it will make me miserable."
"Why so?"
Mehetabel did not answer.
"I intend this hundred pounds to be your own, and I shall so leave
it that it shall be yours, and yours only."
"Mother, it will make matters worse." After some hesitation, and
with a heightened color, she told Mrs. Verstage about the fifteen
pounds given her on the wedding day by Simon. She told it in such
a manner as to screen her husband to the utmost. "You know, mother,
Jonas has high notions about duty, and thinks it not well that we
should have separate purses. Of course he must judge in these
matters, and he is, no doubt, right, whereas I am wrong. But, as he
does hold this opinion, it would anger him were I to have this
money, and I know what the end would be, that I should have to give
it all up to him, so that there might be peace between us. I dare
say he is right."
"I have heard folks say that man should do the courtin' before
marriage, and the woman after, but I don't hold with it. You may
give way to them too much. There was Betsy Chivers was that mild
and humoring to her husband that at last he made her do everything,
even clean his teeth for him. The hundred pounds is for you, whether
you wish to have it or not. It is of no use your sayin' another
word."
"Do you mind, if it were given instead to the baby? May it be left
to him instead of me? Then there would not be the same difficulty?"
"Certainly, if you like it; but you don't want me to leave him the
use of it in his present condition. Why, he'd put it into his mouth
for certain. There must be some one to look after it for him till
he come of age, and take it upon himself, as the baptism service
says."
"There must, of course," said Mehetabel, meditatively.
"Money, edged tools, and fire--these are the three things children
mustn't meddle with. But it isn't children only as must be kept
off money. Men are just as bad. They have a way of getting rid of
it is just astonishin' to us females. They be just like jackdaws.
I know them creeturs--I mean jackdaws, not men, come in at the
winder and pull all the pins out of the cushion, and carry 'em off
to line their nest with 'em. And men--they are terrible secretive
with money. They can't leave a lump sum alone, but must be pickin
at it, for all the world like Polly and currant cake, or raisin
puddin'. As for men, they've exactly the same itchin after money.
If I leave the hundred pounds to your little mite, and I'm willin'
to do it, I must make some one trustee, and I don't fancy putting
that upon Bideabout."
"Of course Jonas would look to his own child's interests, yet--"
"I know. There's a complaint some folks have, they're always eatin'
and you can never see as their food has profited them. It's so
with Bideabout--he is ever picking up money, but it don't seem to
do him a scrap of good. What has he done with his money that he
has saved?"
"I do not know."
"And I don't suppose he does himself. No, if you wish me to leave
the hundred pounds to the child instead of to yourself then I will
do so, heartily, and look about for some one in whom I can place
confidence to undertake to be trustee. Simon is too old and he is
getting foolish. My word, if, after I'm dead and gone, Simon
should take it into his stupid head to marry Polly--I'd rise out
of my grave to forbid the banns."
"You need have no fear of that, mother."
"If you had been in the house you could have kept an eye on him.
There, again, my wrong deed finds me out. Matabel, it's my
solemn conviction that there's no foolishness men won't be up
to, especially widowers. They've been kept in order so long
that they break out when their wives are dead. Have you ever seen
a horse as has been clipped and kept all winter on hay in the
stables when he chances to get out into a meadow, up go his heels,
he turns frisky, gallops about, and there's no catching him
again--not even with oats. He prefers the fresh grass and his
freedom. That's just like widowers; or they're ginger beer
bottles, very much up, wi' their corks out. What a pity it is
Providence has given men so little common sense! Well, I'll see
to that matter of the trusteeship, and the little man shall have
a hundred pounds as a stand-by in the chance his father may have
fooled away his own money."