THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEW DINING-ROOM
The little meeting at the house of Miss Cushing resulted in something
very different from the anticipations of those ladies who had consulted
together for the purpose of constituting themselves the heirs of Mrs.
Cliff.
That good lady being then very much in want of something to do was so
pleased with the idea of a new cemetery that she entered into the scheme
with great earnestness. She was particularly pleased with this
opportunity of making good use of her money, because, having been asked
by others to join them in this work, she was not obliged to pose as a
self-appointed public benefactor.
Mrs. Cliff worked so well in behalf of the new cemetery and subscribed
so much money towards it, through Mr. Perley, that it was not many
months before it became the successor to the little crowded graveyard
near the centre of the town; and the remains of Mr. Cliff were removed
to a handsome lot and overshadowed by a suitable monument.
Mrs. Ferguson, however, in speaking with Mrs. Cliff upon the subject,
was happy to have an opportunity of assuring her that she thought it
much better to devote her slender means to the education of her
daughters than to the removal of her late husband to a more eligible
resting-place.
"I'm sure he's done very well as he is for all these years," she said,
"and if he could have a voice in the matter, I'm quite sure that he
would prefer his daughters' education to his own removal."
Mrs. Cliff did not wish to make any offer which might hurt Mrs.
Ferguson's very sensitive feelings, but she said that she had no doubt
that arrangements could be made by which Mr. Ferguson's transfer could
be effected without interfering with any plans which might have been
made for the benefit of his daughters; but, although this remark did not
satisfy Mrs. Ferguson, she was glad of even this slight opportunity of
bringing the subject of her daughters' education before the
consideration of her friend.
As to the other would-be heirs, they did not immediately turn upon Miss
Inchman and rend her in revenge for the way in which she had tricked and
frightened them, for there was no knowing what such a woman would do if
she were exasperated, and not for the world would they have Mrs. Cliff
find out the real subject of their discussion on that unlucky morning
when she made herself decidedly one too many in Miss Cushing's parlor.
Consequently, all attempts at concerted action were dropped, and each
for herself determined that Mrs. Cliff should know that she was a true
friend, and to trust to the good lady's well-known gratitude and
friendly feeling when the time should come for her to apportion her
worldly goods among the dear ones she would leave behind her.
There were certain articles in Mrs. Cliff's house for which each of her
friends had a decided admiration, and remarks were often made which it
was believed would render it impossible for Mrs. Cliff to make a mistake
when she should be planning her will, and asking herself to whom she
should give this, and to whom that?
It was about a week after the events in Miss Cushing's parlor, that
something occurred which sent a thrill through the souls of a good many
people in Plainton, affecting them more or less according to their
degree of sensibility.
Willy Croup, who had been driven about the town attending to various
matters of business and pleasure, was informed by Andrew Marks, as she
alighted about four o'clock in the afternoon at the house of an
acquaintance, that he hoped she would not stop very long because he had
some business of his own to attend to that afternoon, and he wanted to
get the horse cared for and the cow milked as early as possible, so that
he might lock up the barn and go away. To this Willy answered that he
need not wait for her, for she could easily walk home when she had
finished her visit.
But when she left the house, after a protracted call, she did not walk
very far, for it so happened that Mr. Burke, who had found leisure that
afternoon to take a drive in his barouche, came up behind her, and very
naturally stopped and offered to take her home. Willy, quite as
naturally, accepted the polite proposition and seated herself in the
barouche by the side of the fur-trimmed overcoat and the high silk hat.
Thus it was that the people of the town who were in the main street that
afternoon, or who happened to be at doors or windows; that the very
birds of the air, hopping about on trees or house-tops; that the horses,
dogs, and cats; that even the insects, whose constitutions were strong
enough to enable them to buzz about in the autumn sunlight, beheld the
startling sight of Willy Croup and the fine gentleman at the hotel
riding together, side by side, in broad daylight, through the most
public street of the town.
Once before these two had been seen together out of doors, but then they
had been walking, and almost any two people who knew each other and who
might be walking in the same direction, could, without impropriety walk
side by side and converse as they went; but now the incident was very
different.
It created a great impression, not all to the advantage of Mr. Burke,
for, after the matter had been very thoroughly discussed, it was
generally conceded that he must be no better than a fortune-hunter.
Otherwise, why should he be paying attention to Willy Croup, who, as
everybody knew, was not a day under forty-five years old, and therefore
at least ten years older than the gentleman at the hotel.
In regard to the fortune which he was hunting, there was no difference
of opinion; whatever Mrs. Cliff's fortune might be, this Mr. Burke
wanted it. Of course, he would not endeavor to gain his object by
marrying the widow, for she was entirely too old for him; but if he
married Willy, her only relative, that would not be quite so bad as to
age, and there could be no doubt that these two would ultimately come
into Mrs. Cliff's fortune, which was probably more than had been
generally supposed. She had always been very close-mouthed about her
affairs, and there were some who said that even in her early days of
widowhood she might have been more stingy than she was poor. She must
have considerable property, or Mr. Burke would not be so anxious to get
it.
Thus it happened that the eventful drive in the barouche had a very
different effect upon the reputations of the three persons concerned.
Mr. Burke was lowered from his position as a man of means enjoying his
fortune, for even his building operations were probably undertaken for
the purpose of settling himself in Mrs. Cliff's neighborhood, and so
being able to marry Willy as soon as possible.
Willy Croup, although everybody spoke of her conduct as absolutely
ridiculous and even shameful, rose in public estimation simply from the
belief that she was about to marry a man who, whatever else he might be,
was of imposing appearance and was likely to be rich.
As to Mrs. Cliff, there could be no doubt that the general respect for
her was on the increase. If she were rich enough to attract Mr. Burke to
the town, she was probably rich enough to do a good many other things,
and after all it might be that that new house at the corner was being
built with her money.
Miss Shott was very industrious and energetic in expressing her opinion
of Mr. Burke. "There's a chambermaid at the hotel," she said, "who's
told me a lot of things about him, and it's very plain to my mind that
he isn't the gentleman that he makes himself out to be! His
handkerchiefs and his hair-brush aren't the kind that go with fur
overcoats and high hats, and she has often seen him stop in the hall
downstairs and black his own boots! Everybody knows he was a sailor, but
as to his ever having commanded a vessel, I don't believe a word of it!
But Willy Croup and that man needn't count on their schemes coming out
all right, for Sarah Cliff isn't any older than I am, and she's just as
likely to outlive them as she is to die before them!"
The fact that nobody had ever said that Burke had commanded a vessel,
and that Miss Shott had started the belief that Mrs. Cliff was in a
rapid decline, entirely escaped the attention of her hearers, so
interested were they in the subject of the unworthiness of the fine
gentleman at the hotel.
Winter had not yet really set in when George Burke, who had perceived no
reason to imagine that he had made a drop in public estimation, felt
himself stirred by emotions of triumphant joy. The new building on the
corner lot was on the point of completion!
Workmen and master-workmen, mechanics and laborers, had swarmed in,
over, and about the new edifice in such numbers that sometimes they
impeded each other. Close upon the heels of the masons came the
carpenters, and following them the plumbers and the plasterers; while
the painters impatiently restrained themselves in order to give their
predecessors time to get out of their way.
The walls and ceilings were covered with the plaster which would dry the
quickest, and the paper-hangers entered the rooms almost before the
plasterers could take away their trowels and their lime-begrimed hats
and coats. Cleaners with their brooms and pails jostled the mechanics,
as the latter left the various rooms, and everywhere strode Mr. Burke.
He had made up his mind that the building must be ready to move into the
instant it arrived at its final destination.
It was a very different building from what Mrs. Cliff had proposed to
herself when she decided to add a dining-room to her old house. It was
so different indeed, that after having gone two or three times to look
upon the piles of lumber and stone and the crowds of men, digging, and
hammering, and sawing on the corner lot, she had decided to leave the
whole matter in the hands of Mr. Burke, the architect, and the
contractor. And when Willy Croup endeavored to explain to her what was
going on, she always stopped her, saying that she would wait until it
was done and then she would understand it.
Mr. Burke too had urged her, especially as the building drew near to
completion, not to bother herself in the least about it, but to give him
the pleasure of presenting it to her entirely finished and ready for
occupancy. So even the painting and paper-hanging had been left to a
professional decorator, and Mrs. Cliff assured Burke that she was
perfectly willing to wait for the new dining-room until it was ready for
her.
This dining-room, large and architecturally handsome, was planned, as
has been said, so that one of its doors should fit exactly against the
side hall door of the little house, but the other door of the
dining-room opened into a wide and elegant hall, at one end of which was
a portico and spacious front steps. On the other side of this hall was a
handsome drawing-room, and behind the drawing-room and opening into it,
an alcove library with a broad piazza at one side of it. Back of the
dining-room was a spacious kitchen, with pantries, closets, scullery,
and all necessary adjuncts.
In the second and third stories of the edifice were large and beautiful
bedrooms, small and neat bedrooms, bath-rooms, servants' rooms,
trunk-rooms, and every kind of room that modern civilization demands.
Now that the building was finished, Mr. Burke almost regretted that he
had not constructed it upon the top of a hill in order that he might
have laid his smooth and slippery timbers from the eminence to the side
of Mrs. Cliff's house, so that when all should be ready he could have
knocked away the blocks which held the building, so that he could have
launched it as if it had been a ship, and could have beheld it sliding
gracefully and rapidly from its stocks into its appointed position. But
as this would probably have resulted in razing Mrs. Cliff's old house to
the level of the ground, he did not long regret that he had not been
able to afford himself the pleasure of this grand spectacle.
The night before the day on which the new building was to be moved, the
lot next to Mrs. Cliff's house was covered by masons, laborers, and
wagons hauling stones, and by breakfast-time the next morning the new
cellar was completed.
Almost immediately the great timbers, which, polished and greased, had
been waiting for several days, were put in their places, and the great
steam engines and windlasses, which had been ready as long a time, were
set in motion. And, as the house began to move upon its course, it
almost missed a parting dab from the brush of a painter who was at work
upon some final trimming.
That afternoon, as Mrs. Cliff happened to be in her dining-room, she
remarked to Willy that it was getting dark very early, but she would not
pull up the blind of the side window, because she would then look out on
the new cellar, and she had promised Mr. Burke not to look at anything
until he had told her to do so. Willy, who had looked out of the side
door at least fifty times that day, knew that the early darkness was
caused by the shadows thrown by a large building slowly approaching from
the west.
When Mrs. Cliff came downstairs the next morning she was met by Willy,
very much excited, who told her that Mr. Burke wished to see her.
"Where is he?" said she. "At the dining-room door," answered Willy, and
as Mrs. Cliff turned towards the little room in which she had been
accustomed to take her meals, Willy seized her hand and led her into
the side hall. There, in the open doorway, stood Mr. Burke, his high
silk hat in one hand, and the other outstretched towards her.
"Welcome to your new dining-room, madam!" said he, as he took her hand
and led her into the great room, which seemed to her, as she gazed in
amazement about her, like a beautiful public hall.
We will not follow Mrs. Cliff, Willy, and the whole body of domestic
servants, as they passed through the halls and rooms of that grand
addition to Mrs. Cliff's little house.
"Carpets and furniture is all that you want, madam!" said Burke, "and
then you're at home!"
When Mrs. Cliff had been upstairs and downstairs, and into every
chamber, and when she had looked out of the window and had beheld
hundreds of men at work upon the grounds and putting up fences; and when
Mr. Burke had explained to her that the people at the back of the lot
were beginning to erect a stable and carriage house,--for no dining-room
such as she had was complete, he assured her, without handsome quarters
for horses and carriages,--she left him and went downstairs by herself.
As she stood by the great front door and looked up at the wide
staircase, and into the lofty rooms upon each side, there came to her,
rising above all sentiments of amazement, delight, and pride in her new
possessions, a feeling of animated and inspiring encouragement. The
mists of doubt and uncertainty, which had hung over her, began to clear
away. This noble edifice must have cost grandly! And, for the first
time, she began to feel that she might yet be equal to her fortune.