AN EVENING WALK.
Thomas got his garden stuff distributed satisfactorily. "It would done
your heart good to see how pleased the Larkums was over their share: I
give 'em good measure, I tell you," he informed me that evening, as I
made an errand to the stables in order to interview him.
"That Mr. Bowen, her blind father, he come out too, and I've not got
better pay for anything for years than what he give me," Thomas continued
solemnly.
"What did he give, you?" I asked.
"Well I can't just go over his words, but it minded me of the blessing
the preacher says over us before we go out of church, only this was all
just for you and me."
"You have found to-day that it is more blessed to give than to receive."
"That Mrs. Blake wan't far astray; but there, I wouldn't let on to the
likes of her that Mr. Winthrop might do more for them. Anyway there's no
one gives more for the poor in the parish, nor anything nigh as much;
only its taxes, and one don't get credit for them."
"It is only for want of thought, Thomas. He has never been among the
poor, to see their wants and sufferings."
"But what makes you think, and the rest all forget?"
"I expect it is because my memory is better. I could always remember my
lessons at school better than the most of the pupils."
"Ah, Miss, there's more than the memory. I wish there was more rich folks
like you; it would be a better world for the poor."
His words startled me, the thought had never before occurred to me that
I might be rich. I went to my room, and, with more than my usual care,
dressed for dinner. Compared with Esmerelda's, my gowns were getting
shabby, and old-fashioned; and I concluded if I had means of my
own, it was time to treat myself charitably as well as my poor
acquaintances. The dinner bell rang at last, and I went down with some
trepidation to meet my guardian. My conscience confronted me with my
repeated words of insubordination during the day, commanding me to
apologize for my rudeness; but instinct with a stronger voice counselled
silence. As we took our seats at dinner, Mrs. Flaxman, I thought, with a
worried expression was furtively regarding us; but she kept silent. With
a good-humored smile Mr. Winthrop turned to me, saying: "Your crowd did
not fall to quarrelling over the spoil, I hope."
"I wish you could have seen how good-humored they were on leaving. I
think they would have talked above their breath only they were afraid."
"You did not strike me as looking particularly formidable. Indeed, I
quite pitied you; for you seemed the most frightened, nervous one in the
lot."
"They were not afraid of me. Even the widow Larkum's baby cooed softly
until you were out of sight."
"It must be a child of amazing intelligence."
Mrs. Flaxman, looking more anxious than ever interjected a remark, not
very relevantly, about the prospect of our early winter; but Mr. Winthrop
allowed her remark to fall unheeded.
"You seem particularly interested in that tender-eyed widow and her
infant. Is it long since you made their acquaintance?"
"I cannot say that I am even now acquainted with her." I answered
politely.
"I should judge you had a weakness for widows. Mrs. Blake seems on very
cordial terms with you."
"I would take just as much interest in your widow, Mr. Winthrop, if she
was poor and sorrowful. The wheel of fortune may make a revolution some
day, and give me the opportunity."
He really seemed to enjoy the retort which fell uncontrollably from my
lips.
"Allow me to thank you beforehand for your kind offices to that afflicted
individual; though the prospect for their being required is not very good
at present."
"Mrs. Fleming has sent invitations for a garden-party," Mrs. Flaxman
interposed desperately. "I think Mr. Winthrop had better permit you to go
to New York for some additions to your toilet."
"I will accompany her myself; she might get entangled with widowers on
her next trip."
"Not if they are as provoking as the unmarried," I murmured below my
breath; but he seemed to catch my meaning.
"They understand the art of pleasing your sex amazingly. I believe you
would find them more fascinating than Mrs. Blake, or your new friend,
the widow Larkum."
I felt too sorrowful to reply, and my temper had quite expended itself.
I waited until he arose from the table and then followed him into the
library. He looked surprised, but very politely handed me a chair. I
bowed my thanks, but did not sit down; I stood opposite him with only
the study table between us. I was nervous, and half afraid to ask my
question, but summoning all my courage I broke the silence by
saying:--"Mr. Winthrop, will you please tell me if I am rich or poor?"'
"That is a comparative question," he answered with provoking coolness.
"Compared with Jay Gould or Vanderbilt, I should say your means were
limited; but, on the other hand, to measure your riches with your widowed
friends, most persons would allow your circumstances to be affluent."
"But have I any money left after my board and other expenses are paid?"
He smiled sarcastically. "I do not take boarders; it has never been our
custom at Oaklands."
I was getting angry and retorted:--"I shall not eat any man's bread
without paying for it, if he were a hundred times my guardian."
"But if you had no money wherewith to pay him; what then?"
"I have an education; with that surely I can earn my living as well as
Esmerelda. My knowledge of French and German will help me to a situation,
if nothing else."
"If I say you must not leave here; that I will not permit my ward to work
for her living?" he questioned.
"If I resolve to be independent, and earn something beside, to help the
poor, can you compel me to a life of ease and uselessness?"
"Ah, I see what is troubling you--the widows are on your mind. A gracious
desire to help them has caused this mercenary fit. I am glad to inform
you that there is a snug sum lying at your bankers in your name. When you
come of age you will know the exact amount."
"You will pay for my board and expenses out of it," I said, rather
incoherently; "and then, if there is any left, may I have it to lay out
as I choose?"
"I do not care to assume the rôle of a hotel-keeper, so we will
compromise matters. You can name whatever sum you choose for your board,
and I will give it to you in quarterly instalments for your pensioners."
I was silent for a few moments, perplexed to know what answer to give. If
he were to take from my own income the sum I might mention if I accepted
his terms, would I not still be a debtor to his hospitality? I spoke at
last, knowing that his eyes were reading my face. "Could I not first pay
you all that I really cost you, and then if there was any money left,
have that to expend just as I choose?"
"I have hitherto allowed you a certain sum for pocket money. I limited
the supply, because, as a school-girl, I believed too much would be an
injury. Since, however, you are now a young lady grown and gifted with
highly benevolent instincts, I will increase your spending money to any
reasonable sum you may name."
"Will it be my own money?"
"Certainly; I shall not exercise the slightest supervision over the way
you spend it, so long as your Mill Road friends do not get quarreling
over the division of it."
"You do not understand my meaning. Will it be the money my father left
me?"
"I cannot promise it will be just the same. No doubt that has passed
through scores of hands since then; in fact, it may be lying in the
bottom of the sea. I did not expect you would be so exact in money
matters, or I might have been more careful."
"Mr. Winthrop, why do you so persistently misconstrue my meaning?" I
said, desperately. He looked down more gently from his superior height
into my troubled face, and the mocking gleam faded from his eyes.
"Why are you so scrupulously, ridiculously insistent in maintaining such
perfect independence? Can you not believe I get well paid for all you
cost me, if we descend to the vulgarity of dollars and cents, in having
a bright, original young creature about the house with a fiery,
independent, nature, ready to fight with her rich friends for the sake
of her poor ones?"
"I wish we could be friendly, Mr. Winthrop," I half sobbed, with an
impulsive gesture stretching out my hands, but remembering myself, as
quickly I drew them back, and without waiting for a reply fled from the
room. Once in the hall I took down my hat from the rack and slipped out
into the night, my pulses throbbing feverishly, and with difficulty
repressing the longing to find relief in a burst of tears. The short
twilight had quite faded away into starlight, but the autumn air was
still warm enough to permit a stroll after nightfall. When I grew calm
enough to notice whither my feet had strayed, I found myself on the Mill
Road. Instinctively I felt I should not go so far from home in the
darkness unattended; but I was naturally courageous as well as
unconventional, and the desire was strong on me to tell Mrs. Blake my
good news. I got on safely until Daniel Blake's light was in sight, when,
just before me, I heard rough voices talking and laughing. I turned and
was about fleeing for home, when a similar crowd seemed to have sprung
up, as if by magic, just behind me. In my terror I attempted to climb a
fence, but fence-climbing was a new accomplishment, and in my ignorance
and fright, I dragged myself to the top rail and then fell over in a
nerveless heap on the other side. The crowd were too self-absorbed to
notice the crouching figure divided from them by a slight rail fence, and
went shouting on their way until stopped by the other crowd. I waited
until they had got to a safe distance, when I arose and sped swiftly
along over the damp grass until another fence intercepted my progress;
when fortunately I remembered that just beyond this fence was a low
marshy field, with deep pools of water. By some means I again got over
the fence, bruising my fingers in the effort. The voices were growing
fainter in the distance, and now with calmer pulses, I proceeded on my
way to the Blakes'. But a new alarm awaited me; for I recollected Daniel
would be at home now, and Tiger, his constant companion, would be
somewhere in his vicinity. The dog was a huge creature, capable of
tearing me to pieces in a very short time if he was so inclined. Folding
my arms tightly in the skirt of my dress, I presently heard Tiger
approaching, giving an occasional savage growl. I called him to me with
as much simulated affection in the tones of my voice as I could command,
and walked straight for the kitchen door. I put my hand on the latch, not
daring to hesitate long enough to knock, when he caught my sleeve in his
teeth. Half beside myself with terror, I called to Mrs. Blake, and in a
second or two the door opened and Daniel was peering out curiously into
my white face. The light from the lamp in his hand shone full on the dog
holding my sleeve in his white, long teeth. Daniel's slow brain scarce
took in the situation, but his mother, who sat where she could look
directly at us, caught up the tongs and gave Tiger a blow he probably
remembered to his dying day. He dropped my dress and slunk silently away
into the darkness. Instantly I felt sorry for him. "Won't you call him
back," I cried. "He thought he was doing his duty, and he took care not
to put his teeth in my arm."
"It seems to me your heart is a leetle too tender of the brute; he might
have skeered you to death," Daniel said, as he went out after his dog to
see how heavy damage the tongs had inflicted.
"I should not have come here so late; it was I and not the dog who was to
blame," I gasped, as I sank into Mrs. Blake's rocking-chair.
"I've wanted Daniel to put the critter away; he's been offered fifty
dollars for him, but he's kind of lonesome, and refuses the offer."
Mrs. Blake was looking at me closely. I knew she was curious to know what
brought me there at that unusual hour, so I hastened to explain, and
asking her would she go with me to the Widow Larkum's while I told her of
the help I expected to afford, and also of my mishaps on the way there.
"Not to-night, dearie. These roads ain't none too safe after night for
women folks. It's a mercy you tumbled over the fence. My! what would
Mr. Winthrop say if he knowed?" she questioned solemnly.
"But he will never know, if I can get back safely."
"Dan'el and me'll go with you, and take Tiger and the lantern. They're
all afraid of the dog, if I haven't lamed him."
She went to the door and called Daniel. He came in presently, with Tiger
limping after him.
"You give him an unmerciful blow; a leetle more and he'd never barked
again."
"Bring him in and I'll give him a bone and rub the sore place with
liniment."
"Let me feed him," I begged. "I want to make friends with him."
"You'd best not put your hands on him. He don't make free with
strangers."
I took the bone; to my regret it was picked nearly bare, and I idly
resolved Tiger should have a good solid dinner the next day, if he and
I survived the mishaps of the night.
"Poor fellow! I am very, very sorry I have caused you so much pain," I
said, giving him the bone and patting his huge head fearlessly.
"Look out!" Daniel said, warningly.
"You needn't be afeard," his mother said. "Tiger knows quality."
Whether he was as knowing in this respect as she asserted, he gnawed his
bone and let me stroke his shaggy coat, while Mrs. Blake bathed his
bruised back.
"There, he'll be all right now in no time; and Dan'el, you get the
lantern and we'll go back to Oaklands with Miss Selwyn."
Daniel got up wearily, and did as his mother bade. After his hard day's
work in the mill he would willingly, no doubt, have been excused
escorting damsels in distress to their homes.
Mrs. Blake soon came out of her room with her bonnet and shawl on--the
former one without a veil, which she excused on the ground that dew took
the stiffening out of crape--"Leastways," she added, "the kind I wear."
Tiger followed us, and more in mercy to him than the tired Daniel, I
insisted on going home alone once we had got beyond the precincts of the
Mill Road. I met with no further adventure, and reached my own room in
safety, fondly hoping no one in the house was aware of my evening's
ramble, and one that I determined should never be repeated. My cheeks
burned even after my light was extinguished, and my head throbbed on the
pillow at Mr. Winthrop's biting sarcasm if he knew the risk I had just
run from bipeds and quadrupeds, with Daniel Blake, his mother and dog as
body-guard past the danger of Mill Road ruffianism.