PRACTICAL ANSWERS.
MRS. COLLINS got her furniture home next day at such an early hour that
the first floor rooms were arranged before Miss Hallam arrived to take
possession of the parlours. As the old woman stuck a bill "Apartments"
in the window, she remarked aloud—
"I'm sure I hope no one will hear about poor Mr. Taylor's fever, or
whatever 'twas he died of. I've had trouble enough about it, and in six
months, and them sanitary men coming and making their own of my house,
disinfecting and all, there can't be a sign of fever left now. Lodgers
are mighty inconsiderate—one would think his first thought would have
been to go to an hospital. Ah, well, better luck next time. Dear me,
I wonder how Hannah Rule's getting on with her questions!" And she
chuckled heartily, for Hannah's practical answer to one question struck
her as very absurd, however convenient for her.
Meantime, Hannah read her little book again and again. There were
several questions, all treated in something of the same way as the two
I have copied; it was a small book, and each question, with the remarks
upon it, occupied two of the little pages. Some Hannah understood
at once, or thought she did; some she did not understand till long
afterwards. One or two she, at first sight, pronounced to be rather
silly, if the truth must be told.
For instance, she "could not see the sense," as she expressed it, of
one on self-denial. King David's words to Araunah the Jebusite were
quoted. "I will not offer unto the Lord my God of that which doth cost
me nothing." And the remarks were to the effect that if one gave only
what one would never miss, and did for others only what would give one
no trouble, one was doing, in the full light of the Gospel what King
David had disdained to do in the dim twilight of the Law. But though at
first she could not see the sense of it, she kept turning it over and
over in her mind.
Since she had helped Mrs. Collins, and told her all about the book, she
had sometimes gone to see her, and give her an hour's help in her work.
Mrs. Collins kept no servant, and had now two lodgers, and was really
hardly able to get through the work. Besides, she was a very bad cook,
and Hannah felt quite sad to see how she spoiled her lodgers' dinners.
I regret to say that Mrs. Collins was privately convinced that her
neighbour came to see what chance there was of her money being repaid,
but as the help was very welcome, she kept this suspicion to herself.
She found Mrs. Rule's rigid notions about cleanliness very trying.
That a saucepan must be clean before anything is boiled in it; that
the paste-board must be scraped and scrubbed before paste can be made
on it; that a damp and dirty rag will not polish plates nicely,—these
rules vexed Mrs. Collins greatly, and, in fact, led to a quarrel
between the oddly-assorted pair.
"Really, Mrs. Rule, you're ridiclous pertickler! I don't hold by such
niceties, nor my lodgers don't expect 'em. And I can't help thinking
how 'twas the wicked Pharisees that made so much of washing cups and
pots and such. I don't want to be like them! This saucepan will do
right well to bile the apple dumpling."
"Yes, if Miss Hallam likes her dumpling with a flavour of cabbage in
it!" said Hannah, who was making the dumpling in question. "Come,
now, Mrs. Collins,—a bit of soda and a quick boil, and there's your
saucepan, ready as soon as your dumpling."
And with one of her rapid movements, Hannah stretched her hand across
to where stood a jam-pot with washing-soda, and chucked a good bit
into the greenish water in the saucepan. The lazy old mortal, taking
the saucepan by the handle "as if it was red hot," to quote Mrs. Rule,
smelt at it exhaustively, and said—
"There's not a whiff of cabbage about it."
"There's a deal more than a whiff! Come, now, put it on the fire."
"Well, the Pharisees—" began Mrs. Collins.
"Bother the Pharisees, and the Sadducees too!" said Mrs. Rule, losing
her temper all in a moment. "I don't know much about them, but I do
know this—I won't help you to cook if you won't make the things clean;
they're fit to poison any one."
"Mrs. Rule, I owe you money—which I'll repay, never fear—but that don't
oblige me to be insulted! I'm an old woman, and a little help, easy to
you to give, is much to me, but the mention of poison I will not stand.
I would have you to know that I never poisoned a lodger yet. And,
although you are in darkness, I will not allow any one to 'bother the
Pharisees' in my kitchen. I mostly expect the roof to fly off."
"Why, you said yourself they were wicked, you know."
"They were wicked, but they're in the Bible, ma'am, and no one has a
right to 'bother' them."
"Just as you like, Mrs. Collins," said Hannah, hastily rubbing the
paste off her hands; "say no more. I meant kindly. I've taken trouble
for you, and I've listened to your talk—that's like the clack of a mill
wheel—and tried to talk to you, though I never cared for many words.
And I'm not going to turn a dirty slattern at this time of day. So,
good afternoon, and boil your dumpling in the dust-pan if you like!"
She pulled down her sleeves, and departed, even banging the hall door.
"See that, now! There's a temper for you!" said Mrs. Collins. "But poor
Hannah Rule being so very dark, one can expect no better from her. I
only hope she'll see she's in the wrong, for to lose the little bit of
help she gives me would be hard on me; but I'm used to hardness." She
shook her head and sniffed.
Then she finished the making of the apple dumpling, which was indeed
nearly done to her hand. She tied it up in its cloth, and trotted over
to the fire, where the saucepan was now boiling away, never remembering
the good-sized bit of washing-soda that Mrs. Rule had flung in, she
remarked—
"Goodness knows, 'I' can't be expected to be for ever scrubbing and
rubbing at my time of life." And then she tumbled the dumpling into the
saucepan, and put on the lid.
When the expectant lady in the parlour beheld her dumpling, she said—
"How curiously yellow it is, Mrs. Collins. And it has a queer smell,
too! Do you think the suet was quite fresh?"
"Quite fresh, ma'am," said Mrs. Collins, bridling a little.
Miss Hallam, having dined on a tiny scrap of cold beef, was really
hungry; so she helped herself, and began to eat. But she could not go
on. She ate some bread and cheese instead, and then rang the bell.
"Mrs. Collins, there really 'is' something wrong with the dumpling;
even the apples have a strange taste. And see, here's a green thing on
the outside. You must really be more careful; I cannot afford to have
things spoiled. You are a most uncertain cook—sometimes 'so' good."
"I assure you, ma'am," said Mrs. Collins, smoothly, "there's nothing
at all wrong with the dumpling. It must be that you're a little out of
order yourself, ma'am."
"Oh no; I am quite well. It really is very nasty. Throw it away. I am
sure it is not wholesome."
"Throw it away, ma'am? It seems to me that would be just a sin!"
"Well, do as you like, but certainly I shall eat no more of it."
And Miss Hallam, who was a visiting governess, put on her bonnet and
mantle and left the house. Mrs. Collins took her tray down to the
kitchen, sat down, and inspected the despised dainty.
"A bit of cabbage never hurt any one, and, as to yellow, why shouldn't
it be yellow as well as white? If Miss Hallam's going to quarrel with
good victuals, 'I' won't."
And she began to eat.
"Eh?—Ah, I dare say there was salt in the water," she muttered.
And more from obstinacy than from inclination—for the thing was
exceedingly nasty—she stolidly ate every morsel of it. Afterwards, she
felt a little uncomfortable.
"I don't think much of Hannah Rule's cooking," said she, in a
disparaging tone, and even at that moment her eye alighted on the
cracked jam-pot which contained her washing-soda. Instantly the quick
gesture with which Hannah had flung a lump of soda into the saucepan
came back to her memory, and she now began to feel very wretched.
"It ain't poison," she told herself valiantly. "Many a time I've used
a pinch when the bread-soda fell short, bilin' cabbage, and so on, but
maybe if one took a whole lot of it, it may disagree. Certainly I do
feel—very queer."
She began to "wash up," but could not forget the soda. Presently she
sat down and groaned. She was very uncomfortable, but she had only
discomfort to fear, had she known it. But she did not feel sure of
this, and in a few minutes she was shuffling along, as fast as her
slipshod old feet could go, from her own door to that of Mrs. Rule.
Here she knocked loudly. The door was soon opened.
"Why, whatever's the matter with you, Mrs. Collins?"
"I'm not very well, and there's no one in the house but myself,
so I thought I'd just—Oh, Mrs. Rule, for pity's sake, tell me is
washing-soda poison?"
"Well, one wouldn't call it exactly poison, nor it's not exactly
wholesome neither. You've been using it instead of bread-soda, I
suppose? One would say 'twas as easy to use the right thing."
By this time Mrs. Collins was sitting in the parlour, rocking herself
to and fro, and comporting herself as one in great suffering.
"If you took a whole lot—a big lump like that you put into my
saucepan—perhaps it might go near killing you," she moaned.
Mrs. Rule knew better, but she rather wished to know exactly what had
happened, so she heartlessly replied, "Perhaps it might."
Then out came the whole truth—it was "all along of the apple dumpling."
Hannah burst into a hearty laugh, and Mrs. Collins, simultaneously,
into tears.
"Well, you were rightly served, Mrs. Collins, as I think even you might
allow. Miss Hallam did well to refuse the mess. But you won't be a bit
the worse in an hour or so. You didn't drink the water, I suppose, as
well as boil the dumpling in it? It has just sickened you for a bit,
but you'll be all right in no time."
Mrs. Collins began to perk up a bit, and, as usual, she had an eye on
her own interests.
"I dare say, dear. Yes, I believe it would not have overcome me like
this, only for being fretted. I was afraid I'd been a bit tart with
you—at least, you must have misunderstood me, for you were a bit tart
with me. But now I see you did not mean it, and I'm ready to forget
and forgive. Neighbours ought to be neighbourly. I'm glad our little
difference is over, and we friends again. Shake hands—I never bear
malice. I hope I know my duty too well for that."
"And what about the Pharisees?" inquired Hannah, with a twinkle in her
eyes.
"Ah, you'll always have your joke," Mrs. Collins replied, forbearingly.
She really did not see that she was bound to lose the help of a most
convenient neighbour for the sake of the Pharisees. She went home and
felt able to wash up her various cooking utensils, lest Hannah should
come in next day, but it was not for some time that she could quite
forget the apple dumpling, or enjoy her food as usual. Still, it was
worth a little discomfort to have made friends again with Mrs. Rule.
But imagine Mrs. Collins's disgust when she accidentally found out
that Hannah had heard of a neighbour who wanted help far more than she
did—the poor young wife of a cabinet-maker, who lodged just opposite
No. 3, and who had met with an accident just after her confinement,
and was almost helpless. The poor girl was in such miserable health
that she found it difficult to eat anything that she could procure for
herself. Mrs. Rule found her far more interesting than Mrs. Collins,
and far more grateful for help. So, in spite of many remonstrances, she
threw Mrs. Collins over, and left her to cook for her lodgers as best
she could.
"No," she said, when the old woman came to ask her to cook a brace of
partridges which some one had sent to her "first floor"—"no, I'll tell
you how to do them, and how to make bread sauce. But that poor girl
over the way hasn't a soul to do a thing for her, and can hardly drag
herself across the room. If I help her, it's enough for me; if I did
more, I'd never have a moment to myself. And besides, you and I don't
agree in our ways. Now, Mary Graham is a very tidy, clean girl, and
there's a pleasure in helping her to keep things going and her man from
the public."
Mrs. Collins was very angry, and said that if one only did what gave
one pleasure, she, for one, did not see a bit of goodness in it. But
she did not quarrel with her heartless friend, first on account of her
debt, which was not entirely paid off, and, secondly, because there was
such a chance that Mary Graham might die, and then Hannah might return
to her allegiance.
Poor Hannah! She began by intending to do for her young neighbour only
so much as gave her no great trouble. But as she was a kind-hearted
creature, though she had been so long trying to turn herself into a
selfish one, she could not help getting fond of the pretty, patient
creature who bore great suffering without a murmur, and who only
mourned that "Luke was so disappointed," the baby being but a sickly
little thing, and Luke without the comforts he had a right to expect,
getting such good wages.
However, in less than six months, Mary and her poor baby, its lifelong
wail hushed at last, were buried in the same grave. And Hannah, who had
spent years in trying to care for no one, cried her eyes out over Mary,
and felt exceedingly lonely and sad.
Luke Graham left England soon after his wife's death. He came to say
good-bye to Mrs. Rule, and told her he was going to New York; he could
not "take hold" in the old place any more. He had promised Mary to keep
from drinking, and his best plan was to "make a change;" for he had got
into bad ways while poor Mary was so ill.
"And Mary was a Christian girl, Mrs. Rule—as good a girl as ever lived.
I'd like to live so as to have a chance of going where she's gone—she
and the young un; and, you know, I'd have no chance if I took to drink."
"I suppose not, Luke."
"Oh, the Bible says so quite plain, ma'am. Mary would not marry me till
I took the pledge, and it nearly broke her dear heart when she found
I'd broken it. I've taken it again, but, you see, I can't be sure of
myself, and I'll get away from London and the old set, and see if that
will help me."
"Very like it will, too. I'm sure I hope so."
"You were a kind friend to poor Mary, Mrs. Rule, and I've brought you a
keepsake—something she valued, and wished you to have, only she never
spoke of it because she said maybe it was not her place. I have one
that she gave me when we were first engaged. You'll like to have it,
for Mary's sake, even if, like myself, you're not as fond of reading it
as she was."
And he handed her Mary's well-used, but well-kept Bible—a prize in the
Sunday school of her native village, far away.
"I'm glad to have it, Luke, if 'twas only that I've seen it in her
hands so often. Come, now," said Hannah, moved by some feeling that she
hardly understood, "let you and me agree to read Mary's Book; maybe it
will help us to be like her. It may help you as much as the pledge, or
the change either. Is it a bargain, Luke?"
"Well—yes! I'll give it a fair try. Good-bye, Mrs. Rule, and God bless
you. You're a kind woman, and Mary was real fond of you."
Luke departed, and Hannah felt lonelier than ever.
Now was the time for which Mrs. Collins had waited and watched. Surely
now Mrs. Rule would come to see her, and they would fall into their
pleasant neighbourly ways again! But days passed, and Mrs. Rule did not
come.
"She's taken up with some one else," muttered Mrs. Collins. "I always
hated fickle folk; I doubt that's what Hannah Rule is."
And she watched the door of No. 3 with such intense interest that her
lodgers could get nothing done, and the "first floor," being selfish,
spoke of giving notice. But Mrs. Rule did not, so far as could be
discovered, go to see any one in the neighbourhood. She went out for
the day often, and she washed a great deal of lace, which she dried in
her sunny parlour window; but she neither returned to her expectant
Collins, nor sought a successor to Mary Graham.
Pride made Mrs. Collins wait for many days; curiosity and self-interest
made her seek an interview with Mrs. Rule at last. She had an excellent
excuse for her visit, and she went at about six o'clock in the evening,
with a loving remembrance of the fragrant tea and savoury pie of which
she had partaken on her first visit at that hour.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rule, my dear; I have an hour to spare, as my
'first floor' dines in town to-day, so I thought I'd come and see how
you are, for I doubt you're fretting after that poor girl and the baby,
and neighbours should be neighbourly. Besides, I have a little bit of
business to settle with you."
This speech was skilfully devised to secure an entrance, either as
a sympathizing friend or as a matter of business. Hannah was really
feeling lonely enough to make a visitor welcome. She thought it curious
that she, who for years had lived quite alone, should now feel more
lonely than she ever did before.
"'Twas kind of you to come," she said. "Yes, I'm lonely, but I don't
mean to be so long. I've just about made up my mind. Come in; I was
thinking of having my tea, and maybe you will take a cup too."
With alacrity did Mrs. Collins enter the parlour, to wait while Hannah
went to the kitchen for the tea.
"Don't tell me she's going to be married!" murmured Mrs. Collins, with
a chuckle. "There's no fool like an old fool, if so."
Here she sniffed inquiringly, and added, "No pie! But there's sure to
be something tasty. She lives very well, and I'm just longing to hear
who she's going to marry."
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