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STORIES THAT END WELL
by
OCTAVE THANET
Author of "The Man of the Hour," "The Lion's Share," "By Inheritance,"
Etc.
New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers
Copyright 1911
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
CONTENTS
I AN ADVENTURE IN ALTRURIA
II THROUGH THE TERRORS OF THE LAW
III THE REAL THING
IV THE OLD PARTISAN
V MAX--OR HIS PICTURE
VI THE STOUT MISS HOPKINS' BICYCLE
VII THE SPELLBINDER
VIII THE OBJECT OF THE FEDERATION
IX THE LITTLE LONELY GIRL
X THE HERO OF COMPANY G
XI A MIRACLE PLAY
The stories in this book were originally printed in _Harper's Magazine_,
_Harper's Bazaar_, _The Century Magazine_, _McClure's Magazine_,
_Scribner's Magazine_ and _The Woman's Home Companion_, and to these
periodicals acknowledgements are due for their courtesy in giving
permission for republication.
STORIES THAT END WELL
AN ADVENTURE IN ALTRURIA
The story came to me through my friend, Mrs. Katherine Biff. Mrs. Biff
is a widow. Her profession--I will not slight her beautiful art by a
lesser word--is that of cook. She cooks for my cousin, Elinor, and it
was during one of Elinor's absences in Europe that Mrs. Biff had her
experience in Altruria, as the supply for Miss Mercedes Van Arden. It
was highly interesting, I think.
She gave me the episode herself; because, in the first place, I am
Elinor's own cousin (like the rest of the world, she loves Elinor) and
in the second place, she knows that I appreciate her conversation.
Assuredly I do value Katy's freehand sketches of life. She is a shrewd
observer. Often while she talks I recall Stevenson's description of
another: "She is not to be deceived nor think a mystery solved when it
is repeated."
Katy is an American by birth, but Celtic by race and by nature; a widow
to whom children never were granted, but who out of her savings has
helped educate and settle half a dozen of her nieces and nephews. Katy's
married life was brief and not happy. The late Biff was a handsome man
who never let other people's comforts or rights interfere with his own
pleasure. Nevertheless, when he was killed in a saloon brawl she did not
grudge him many carriages for his last journey (she who believes in
simple funerals. "When I give free rides, I'll give 'em while I'm alive
and can hear folks say 'Thank you!'" says she), and she has erected a
neat stone to his memory.
It was three years after his death that Mrs. Biff came to Elinor, with
whom she has lived since.
Elinor, one may say, bequeathed her to the Van Ardens. At least she
suggested them importunately to Katy. To me she explained, "Katy is a
maternal soul, and she can't help taking care of Mercy Van Arden, who is
a stray angel in a wicked world and _thinks_ she is a socialist."
We are conservative, peaceful, mid-Westerners in our town, and the only
socialists belong to a class that we do not meet nor recognize save by
their names in the papers published preliminary to fiery addresses
delivered at not very reputable tavern halls. Therefore, to have a
cultivated socialist, a young lady of wealth, who regarded her fortune
as a "trust," come to live among us was exciting. Her aunt, from whom
she had recently inherited her fortune, was well known to us, being a
large property owner in the town. She, the late aunt, was not in the
least a socialist; on the contrary, we esteemed her a particularly
shrewd and merciless adept at a bargain. She had a will of her own; and
considering that Miss Mercedes had borne the yoke for ten years, it was
generally considered that she had earned her legacy.
Under all these conditions of interest, I admit I was glad enough to see
Katy Biff's decent black hat approaching the side door the day after her
entrance into the Van Arden family circle.
* * * * *
"Well, Miss Patsy," she began, "I guess you know she's queer; I thought
I knew most of the brands of wine and women, as old Judge Howells used
to say, but this one beats me! I came 'round to the yard--she's hired
the Bateman place, furnished, you know, while the Batemans are towering
in Canada, she and her sister, who's a doctor lady. I hope the doctor'll
be a kinder balance wheel, but she's got a chore!
"As I was saying, I came 'round the yard, aiming for the kitchen door,
when I heard somebody calling, and there she was opening the front door
to Nellie Small. Don't you remember Nellie Small? She was the Batemans'
waitress for three months--poor young things--and smashed a lot of their
nice wedding presents, the other girl told _me_. She's the kind that
always looks so fine and never dusts the hind legs of the table. I
wasn't none too pleased at the sight of her, but Miss Van Arden, she was
awful polite; took us both right into the _parlor_ and made us set down.
I got worried thinking she'd mistook, and I hesitate a minute and then I
says:
"'Miss Van Arden, I was going 'round to the kitchen door; I've come to
see about the cook's place.'
"'I know,' says she right quick, with a little lift of her pretty brown
head. 'I know,' says she, 'you're Mrs. Biff, and you,' says she, smiling
so pretty on that Nellie trash, '_you're_ Miss Small.'
"'I _am_,' says Nellie, tossing her head.
"So then she begins; and from that beginning, and calling us in that
way, you can imagine how she went on. She explained that while she was a
poor girl at her aunty's she read a lovely book about an imaginary
country called Altruria; and that the gentleman who wrote it didn't
think we _could_ do that way in this country; she supposed we couldn't,
but she was going to try, and she hoped we would like her and help her.
She didn't know much about housekeeping; she had helped her aunty, but
it was writing letters and doing errands and dusting brac-a-brac (and
she laughed); the only things she knew how to do right well was to dust
and to polish jewelry and make tea. But she hoped to learn; and she had
got all the machinery she could think of; there was an electric washer
and an ironing machine, and a dishwashing machine, and bread and cake
machines, and we ought not to need to work more than eight hours a day.
She didn't believe really in more than six hours a day, but at first
maybe we wouldn't mind eight.
"I could see that Nellie drinking it all in, getting more topping every
minute.
"'Miss Van Arden,' says she, 'how about evenings? I'm used to having
_all_ my evenings.'
"'I ain't, madam,' says I, 'not if there's dinner company. And I know
well enough Nellie ain't, neither.'
"'I--I could have dinner in the middle of the day,' says Miss Van Arden
real pitiful, 'if it weren't that my sister comes in tired at night and
likes a hot meal; but I've got a fireless stove, and it _might_ be
cooked and left in the fireless stove and we could wait on ourselves.'
"'I guess that'll be satisfactory,' says Nellie, dipping her head and
smiling a haughty smile, while I was quivering to git a word in Miss Van
Arden's ear. But, of course, there was no chance. And Miss Van Arden,
she went on to say that she didn't eat meat herself, but her sister
liked to have it, so--'
"'I have to have meat myself,' hops in that Nellie.
"'Oh, of course,' Miss Van Arden said; she didn't dictate to others, but
personally she didn't eat meat; but she didn't need any special
vegetable dishes made for her.
"'You shall have 'em if you want 'em, ma'am,' says I; then, 'and I
guess the cook will have something to say about the kitchen table; I
ain't never much on meat myself.' I guess that was one for miss!
"'Oh, thank you,' says Miss Van Arden real grateful--she's jest as
sweet's they make 'em, Miss Patsy. Then she looked very timidly at
Nellie and the color came into her face.
"'I should like to have you take your meals with me if--if I were
alone,' she stammers, 'but my sister--we have so little time
together--we'll try not to make much waiting--' She got into a kind of
mess of stammers, when I cut in and told her that we much preferred to
eat in our own pantry, which was big enough for a dining-room.
"Well, you can guess, Miss Patsy, that about this time I was wishing
myself well out of it all, for I've lived with notional folks before,
and folks who wanted to make friends of their help, and what I like with
strangers is to have them keep their side of the fence and I'll keep
mine; I ain't seeking any patronage from nobody, and I got too much
self-respect not to be respectful. But I'd promised Mrs. Caines; so I
simply told what wages I wanted, and I made 'em reasonable, too. But
Nellie--my! she named a sum two dollars a week more'n she ever'd got and
four dollars more'n she was worth; and for hatred of meddling I sat
still and let that poor little sweet Babe in the Woods agree to it. But
I miss my guess if I have to put up with Nellie long!
"So we was engaged. Not a word about any day's work in the week or when
she has sweeping done (she said she'd do the dusting herself--and she's
_wise_, with Nellie 'round) or when she had bakings or anything; only
that she'd have a laundress come in three days (eight hours a day) and
do all our washing. We got a room apiece, but we haven't got a bathroom
like at Mrs. Caines', so she told us we could have the guest bathroom.
My! but I wish you'd heard her; and she's just the prettiest thing in
the world and wears the prettiest clothes. Her clothes is all that gives
me hope of her! She said she embroidered her shirt-waist herself; and I
guess if she can sit up and take that amount of notice, she's got the
makings of sense in her!
"She said could I come that day. I said, 'Yes, ma'am.'
"'You needn't call me that,' says she; 'I don't care for those little
distinctions.'
"'If you please, ma'am,' I says, kind but firm, 'they're fitting and
proper and I prefer it, ma'am.'
"Well, Miss Patsy, I got my first dinner yesterday. I even made the
salad, which belongs to the waitress, but I couldn't risk Nellie Small's
ideas of French dressing _yet_! Miss Patsy, she set her own plate at
table.
"'Now,' says I, 'let's talk plain United States a minute. Whether that
poor, innercent, looney lady craves our company or not, she ain't going
to git it. When I'm cooking a dinner I ain't dressed up for company. I
want _my_ meals in peace, and you ought to want _yours_; they got their
own gossip, same's us; and whatever Miss Van Arden might be willing to
do, the doctor'll want to have her sister and her friends to herself
without you and me butting in; just as I want my meals to myself without
_them_!'
"Nellie told me she was just as good as them; and I said I wasn't the
one that had to decide that; goodness was something only the Lord
Almighty got the scales for weighing exact, but I'd bet money, if it
came to sheer, imbecile cleanness of heart and willingness to sacrifice
herself for any old thing, that Miss Van Arden could give us both a long
start and then beat us! But I guessed we'd leave that part out. Sich
things was just business. We got to take the world's we found it. So she
said _she_ wouldn't take the plate off. I said I wasn't proud; wherefore
I took it off myself, and she didn't put no more on, and the sisters had
their meal in peace. She come when the buzzer called her and waited
fairly well--she's bright enough when she wants to be.
"Doctor? Oh, she's a horse of another color. She's ten years older'n her
sister and ain't seen much of her since their parents died and Miss
Mercy went to live with her aunty, and she seems to set a good deal by
her and be puzzled by her, too. She's got a good appetite and knows good
food. I can git along with _her_ all right. But I mistrust that Nellie,
being so half baked, we'll get our trouble soon! We've a colored man
looks out for the furnace and beats the rugs and tends to the yard and
does chores; he seems a decent sort of man. I got a rise out of Nellie
'bout him, though. She was just _boiling_ and sissing when I remarked,
'You think everybody's as good as everybody else, so I expect you won't
mind having Amos set down with us.' Why, she flew into fifty pieces.
'Eat with a nigger!' she screamed.
"Of course, I was only fooling, and he was glad enough to get a good
meal in the laundry; he's a real nice, sensible man. But my lady was
off, not so much as putting the dishes in the washing machine. Marched
off with her young man, who's on strike; so he's underfoot most of the
time. That kind makes me tired!"
* * * * *
Naturally, after this conversation with Katy I agreed with my sister
that it would be interesting to call; and we planned an early day. It
was, however, even earlier than our plans.
My chamber (at my sister's house, where I was visiting) is on the side
near the Bateman house; and it happened to be I who first discovered the
smoke volleying out of the Bateman furnace chimney, followed by a
roaring spout of flame. I knew Katy had gone to our little up-town
grocery, for I had seen her on the way; and I made all haste across the
lawn, with all our ice-cream salt. The fire really was easily dealt
with. By the time the firemen arrived (summoned by Nellie), all was over
save the shouting, as they say in the political reports. Amos and Nellie
were still calling "Fire!" Katy arrived a good second to the hose cart,
breathless with running, but all her wits in good order.
"Long's you've put out the fire, Miss Patsey, I'll put out the fire
department," said she; "they're the only danger. Miss Mercy, you open
all the windows; let's git rid of the smoke. Nellie, what you carrying
your clothes out for?"
Mercedes quite won our hearts by her docility and the quiet way she
obeyed. Perhaps it was in recognition that Katy became her tower of
refuge when the cause of the fire appeared. It was no less than Amos. He
had been hired without any heartless prying into recommendations, on the
ideal Altrurian ground of Need. He was asked, to be sure, could he run a
furnace, and with the optimism of the African replied that he reckoned
he could. He did not add that he had never tried to run one before.
Doubtless it was natural that he should not discover the meaning of the
cunning chains going through the floors; and when dampers increase the
draft if shut and diminish it if open, who can wonder that Amos should
artlessly shut everything in sight--including the registers? Natural
laws did the rest.
Amos was very patient, almost tearful. He said he didn't know whatever
Sally would do when he come home outen a job; Sally be'n so satisfied
befo' but he didn't cast no blame on nobody. Sally, it came out later,
was ill.
"Is it anything infectious?" demanded Mercedes' sister, the doctor, who
by this time was on the scene.
"I dunno, ma'am; I reckon _'tis_," deprecated Amos. "Hit's a right new
baby, come a week ago, an' she ain't got up yit."
Then it was while Nellie glibly proposed a new man, a man of assured
efficiency, two years janitor of a "flat," and the brother of a friend;
and Mercedes Van Arden had only bewildered compassion to justify her
desire to forgive the culprit; and Doctor Van Arden frowned, that Katy
spoke the word of power.
"Doctor," said she, "Amos mayn't know much about the furnace, but he's
a decent, honest man that found my ten cents out on the steps and gave
it to me; and I know how to run furnaces, and I'll learn him. What's
more, I can burn up _all_ the coal, and not smoke up the house or the
neighborhood. And one good thing--if Amos can't run a furnace, he
_knows_ it now, anyhow; there's many a janitor man's been smoking up
flats for years ain't found out _that_ yet. Doctor, I'll answer for Amos
if you ladies will keep him."
Amos was kept. I fancied that Mercedes was almost as grateful as he.
After this for a time matters went on in a sufficiently prosaic and
satisfactory manner. We put both of the sisters up in the Monday Club
and the doctor consented to talk to the club on the "Smoke Nuisance" at
our meeting in which we discussed that bane of the housekeeper, under
the startling caption, "The City of Dreadful Night." We asked Mercedes
to embody her own Social Creed in a fifteen-minute paper; but she
pleaded almost with tears that she was simply a student who had not
studied enough to know, only to feel; and she blushed deeply. So she was
reprieved. Meanwhile the doctor (who had been quietly working up a
practise in our town for six years) began to be seen at the bedsides of
divers prominent ladies.
Several of us asked the sisters to luncheon, to dinner and to bridge
parties. In return, the sisters entertained the club at tea, a function
whereat Katy covered herself with glory, and Nellie graciously consented
to pass plates and listen and break two heavy Colonial goblets--Nellie
was slim and light on her feet, but she surely had a heavy hand.
Katy came over to borrow our monkey wrench the next morning because
Nellie and the friend whom she had recommended to assist in waiting, had
contrived to loosen a water faucet. She was brimming with criticisms of
this last helper, as well as of Nellie.
"Did she stay to help wash dishes?" Thus she let her suppressed disgust
explode. "Well, I should _say_! And got extry pay for staying, too, and
had her young man in for supper afterward; and the things she gave him
to carry away, the fancy candies with bow-knots on them, and the cakes
with roses, and the _marionglasyes_! And when I spoke up to her she
claimed Miss Mercy _told_ her to--and there's no saying, maybe she did!
Her young man's on strike; he's at the locomotive works; she claims he
gits four-fifty a day and he's striking for more, I expect; he's been on
strike six weeks now, and he comes here to meals four times a week and
eats--well, Miss Mercy said, 'Make him welcome,' so I do; but I own to
you, Miss Patsy, something I feel real bad about. That young Mr. Gordon,
it's his pa is president of the works; he's a real nice young man jest
out of Harvard College, and he met Miss Mercy in Chicago and went 'round
a lot with her, and I made up my mind and Nellie made up hers--and she
ain't a fool, Nellie, for all she's so flighty--that they were going to
make a match of it; but Nellie got Miss Mercy to promise she'd go speak
to old Mr. Gordon about the strike; Miss Mercy's got a awful lot of
stock herself, in the works; and I dunno the rights of it, but I'm sure
those young things had _words_! It's a bitter black shame, too, it is,
dragging that poor child in! Doctor don't like it any more than I do.
And poor little Miss Mercy, she's scared to death; but _that_ won't stop
her; the more it hurts, the more she is sure she had ought to do it."
I didn't think little Miss Van Arden could move old Mr. Gordon's
convictions; but it was true that she was the largest individual
stockholder in the works, and hence she might make trouble with the
wavering minds, certainly trouble enough to irritate the president, who
was a sterling, but not always a patient man.
"They want to run the works as a closed shop, don't they?" I asked.
"Jest that. Miss Mercy, if she _is_ a reforming lady, she ain't
arrergant like most sich; and she asked me what I thought about the
strike. She got my opinion of it cold. 'There's strikes and strikes,'
says I. 'Strikes for higher wages may be right or wrong, as depends, but
a strike for the right to keep every other man but your gang out of a
job is bound to be wrong. I ain't no sympathy with any kind of closed
shops, whether the bosses close 'em to union men, or the union men close
'em to everybody 'cept themselves.'"
The next day I saw the little Socialist's white, miserable face go by my
window with Katy's solid cheer at her elbow. She had agreed to see Mr.
Gordon first before she appeared at the board meetting, and (as Katy put
it) "poured coal oil on the fire to put it out." Of course, there was a
useless journey. Mr. Gordon felt moved to utter certain pet opinions of
his own regarding the ease of making mischief when ignorant people
interfered in business. If it was any comfort to her to know that she
was giving him an infernal lot of trouble she could take it all right;
but he had to do right according to his own conscience, and not hers,
and he wished her good-morning. Very limp and dejected she departed.
"'The worst of it is,' she says to me, Katy related, 'the worst of all
is, while I believe he ought to do what the men want rather than keep up
the strike, I don't really feel _sure_ they ought to want him to do it.
It's so hard on the outside men.' Oh, she's got some sense straying
about her, though it's mainly lost to view. But I do wish she could make
it up with her beau. He ain't been 'round for a week; and when folks
ain't got a meat diet they can't stand the strain of being crossed in
love!"
Even Katy's Celtic loyalty was staggered the next week. She came over on
a perfectly needless borrowing errand to tell me.
"Did you see it, ma'am? Being my afternoon out, I wasn't there. Did
_you_ see that woman tumble down on our grass and herself run out with
Amos and Mrs. Kane?" (Mrs. Kane was the laundress, who acted also as
scrubwoman once a week, Nellie's health not being equal to the weekly
cleaning required in a tidy household.) "Did you see it? I began to
sniff the minute I struck the hall. My word! I knowed it. Then I begun
to hear the groans--_'O-o-ah! O-o-ah!'_ mumbling, grumbling kind of
groans--I didn't need anything more to get next to that situation, no,
ma'am. Mrs. Kane come tumbling down-stairs. You know her, Miss Patsy,
Tim Kane's widow, a fair-to-middling laundress and next door to a fool
about everything else. Jest the kind that gits a good husband like
Timothy and then fools away the money he leaves her and has to come on
the wash tub. Down-stairs she comes--wild! The poor woman, they'd seen
her fall outside, and Miss Mercy and she'd taken her in on a mattress
with Amos to help; Amos wanted to call the amberlance, but Miss Mercy
said no, they'd take her to the police; so they three took the poor
creature into the house. And 'Oh, hear her groan!' I said, yes, she was
easy to hear. I guess Amos felt all right; but you know niggers are
biddable, and whatever they think, the creatures do like they're told.
"Well, I walked up-stairs. She was there in the guest chamber on one of
the twin beds with the flowery card, 'Sleep gently in this quiet room,'
etcetery, over the towsledest head and _sech_ skirts! She'd been having
a time for sure. Herself had put a wet ice bandage on the woman's head
and a hot-water bag to her feet, and she was a-laying her hands, her own
pretty, soft, little, white, trembling hands, to her awful shoes, but
says _I_:
"'You _stop_! Don't you tech her!'
"'I must,' says she; 'they're soaked.'
"'Don't you see what's the matter of her?' say I. 'She's dead drunk!'
"I reckoned she'd deny it. Not a bit. 'I suppose so,' says she; 'that's
why I wouldn't let them call the amberlance.'
"'And do you mean to keep her _here_?' says I. 'That drunken rubbish?'
"Well, she does; she was awful sorry for the trouble to us, but the
woman fell down at her door, and she was in dire misery, and Miss Mercy
she felt she had _got_ to take her in. My word, Miss Patsy, I had to
shet my teeth a minute to keep back my feelings, but every word I said
was: 'I guess you better move that other bed out and then you can _burn_
this one!' Heavens, I ain't going to describe the next hour till the
doctor come. Now, she's laying comfortable in the doctor's gown, in that
nice clean bed, and I've made her chicken broth and mustard plasters and
everything else for her comfort.
"When the doctor come, she said, 'This goes the limit,' and then she bit
off the rest and swallered it and said, 'We'll have to scrub her.' And
we did--with washing powder and scouring soap. I hope it hurt, but I'm
'fraid it didn't."
"How does Nellie take it?"
The sorely tried Mrs. Biff grinned. "'Tis that keeps me from quite
sinking; she is most dretful horrified and vowing she's going to leave."
However, Nellie did not go; it was the castaway whom they had succored
who awoke in her right mind before any one was stirring the next
morning, clothed herself, for lack of her own rags (which were airing in
the back yard), in a decent brown dress, cloak and hat of the doctor's
from the guest-room closet, put on the doctor's large, serviceable
boots, and gathering the loose silver and three one-dollar banknotes
left in Katy's cash box, otherwise her "cup" from the pantry shelf,
departed into the unknown nether world from whence she came.
"And a mercy she didn't murder us in our beds!" opined Nellie; "maybe
she will yet!"
Nellie's prophecy appeared less grotesque the following week when her
young man, Phil, by Christian name--I did not come to know his
surname--discovered at the police station or the engine house (he
frequenting both places in his wealth of leisure) that the castaway had
escaped from a quarantined house full of smallpox, in a little hamlet
near by. Here was a situation! Nellie vowed she wouldn't sleep a wink
were she Mrs. Kane or Amos, particularly Amos, because colored folk took
naturally to smallpox.
Amos only grinned; but Mrs. Kane was palpably nervous and began
inquiring into symptoms of what Nellie termed "the dread disease."
Presently she was feeling them faithfully. And Katy shrugged the
shoulder of scorn. But scorn turned into consternation by Monday, for
an agitated neighbor came to the front door to announce that Mrs. Kane
was sick in bed with an awful fever and broke out terrible, and would
the doctor please step over there.
"And all the clothes in the suds!" sighed Katy. "But that's nothing.
Poor Miss Mercy! she's almost out of her mind; she says that _she's_ to
blame; she's brought smallpox on that innocent woman, and most like
she'll die; and if she hadn't been so wicked and headstrong and had
listened to her friend (she didn't name nobody, but I know she means
young Gordon) and her sister, it wouldn't have happened; she hadn't even
helped the woman who fetched the smallpox; she'd only tempted her to
crime! And what should she say to poor Mrs. Bateman? Nobody wanted to
rent her home to be a pest-house. And she'd set the house afire by
hiring an ignorant man--Oh, she was a wicked girl! Her aunty often told
her she was a fool, and oh, why hadn't she believed her and not tried to
do things too big for her senseless head? And she's been fairly crying
her eyes out. The poor, sweet, humble-minded little thing!"
Poor little Mercy! But I was to pity her much more during the succeeding
ten minutes. Amos came out to the barberry hedge to tell our cook that
Miss Mercy was in bed and he 'lowed she'd smallpox. He was off in
pursuit of the doctor, who was at Mrs. Kane's who'd got a fearful bad
case. Hardly was Amos out of sight than Nellie, in her cheap imitation
of the latest fashion of big hat, dashed out of the gate after the
street car. So do rats desert the sinking ship, I thought. Straightway I
went over to the house. Katy herself answered the bell. She was in two
minds about ejecting me by force, but she softened when I recalled to
her how recently I had been vaccinated.
"Well, Miss Patsy, that's _so_," she admitted, "and besides, I ain't
absolutely sure _'tis_ smallpox. But she'd a kinder chill and I wouldn't
let her come down-stairs. Say, you don't happen to have seen Nellie
anywhere?"
When I told her, she drew a long sigh. We were standing at the side
door, where a great Norway fir shakes its blue-green shadows.
"'Tis like her," said Katy bitterly, "and only yesterday Miss Mercy gave
her sech a pretty waist. And now she's run off and Miss Mercy's got the
smallpox--mebbe. Well, I dunno as it's as dangerous as Alterruria, and
mebbe one will cure the other--Oh, _say_! Look, Miss Patsy!"
I looked. They came in a kind of rush with the flutter of brilliant
autumn leaves, swirling around the house corner--Nellie and young Ralph
Gordon. Nellie's cheeks were blazing, but young Gordon looked white and
stern.
"Why, Nellie Small, ain't you run away?" cried Katy.
Before Nellie could retort, the young gentleman took the limelight.
"Where is Miss Mercy?" he demanded in that tone of voice which the
novelists call "tense;" "I must say a few words to her. You can let me
say them through the door, if you wish, Mrs. Biff."
Katy hardly considered; her eyes shone into his masterful face. She
turned on her heel and he followed her. Instantly Nellie's excitement
found burning words: "I _heard_ her, Miss McFarlin! She thinks I ran
away! _Me!_ Well, I know she has a mean opinion of me, but I didn't
expect she'd be that unjust. I'm jest as fond of Miss Mercy as she is;
I only sprinted down the street to ketch her young man, because I know
they had a misunderstanding, and I was sure, no matter how mad he was,
the minute I told him, he'd come a-running, and whether they let her see
him or not, it would cheer her up a whole lot to know he tried. And as
for Mrs. Biff's pitying Miss Mercy and finding fault with her, _I_ can
tell you she's made me believe things Mrs. Biff nor nobody else could if
she offered me the kingdom of heaven and a chromo! I never believed
before rich folks _could_ be like her. I don't know what that Altrury of
hers is, but if _she_ believes in it _I'm_ going to; and so is Phil, and
he's going to make them stop the strike, too; and it's a whole lot
because of what she's said and what I've said 'bout her. It is, for
fair!"
Thereupon Nellie burst into tears, and disappeared behind the kitchen
lattice.
Later, some hours later, I had a chance to tell Katy. But it was then no
news to her. She shook her philosophic head. "'Lightning and grace,'
Biff used to say, 'you can't noways bet on, for there's no manner of
knowing _where_ they'll strike.' Now that Nellie, she fairly bu'st into
Miss Mercy's room, me being busy seeing Mr. Gordon safe outer the
house; and I expected to find she'd riz Miss Mercy's temperature; but
she'd most cured her instid; and Miss Mercy she set up and laffed out
loud. And she ain't got smallpox, neither, not a bit; no more'n that
ijit Sallie Kane, who's down with German measles and nothing wuss. I
guess we was all more scared than hurt. But it beats all about
Nellie--well, I want to be fair to all, she's been doing the sweeping
better for a good while. All I say is, if Alterruria can convert Nellie
Small there must be something decent in Alterruria."
"I wish it might convert all of us--a _little_," said I. "I'm afraid I'm
not enlightened enough to desire entire conversion; it would demand a
new incarnation!"
THROUGH THE TERRORS OF THE LAW
A STORY OF ARKANSAS
Sist' Esmeralda Humphreys was not present at the meeting of Zion
Hard-shell Baptist Church. It is questionable whether there had been any
such meeting had she been likely to attend, since how to dispense with
the ministry of Sister Humphreys was its object, and the sister was a
woman of power. But she had gone to the store for her semi-annual
settlement of account. Therefore the disaffected in Zion raised their
heads, perceiving that their hour was come.
The "church-house" (of a week-day the school-house) crowned a gentle
rise of ground on the outskirts of an Arkansas plantation. It was backed
by the great gum forests, where the sun rose, while on one side, winding
toward the reddening evening skies, the cypress slash had eaten its way
through the brown clay to the Black River. Full of mystery and uncanny
beauty was the slash, its sluggish gleam of water creeping darkly under
solemn cypresses and monstrous hackberry-trees, tinseled with cow-lilies
in summer, spattered with blood-red berries in winter, green with
delicate beauty when the cypress is in leaf, or gray and softly brown
when its short-lived foliage falls. Did one care to deal in mystical
analogy, one might find in the slash suggestions of the African's
undeveloped soul, where brute and child still battle for mastery.
It was a school-house for children of the darker race only, and only
negroes were in the little band whose hymns penetrated the wide sweep of
cotton-fields, the weird African cadences wilder and more mournful than
the hoot-owl's oboe keening in the forest. To-night the house was but
sparsely filled by the regular worshipers, Zion congregation proper.
Brother Zubaeel Morrow presided, because he had once attended a district
Republican convention, where he had imbibed parliamentary lore.
"Dis meetin' will please come to ordah," he announced; "is you-all ready
fo' de question?"
"W' are question, Bruddah Morrow?" called out a brother in the rear
seats.
"Bruddah Carroll, you is out of ordah. Whenst I git in dis cheer an take
dis gabble,"--he extended the hatchet used, before its promotion, to
chop kindling,--"take notice, I is de _Cheer_; you-all is to 'dress me
as 'Mist' Cheerman.' You is axin' 'bout de question: de question is,
Shall Sist' Esmereldy Humphreys continner to usu'p de rights of we-alls
pastor? Ain't dat the onderstandin' of dis here awjence?"
Signs of approval and assent came from the audience. The chairman,
rising, took the attitude of the white speaker whom he had admired most
at the convention, plunging one hand into the bosom of his
coat--buttoned for that purpose--and gazing solemnly about him. All the
colored population of the country-side were proud of the school-house,
which was painted a neat lead color as to wood-work and brown as to
walls; with red lettering done by a member who had followed the
painter's trade (although not very far), declaring piously on the west
wall, "The Lord will provide," and politely requesting on the east wall,
"Please do not spit on the floor." A stately blackboard behind the
teacher's desk showed her excellent moral sentiments and penmanship.
There was no carpet on the floor, but it was clean and the windows
glistened.
"Dis yere school-house, dis yere chu'ch-house, are a credit to de cullud
ladies an' gen'l'men of Zion Baptis' Chu'ch," declaimed Brother Morrow,
sonorously, "an' we-all had orter have a pastor who w'u'd--we'd
correspond. I ain't sayin' one word of disparaguement of our late
deseased pastor. He be'n a good, pious man" ("Amen!" from two half-grown
lads in the rear), "but he had a terrible sight of losses an' troubles,
losin' all of his chillen like he done; an' him sick such a spell befo'
de Lawd called him f'om grace to glory. Mabbe he didn't be'n eloquent
like the supply we had, but Elder W'ite had nare right to git Sist' Lucy
Tompkins to run 'way wid 'im, f'om 'er good, kin', respectable husban'"
(a little crumpled, elderly negro raised his head with an air of modest
pride), "an' he done borry two dollars an' fifty cents of de cheer dat I
don't expec' nothin' of ontwel de jedgment day! So w'en our pastor
passed away we'all was like sheep outen a shepherd; an' we'en Sist'
Humphreys done offah to keep de' chu'ch-house clean an' cyah on de
services of Zion, an' make no cha'ges, we-all acceptid."
"Mist' Cheerman,"--a grizzled negro in decent black held up a
finger,--"Mist' Cheerman, was hit Sist' Humphreys keep dis 'ouse dis
away?"
"Yes, Bruddah Moore; she are a right good scrubber," admitted the
chairman, while the congregation stared at the speaker, the richest
colored man in the county, who had moved into the neighborhood recently,
this being his first appearance in Zion.
"Fo' a spell," continued the chairman, "t'ings went on suspiciously
enough. Sist' Humphreys be'n an edicated lady; an' she is a plumb good
cook. Her preachin' didn't be'n whut we-all air longin' to heah; nare
shakin' of de soul ovah de mouf of hell, nare mo'nin', nare revivals;
but we hilt our peace, an' Zion attendid regular, an' las' socherable
gatherin' there be'n nigh a hunderd, big an' little, presint--"
"And she gave us all cake and candy and lemonade with ice in it!" a
woman's mellow voice called out.
The heads of the congregation went round in the direction of the voice,
and a large number of rolling black eyes stared at the school-teacher,
whose comely brown face showed that deepening of tint which is the same
as an Anglo-Saxon's blush. "Teacher" had been educated at Tuskegee and
was suspected of being "biggity."
The chairman gave her a gloomy nod. "No doubt, my sistah, no doubt
hankerin' ayfter de flesh-pots of Egypt done fotch _some_ po' sinnahs t'
de altar. I ain't complainin' of de carnil an' carniferous food she done
give us, but of de spitichul nu'ishment. I nev' did see a mo'ner rollin'
on dis flo' w'ilst Sist Humphreys be'n yere. We-all be'n thirstin' an'
famishin' fo' a good ol'-time revival. But we enjured ontwel one day de
glory come on Br'er Pope, an' he hollered,--tryin' to lif' us all
up,--Amen! Amen! Let de sinner quit sinnin' an' he _shill_ be saved!'
An' dat ar woman she call out: 'Yes; _let_ 'im quit sinnin'! Let 'im
quit sellin' of aigs to de sto' w'en he don't be keepin' only one hen!'
Dat ar remark incinerated false an' wicked notions 'bout Unc' Alick
Pope, who lives nigh de cunnel's chicken-yard." (A solitary giggle
from the shoolmistress.) "She done fa'ly r'ar an' charge 'bout
chicken-stealin'. Dat ain't promote edderfication nor good feelin'."
(Groans of assent from a deeply interested audience.) "But nex'
Sabbath come wuss. She done announce she be'n 'lowin' to preach us a
serious discourse on de Ten Commandmints. Well, we-all done look dem
commandmints up an' study on dem a heap. We felt tol'able secure on de
Fust an' Second, she lumpin' dem togedder fo' one out at preachin'; an'
we sat back easy, hopin' fo' grace an' true religion; but she jes slued
roun' on to conjure-cha'ms an' such, invagin' ag'in' dem twell we got
all de devotional feelin' plumb squoze outen us. Third Commandmint we
natchelly didn't expec' no harm of; but ayfter de fust godly words 'bout
profane sw'arin', ef she didn't git on to false sw'arin' befo' the gran'
jury, 'bout crap-shootin', en git us all terrible oncomfortable. Nex'
command she didn't be'n sound on, sayin' a heap 'bout washin' up in tubs
Sattiddy nights, an' tew little 'bout de spitichul ovservation of the
holy day; an' come down hard on a respectid brother who sayd once, 'I
isn't to wash in winter'; an' sayd bad wuds 'bout sisters dat went
visitin' Sattiddy evenin's, stidder washin' up ready fo' de holy day;
sayd some sisters nev' did wash de po' little tricks' shirts, jes' taken
a new flour-sack an' cut holes in it. She talked like dat ontwel it be'n
right ondecent and onchristian; an' one sister dat's subjec' to fits
providenchelly done t'rowed one an' bruk up de meetin'. But we-all
sorter done spunk up on de Fif' Commandmint; looked lak _hit_ be'n sho'
harmliss; an' we done fotch de chillen to learn deir juty to deir
parents. Well, dey sho' _got_ it! But den she done scorched de parents
mightily 'bout de 'zample dey be'n bleeged to set de chillen. Dat ar
be'n a fearful, sufferin' hour, an' I nev' did see dis yere congregation
so dry an' havin' to git out de pump so often. Dey went by whole
famblies; an' befo' she be'n frow mighty nigh ever' las' chil' b'en
taken outside. We didn't _dast_ let 'em see frow it." (Groans all over
the house.) "She nigh bust de chu'ch on de Sixth Commandmint wid
outrageous rema'ks on _razors_. An' nex' Sunday comes de Seventh
Commandmint, an' we ain't nowise willin to enjure her handlin' of _dat_,
nohow." (Deep groans of assent from brothers and sisters alike.) "Nor de
Eight', neider." ("No, _no_!" from the seat of Uncle Alexander Pope.)
"Wust is, de ongodly outside, de Methodists an' de cullud folks from de
Ridge, is fixin' to come over an' see we-all ripped up. De chu'ch house
be'n plumb full ever' Sabbath, an' we-all don' dast stay 'way, not
knowin' what scandillous stories will be circulated." ("Dat's so!"
"Holp, Lord!" from earnest souls in the audience.) "An' de chu'ch is
losin' of members. Bruddah Dan Williams done moved away." ("No, sah, no,
he ain't; he b'en sent to de pen!") "I didn't say how come he moved,
Brudder Carroll; he are _gone_. Unc' Jim Hollis done 'bandon his crop.
Aunt Caledonia Ray lef' las' week 'count of injur'us reflections 'bout a
mince pie she done mix up by mistake wid de week's wash she taken fum de
big house. We done pled wid Sist' Humphreys to quit; but she won't quit.
Now de question am: How shill we git saved f'om Sist' Humphreys an' git
a preacher will preach religion--_an' nuffin else_?"
Amid a deep hum of applause Brother Morrow sat down. Half a dozen voices
begged for attention; but the chair recognized Sister Susannah Belle
Coffin. Sister Susannah was of exceeding comeliness and a light-brown
complexion. If report spake truly, there was no one in Zion who had more
reason to dread a fearless and minute exposition of the demands of the
Seventh Commandment. She had started her career as a destroyer of
domestic peace with a capital of good looks, a gift for cookery, a voice
of silver, and two small unpremeditated children. "A single pussen like
me wid two chillen," would be her plaintive excuse for demanding the
good offices of the brothers in cutting wood or "palin' in her gyardin";
and too often, under the spell of Susannah's eyes and Susannah's voice
and Susannah's cooking, the end of an innocent neighborly kindness was a
jealous wife and a "parting." Sometimes Susannah wedded the departing
husband, sometimes she flouted him; but steadily, single or wedded,
Susannah's little garden-plot grew more beautiful, Susannah's kitchen
range accumulated a more dazzling array of tin and copper, and
Susannah's best room was more splendidly bedecked with curtains,
pillow-shams, and a gilt mirror.
At present speaking, the dark enchantress was the lawful wedded wife of
the young blacksmith, and the whole plantation had admired to see her
enter the holy estate in white Swiss muslin and a voluminous veil which
she utilized, later, as a window-curtain. She now inquired with much
pleasing modesty of mien: "I jes want to ask, Mist' Cheerman, how're
we-all to git Sist' Humphreys to go if she don' wanter?"
Sighs, allied to groans, bore testimony that she had voiced the
forebodings of the audience. But a visiting brother who had the courage
of his non-residence, came to the front; he suggested that a letter be
sent to the sister, announcing the sense of the meeting, saying that the
congregation was not edified by her ministrations and that the
church-house would be closed until a new pastor had been selected.
"De motion, as de cheer un'erstands it, are to dismiss Sist' Esmeraldy
Humphreys an' shet de do's on her," said the chairman. "Is--what is it,
Sist' Macklin?"
He spoke kindly, and the woman whom he addressed seemed in need of
kindness, since she was trembling visibly. She was a little creature in
the pathetic compromise for mourning which poverty makes with grief--her
accustomed winter jacket of brown, but with a somber garnishment of
crape, black ribbons on her old gray hat, and a black border to her
handkerchief.
The congregation looked at her, pityingly, as she began in the
high-pitched voice of the unaccustomed speaker:
"Bruddah Morrow--I mean Bruddah Cheerman, I are right mortified Sist'
Humphreys done chastice you all; but I jest got to b'ar my testimony
you-all are mistaken 'bout her bein' crool. Oh, dear bruddahs an'
sistahs, she ain't! You-all knows my--my boy"--she choked over the word,
and the hearers waited in mute and awkward compassion, because her boy,
the last of her children, had been hanged at the little county-seat only
a month before for the murder of his wife--"my boy w'u'dn't repent; he
w'u'dn't do nuffin but cuss de woman dat fotch him dar an' den nebber so
much look at him. I spen' ever' las' cent I had on earth to try git him
off, an' I taken de jail wash, I did, to be nigh 'im an' mabbe git him a
bite like he's uster to eat; but he w'u'dn't paht lips wid me; sayd I
be'n a good mudder to him, but he didn't want to h'ar me beggin' an'
pleadin' wid 'im to repent an' make peace wid God. Oh, I did be'n in de
brack water, wadin' _deep_! Look laak I c'u'dn't enjure hit nohow. I
reckon I does nebber be able to see so well 'cause I cry so stiddy dem
days. An' all de cry of my po' ol' hairt be'n, 'O Lawd, I don' no mo' ax
you to save his life, but, O Lawd, _don'_ let 'im die cussin'! Fotch 'im
'ome! I kin b'ar hit to have 'im go, if he sho' goes whar he kin be good
an' be happy an' be safe; fo' I does know dat boy nev' did aim to be
mean.' An' w'en my hairt be'n broke wid longin' an' mis'ry, Sist'
Humphreys she come. She done holp me all fru; an' now she went to my
boy; he _hatter_ see her. I don' know w'at she say; but she come back to
me an' say, 'Praise God, dat po' sinnah hab foun' peace an' joy--an' he
want his mudder!' An' I did come. An' he putt his po' haid on my knees
jes lak w'en he be'n a li'le boy an' uster laff 'bout de big
kin'lin'-pile he allers keep fo' his mammy. An' Sist' Humphreys, some
way she git dem jailer-men be so kin' an' tender to 'im, lak I cayn't
noways tell. An' he did die happy. De Lawd sustain him, an' he sustain
me. Blessed be de name of de Lawd, an' blessed be dat 'oman dat is his
ministah!"
She sank down in her seat and wept quietly, while the impressionable
African temperament sent forth pious ejaculations: "Holp, Lawd!" "Fotch
comfort!" "Bless de mo'nahs!" The schoolmistress was in tears, and the
stalwart young man near her openly wiped his eyes. Brother Moore bent
his brows; even Brother Morrow winked hard: but Sister Susannah's
emotion was most in evidence; she was sobbing violently into a
pink-embroidered handkerchief. Presently she rose to her feet. Now
Susannah was the woman who had lured the wretched murderer through a
brutal passion to a brutal crime, and the eyes of the congregation were
focused upon her.
"Bruddahs, sistahs," said Susannah, in her wonderful voice, with its
chords of plaintive music, which made her hearers grin out of sheer
emotion, "I nev' did aim to do dat po' young man hurt; but he sayd
t'ings to me, t'ings"--she sighed and hung her head--"he hadn't orter
have sayd, him bein' a married man; an' I be'n right mad at him, an' I
own up I done him right onchristian an' onmussiful, for I didn't show no
sympathy or even go see 'm hanged. Now, I do repent. But it ain't nare
preachin' of Sist' Humphreys done give me a brokin an' a contrary hairt.
Her scorchin' don' make me mo'n. Hit cakes up my hairt. She nev' did
have one single revival. Rev. Bulkely of de Ridge he does have a mighty
big one ever' spring; you kin hear de screeches 'mos' a mile! He tol' me
hisse'f he w'u'd be willin' to minister a spell to dis sorely tried
flock, an', mo'-ovah, he tol' me dat we-all _c'u'dn't_ have Sist'
Humphreys nor no woman preach to us; for it be'n ag'in' de rule of de
Baptis' Chu'ch. Hit be'n forbid. We cayn't be Baptis' an' keep Sist'
Humphreys."
With meek grace Susannah resumed her seat and the sheltering support of
the blacksmith's arm. She had won. Now that a way of escape was
opened,--a way, moreover, ending in a dazzling vista of a "big
revival,"--no sympathy for the Widow Macklin could induce Zion to face
the fiery chariots of the Seventh Commandment driven by Sister
Humphreys.
In spite of the schoolmistress' eloquence and the stumbling speech of
two boys who tried to tell that Sister Humphreys had done a heap for
them, when the vote was put, only six of the forty-eight persons present
voted to retain the preacher. Brother Moore declined to vote.
Susannah watched the downcast faces of Sister Humphreys' supporters
through her half-shut eyes and smiled her languid, mysterious smile.
But of a sudden one of the two striplings who had spoken for Sister
Humphreys left his place by the window and ran to the door.
With instant premonition of peril, the flock of Zion turned on the
benches. A deep intake of breath signified their dismay as there entered
a tall brown woman in widow's weeds. She cast a calm, full eye over the
faces under the lamplights--faces already stricken awry with fear; for,
notwithstanding their numbers and apparent strength of position, dread
of the pastor insisted, as light insists through closed eyelids.
Sister Humphreys walked with no pause to the platform. Brother Morrow
was so short a man and she was so tall a woman that her handsome head
towered above his. She was a brown negro, but her lighter color and her
regular features and thinner, more sensitive lips were due to no
admixture of white blood; they came from a dash of the yellow races
mixed long before her time in the Old World, where her ancestors were
barbaric princes. She stood with the incomparable grace that is given
sometimes to the bearer of burdens, tall, erect, shapely. She spoke in a
mellow rich voice not raised a note above its speaking tone.
"Is this heah a meetin'?" gently interrogated Sister Humphreys of
Brother Morrow, "or have you-all done aju'ned?"
"We done aju'ned, sistah," Brother Morrow replied quickly, flinching
from a possible trap.