MRS. PARLEY GIMP.
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley."
BURNS.
Kinnicott had got an enormous deal to talk about. The excitement of the
great fire, and the curiosity and astonishment concerning Miss Gartney's
share in the events of that memorable night had hardly passed into the
quietude of things discussed to death and laid away, unwillingly, in
their graves, when all this that had happened at Cross Corners poured
itself, in a flood of wonder, upon the little community.
Not all, quite, at once, however. Faith's engagement was not, at first,
spoken of publicly. There was no need, in this moment of their common
sorrow, to give their names to the little world about them, for such
handling as it might please. Yet the little world found plenty to say,
and a great many plans to make for them, none the less.
Miss Henderson's so long unsuspected, and apparently brief illness, her
sudden death, and the very singular will whose provisions had somehow
leaked out, as matters of the sort always do, made a stir and ferment in
the place, and everybody felt bound to arrive at some satisfactory
conclusion which should account for all, and to get a clear idea of what
everybody immediately concerned would do, or ought, in the
circumstances, to do next, before they--the first everybodies--could eat
and sleep, and go comfortably about their own business again, in the
ordinary way.
They should think Mr. Gartney would dispute the will. It couldn't be a
very hard matter, most likely, to set it aside. All that farm, and the
Old Homestead, and her money in the bank, going to that Glory McWhirk!
Why, it was just ridiculous. The old lady must have been losing her
faculties. One thing was certain, anyway. The minister was out of a
boarding place again. So that question came up, in all its intricate
bearings, once more.
This time Mrs. Gimp struck, while, as she thought, the iron was hot.
Mr. Parley Gimp met Mr. Armstrong, one morning, in the village street,
and waylaid him to say that "his good lady thought she could make room
for him in their family, if it was so that he should be looking out for
a place to stay at."
Mr. Armstrong thanked him; but, for the present, he was to remain at
Cross Corners.
"At the Old House?"
"No, sir. At Mr. Gartney's."
The iron was cold, after all.
Mrs. Parley Gimp called, one day, a week or two later, when the minister
was out. A visit of sympathetic scrutiny.
"Yes, it was a great loss, certainly. But then, at her age, you know,
ma'am! We must all expect these things. It was awfully sudden, to be
sure. Must have been a terrible shock. Was her mind quite clear at the
last, ma'am?"
"Perfectly. Clear, and calm, and happy, through it all."
"That's very pleasant to think of now, I'm sure. But I hear she's made a
very extraordinary arrangement about the property. You can't tell,
though, to be sure, about all you hear, nowadays."
"No, Mrs. Gimp. That is very true," said Mrs. Gartney.
"Everybody always expected that it would all come to you. At least, to
your daughter. She seemed to make so much of her."
"My daughter is quite satisfied, and we for her."
"Well, I must say!--and so Mr. Armstrong is to board here, now? A little
out of the way of most of the parish, isn't it? I never could see,
exactly, what put it into his head to come so far. Not but what he makes
out to do his duty as a pastor, pretty prompt, too. I don't hear any
complaints. He's rather off and on about settling, though. I guess he's
a man that keeps his intentions pretty close to himself--and all his
affairs, for that matter. Of course he's a perfect right to. But I will
say I like to know all about folks from the beginning. It aggravates me
to have to begin in the middle. I tell Serena, it's just like reading a
book when the first volume's lost. I don't suppose I'm _much_ more
curious than other people; but I _should_ like to know just how old he
is, for one thing; and who his father and mother were; and where he came
from in the first place, and what he lives on, for 'tain't our salary, I
know that; he's given away more'n half of it a'ready--right here in the
village. I've said to my husband, forty times, if I've said it once, 'I
declare, I've a great mind to ask him myself, straight out, just to see
what he'll say.'"
"And why not?" asked a voice, pleasantly, behind her.
Mr. Armstrong had come in, unheard by the lady in her own rush of words,
and had approached too near, as this suddenly ceased, to be able to
escape again unnoticed.
Mis' Battis told Luther Goodell afterwards, that she "jest looked in
from the next room, at that, and if ever a woman felt cheap--all
over--and as if she hadn't a right to her own toes and fingers, and as
if every thread and stitch on her turned mean, all at once--it was Mrs.
Gimp, that minit!"
"Has Faith returned?" Mr. Armstrong asked, of Mrs. Gartney, after a
little pause in which Mrs. Gimp showed no disposition to develop into
deed her forty-times declared "great mind."
"I think not. She said she would remain an hour or two with Glory, and
help her to arrange those matters she came in, this morning, to ask us
about."
"I will walk over."
And the minister took his hat again, and with a bow to the two ladies,
passed out, and across the lane.
"Faith!" ejaculated the village matron, her courage and her mind to
meddle returning. "Well, that's intimate!"
It might as well be done now, as at any time. Mr. Armstrong, himself,
had heedlessly precipitated the occasion. It had only been, among them,
a question of how and when. There was nothing to conceal.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Gartney, quietly. "They will be married by and by."
"Did she go out the door, ma'am? Or has she melted down into the carpet?
'Cause, I _have_ heerd of people sinkin' right through the floor," said
Mis' Battis, who "jest looked in" a second time, as the bewildered
visitor receded.
* * * * *
The pleasant autumn months, mellowing and brightening all things, seemed
also to soften and gild their memories of the life that had ended,
ripely and beautifully, among them.
Glory, after the first overwhelm of astonishment at what had befallen
her--made fully to understand that which she had a right, and was in
duty bound to do--entered upon the preparations for her work with the
same unaffected readiness with which she would have done the bidding of
her living mistress. It was so evident that her true humbleness was
untouched by all. "It's beautiful!" and the tears and smiles would come
together as she said it. "But then, Miss Faith--Mr. Armstrong! I never
can do any of it unless you help me!"
Faith and Mr. Armstrong did help with heart and hand, and every word of
counsel that she needed.
"I must buy some cotton and calico, and make some little clothes and
tyers. Hadn't I better? When they come, I'll have them to take care of."
And with the loving anticipation of a mother, she made up, and laid
away, Faith helping her in all, her store of small apparel for little
ones that were to come.
She had gone down, one day, to Mishaumok, and found out Bridget Foye, at
the old number in High Street. And to her she had intrusted the care of
looking up the children--to be not less than five, and not more than
eight or nine years of age--who should be taken to live with her at
"Miss Henderson's home," and "have a good time every day."
"I must get them here before Christmas," said Glory to her friends. "We
must hang their stockings all up by the great kitchen chimney, and put
sugarplums and picture books in!"
She was going back eagerly into her child life--rather into the life her
childhood wist of, but missed--and would live it all over, now, with
these little ones, taken already, before even they were seen or found,
out of their strangerhood into her great, kindly heart!
A plain, capable, motherly woman had been obtained, by Mr. Armstrong's
efforts and inquiry, who would live with Glory as companion and
assistant. There was the dairy work to be carried on, still. This, and
the hay crops, made the principal income of the Old Farm. A few fields
were rented for cultivation.
"Just think," cried Glory when the future management of these matters
was talked of, "what it will be to see the little things let out
a-rolling in the new hay!"
Her thoughts passed so entirely over herself, as holder and arbiter of
means, to the good--the daily little joy--that was to come, thereby, to
others!
When all was counted and calculated, they told her that she might safely
venture to receive, in the end, six children. But that, for the present,
four would perhaps be as many as it would be wise for her to undertake.
"You know best," she said, "and I shall do whatever you say. But I don't
feel afraid--any more, that is, for taking six than four. I shall just
do for them all the time, whether or no."
"And what if they are bad and troublesome, Glory?"
"Oh, they won't be," she replied. "I shall love them so!"