"They are very attentive to us here," remarked the doctor, as one after
another of Harry's personal friends paid their respects, for his sake,
to the old couple at No. 20. "Very attentive, and yet, Mis. Hall, I only
practiced physic in this town six months, five years ago. It is really
astonishing how long a good physician will be remembered," and the
doctor crossed his legs comfortably, and tapped on his snuff-box.
"Ruth's brother, Hyacinth, leaves before the funeral, doctor," said the
old lady. "I suppose you see through _that_. He intends to be off and
out of the way, before the time comes to decide where Ruth shall put her
head, after Harry is buried; and there's her father, just like him; he
has been as uneasy as an eel in a frying-pan, ever since he came, and
this morning _he_ went off, without asking a question about Harry's
affairs. I suppose he thinks it is _our_ business, and he owning bank
stock. I tell you, doctor, that Ruth may go a-begging, for all the help
she'll get from _her_ folks."
"Or from me, either," said the doctor, thrusting his thumbs into the
arm-holes of his vest, and striding across the room. "She has been a
spoiled baby long enough; she will find earning her living a different
thing from sitting with her hands folded, with Harry chained to her
feet."
"What did you do with that bottle of old wine, Mis. Hall, which I told
you to bring out of Harry's room? He never drank but one glass of it,
after that gentleman sent it to him, and we might as well have it as to
let those lazy waiters drink it up. There were two or three bunches of
grapes, too, he didn't eat; you had better take them, too, while you are
about it."
"Well, it don't seem, after all, as if Harry was dead," said the doctor,
musingly; "but the Lord's will be done. Here comes your dress-maker,
Mis. Hall."
* * * * *
"Good afternoon, ma'am, good afternoon, sir," said Miss Skinlin, with
a doleful whine, drawing down the corners of her mouth and eyes to
suit the occasion. "Sad affliction you've met with. As our minister
says, 'man is like the herb of the field; blooming to-day, withered
to-morrow.' Life is short: will you have your dress gathered or
biased, ma'am?"
"Quite immaterial," said the old lady, anxious to appear indifferent;
"though you may as well, I suppose, do it the way which is worn the
most."
"Well, some likes it one way, and then again, some likes it another. The
doctor's wife in the big, white house yonder--do you know the doctor's
wife, ma'am?"
"No," said the old lady.
"Nice folks, ma'am; open-handed; never mind my giving 'em back the
change, when they pay me. _She_ was a Skefflit. Do you know the
Skefflits? Possible? why they are our first folks. Well, la, where was
I? Oh! the doctor's wife has _her_ gowns biased; but then she's getting
fat, and wants to look slender. I'd advise you to have yourn gathered.
Dreadful affliction you've met with, ma'am. Beautiful corpse your son
is. I always look at corpses to remind me of my latter end. Some corpses
keep much longer than others; don't you think so, ma'am? They tell me
your son's wife is most crazy, because they doted on one another so."
The doctor and his wife exchanged meaning looks.
"_Do tell?_" said Miss Skinlin, dropping her shears. "Well, I never!
'How desaitful the heart is,' as our minister says. Why, everybody about
here took 'em for regular turtle-doves."
"'All is not gold that glitters,'" remarked the old lady. "There is
many a heart-ache that nobody knows anything about, but He who made the
heart. In my opinion our son was not anxious to continue in this world
of trial longer."
"You don't?" said Miss Skinlin. "Pious?"
"_Certainly_," said the doctor. "Was he not _our_ son? Though, since his
marriage, his wife's influence was very worldly."
"Pity," whined Miss Skinlin; "professors should let their light shine.
_I_ always try to drop a word in season, wherever business calls _me_.
Will you have a cross-way fold on your sleeve, ma'am? I don't think it
would be out of place, even on this mournful occasion. Mrs. Tufts wore
one when her eldest child died, and she was dreadful grief-stricken. I
remember she gave me (poor dear!) a five-dollar note, instead of a two;
but that was a thing I hadn't the heart to harass her about at such a
time. I respected her grief too much, ma'am. Did I understand you that
I was to put the cross-way folds on your sleeve, ma'am?"
"You may do as you like," whined the old lady; "people _do_ dress more
at hotels."
"Yes," said Miss Skinlin; "and I often feel reproved for aiding
and abetting such foolish vanities; and yet, if I refused, from
conscientious scruples, to trim dresses, I suppose somebody else
_would_; so you see, it wouldn't do any good. Your daughter-in-law is
left rich, I suppose. I always think that's a great consolation to a
bereaved widow."
"You needn't _suppose_ any such thing," said the doctor, facing Miss
Skinlin; "she hasn't the first red cent."
"Dreadful!" shrieked Miss Skinlin. "What _is_ she going to do?"
"That tells the whole story," said the doctor; "sure enough, what _is_
she going to do?"
"I suppose she'll live with _you_," said Miss Skinlin, suggestively.
"You needn't suppose _that_, either," retorted the doctor. "It isn't
every person, Miss Skinlin, who is agreeable enough to be taken into
one's house; besides, she has got folks of her own."
"Oh,--ah!"--said Miss Skinlin; "rich?"
"Yes, very," said the doctor; "unless some of their poor relatives turn
up, in which case, they are always dreadfully out of pocket."
"I un-der-stand," said Miss Skinlin, with a significant nod. "Well; I
don't see anything left for her to do, but to earn her living, like some
other folks."
"P-r-e-c-i-s-e-l-y," said the doctor.
"Oh--ah,"--said Miss Skinlin, who had at last possessed herself of "the
whole story."
"I forgot to ask you how wide a hem I should allow on your black crape
veil," said Miss Skinlin, tying on her bonnet to go. "Half a yard width
is not considered too much for the _deepest_ affliction. Your daughter,
the widow, will probably have that width," said the crafty dress-maker.
"In my opinion, Ruth is in no deeper affliction than we are," said the
doctor, growing very red in the face; "although she makes more fuss
about it; so you may just make the hem of Mis. Hall's veil half-yard
deep too, and send the bill into No. 20, where it will be footed by
Doctor Zekiel Hall, who is not in the habit of ordering what he can't
pay for. _That_ tells the whole story."
"Good morning," said Miss Skinlin, with another doleful whine. "May the
Lord be your support, and let the light of His countenance shine upon
you, as our minister says."