When we entered the house, we heard voices in the parlour, and found our
governess there, superintending Mary Ellen at work. Mary Ellen was
carefully brushing and dusting the plumage of the stuffed birds.
I stared with a new interest at those feathered members of our household,
who held themselves so coldly aloof from the rest of us; asking neither
gift of chickweed nor of sugar, disdaining the very air we breathed. Who
knew but that yonder sad-eyed hawk had helped to tear the student!
"Piecemeal" the cobbler's word for it--one could picture him with some
bloody fragment, shooting straight upward, his wide pinions spread.
Mrs. Handsomebody was speaking in a complaining way to Angel.
"A shilling! 'Tis ridiculous. For such a paltry piece of work. I shall go
around that way when we take our walk and protest against such extortion. I
said sixpence to you when you set out."
"I know," replied Angel, "but he said it was worth a shilling."
"You see, he has a wife to keep," put in The Seraph, "and live birds to
feed."
Mary Ellen withdrew her head from the interior of the glass case.
"Oh'm," she said, very red in the face, "it's thrue that Misther Martindale
needs every penny he can lay hands on, for his wife is no good to him at
all, and he has to hire a charwoman to clane up for her."
"Then," said Mrs. Handsomebody, "I shall seek a shoemaker who has no such
encumbrance. Is the woman feeble-minded or a sloven?"
"Faith, she's both 'm, and ivery day she's gettin' worse than she do be.
I've heard her say sich things whin I've been in the shop that me very
sowl-case shivered."
"What sort of things?"
"Well," said Mary Ellen, circling her duster on the glasses, so that she
might still be said to be working as she talked, "the other day whin I
called for me slippers wid the satin bows on--"
"I disapprove of those bows."
"--She was in the passage beyant, and just the voice of her came through
the crack o' the dure. She says, says she: 'If a body was to fall--an'
fall--an' fall--and there was naught to stop him, it's comical to think
where he'd light on.'... Her voice was as solemn as the church organ, 'm.
Another day she says: 'If I could only git the moon out of this passage,
there'd be room for my head to whirl round and round!' 'Excuse me,' I says
to the cobbler, 'I'll call for thim shoes later.'"
"What appearance has she?" inquired Mrs. Handsomebody.
"Noan at all. I've niver seed her. No one has ever seed her. She's more
banshee than woman, I do belave."
True to her threat, Mrs. Handsomebody stopped at the cobbler's that
afternoon, at the outset of our accustomed promenade. The birds were in
full chorus as we descended the steps into the shop.
The cobbler got to his feet, and touched his forehead respectfully. This
pleased Mrs. Handsomebody.
"My good man," she said, "You have sadly overcharged me for putting a new
heel on this child's boot. I said, when I sent it that it was worth
sixpence--"
The cobbler opened his mouth to speak.
--"Now, don't interrupt," continued Mrs. Handsomebody. "I shall not ask you
to refund the sixpence; but I have brought a prunella gaiter of my own
which needs stitching, and I shall expect you to do it, without extra
charge, if you wish to retain the patronage of my household."
Here was a test of manhood! Would Martindale, a full-grown male, submit to
being bullied by a creature who wore a bustle, and a black silk apron?
Alas, for the whiskered sex! He took his medicine; just as we, hedged in
some fateful corner, gulped down our castor oil. Turning the gaiter over in
his dark hands, he meekly assented. Mrs. Handsomebody, appeased by her easy
victory, inquired after his wife.
"Oh, poorly as usual, thank you ma'am," he said.
"I should think that country life would be much better for her."
"She's even worse in the country."
"There was a sheet of an excellent religious paper wrapped about that
gaiter. You might give it to her to read."
"Thank you, ma'am, I will, though she takes more comfort reading the
dream-book than anything."
"Burn the dream-book. It is probably at the root of the trouble."
"No," replied the cobbler, slowly, "It all began when we lost our
daughter."