ANOTHER CHARLIE IN THE FIELD.
The winter, with its petty trials and contentions, had gone by; spring,
with its bloom and fragrance, was far advanced; and already another
summer, with its possible pleasures and recreations, was close upon us.
Before it had fairly set in, however, an event of extraordinary
importance was to occur in our little household. There had been
premonitions of it for some time, which had a tendency to soften and
soothe all asperities, and cause a rather sober and subdued air to
pervade the little cottage, and now there were active preparations going
on. Of course, the widow was gradually assuming the management of the
whole affair, and it was a matter in which I could hardly venture to
dispute her right. Her experience and knowledge were certainly superior
to mine, and it was an affair in which these qualities were very
important. In fact, I seemed to be counted out altogether in the
preparations, as if it was something in the nature of a surprise party
in my honor. Mrs. Pinkerton had an air of mysterious and exclusive
knowledge concerning the grand event. Miss Van, who had come to have
confidential relations with Bessie, of the most intimate kind,
notwithstanding the mother’s objections, knew all about it, but had a
queer way of appearing unconscious of anything unusual. There seemed to
be a general consent to a shallow pretence that I was in utter and
hopeless ignorance. It annoyed me a little, as I flattered myself that I
knew quite as much about what was coming as any of them, and I thought
it silly to make believe I didn’t, and to ignore my interest in the
affair. Bessie had no secrets from me, of course, and our understanding
was complete, but one might have thought from appearances that we had
less concern in the matter than anybody else.
As the auspicious time drew near, the goings-on increased in mystery and
the widow’s control grew more and more complete. Bessie showed me one
day a wardrobe that amused me immensely. It was quite astonishing in
its extent and variety, but so liliputian in the dimensions of the
separate garments as to seem ridiculous to me.
“Aren’t they cunning?” said the dear girl, holding up one after another
of the various articles of raiment. Then she showed me a basket,
marvellously constructed, with a mere skeleton of wicker-work and
coverings of pink silk and fine lace, and furnished with toilet
appliances that seemed to belong to a fairy; and finally, removing a big
quilt that had excited my curiosity, she showed me the most startling
object of all,—a cradle! I had seen such things before and felt no
particular thrill, but this had a strange effect upon me. I didn’t stop
to inquire how these things had all been smuggled into the house without
my knowledge or consent, but kissed my little wife fondly, and went down
stairs in a musing and pensive mood.
The next day a decree of virtual exile was pronounced upon me. My
mother-in-law thought perhaps it would be better if I would occupy
another room in the house for a time, and let her share Bessie’s
chamber. The poor, dear girl might need her care at any time, and the
widow looked at me as much as to say, “You cannot be expected to know
anything about these matters, and have nothing to do but obey my
directions.” I consented without a murmur or the least show of
resistance, for I admitted everything that could possibly be said, and
lost all my spirit of independence in view of the impressive event that
was coming. So I meekly took to the attic, and put up with the most
forlorn and desolate quarters. One or two mornings after, I was aroused
at an inhuman hour, and ordered in the most imperative tones to call in
Dr. Lyman as quickly as possible, and haste after Mrs. Sweet. I hurried
into my clothes in the utmost agitation, raced down the street in a
manner that led a watchful policeman to stop me and inquire my business,
rung up the doctor with the most unbecoming violence, and delivered my
errand up a speaking-tube, in answer to his muffled, “What’s wanted?”
Then I rushed to the neighboring stable, and got up the sleepy hostler
with as much vehemence in my manner as if he were in danger of being
burned to death, and induced him to harness a team, in what I
considered about twice the necessary length of time; drove three miles
in the morning twilight for Mrs. Sweet, a motherly old maid in the
nursing business, who had officiated at Bessie’s own _début_ upon the
stage of life. When I had got back and returned the team to the stable,
and was walking about the lower rooms in a restless manner, feeling as
if I had suddenly become a hopeless outcast, the doctor came down
stairs, and said, with amazing calmness, as though it was the most
commonplace thing in the world,—
“Getting on nicely. Fine boy, sir! Mrs. Travers is quite comfortable.
Will look in again in the course of the morning.”
Then I was left alone again, an outcast and a wanderer in my own home.
All the life was up stairs, including the wee bit of new life that had
come to venture upon the perils and vicissitudes of the great world. It
was two hours, but it seemed a month, before any one relieved my
solitude, and then it was at Bessie’s interposition—in fact, a command
that she had to insist upon until her mother was afraid of her getting
excited—that I was admitted to behold the mysteries above.
Well, it is nobody’s business about the particulars of that chamber. It
was too sacred for description; but there was the tiny, quivering, red
new-comer, already dressed in some of the dainty liliputian garments,
and very much astonished and not altogether pleased at the effect.
Bessie was proud and happy, the nurse, moving about silently, knew just
what to do and how to do it, and the mother-in-law held supreme command.
She was grand and severe, and evidently her wishes had been disregarded
in respect to the sex of her grandchild. She feared the consequences of
another Charlie launched into a world already too degenerate, and she
had hoped for an addition to the superior sex. But Bessie and I were
mightily pleased that it was a boy.
There was little to be said then, but in a few days the restraint began
to be relaxed, and discussions arose about what had become the most
important member of the household. Even the widow must be content with
the second place now, but I began to have misgivings lest my position
had been permanently fixed as the third. In my secret mind, however, I
determined to assert my rights as soon as Bessie was strong again, and
reduce my mother-in-law to the position in which she belonged. I had put
off doing it too long, and advantage might be taken of the present
juncture of affairs to strengthen her claim to supremacy, and it really
wouldn’t do to delay much longer.
“I think he looks just like Charlie,” said Bessie to Miss Van, the first
time the latter called after the great event.
“Well, I don’t know,” was the reply. “It seems to me he has his papa’s
dark eyes, but I can’t see any other resemblance.”
“Oh, I do!” Bessie replied with spirit. “Why, it is just his forehead
and mouth, and his hair will be just the same beautiful brown when he
grows up.”
The old lady was looking on reproachfully, and finally said, “Bessie, my
dear, that child looks precisely like your own family. George at his age
was just such an infant; you couldn’t tell them apart.”
George entered the room at that moment, and with his boisterous laugh
said, “You don’t mean to say that I was ever such a little, soft,
ridiculous lump of humanity as that, do you?”
“As like as two peas,” was the reply of his mother.
For my part I kept out of the discussion, for I must confess I could see
no resemblance between the precious baby and any other mortal creature,
except another baby of the same age. I thought they looked pretty much
all alike, and was not prepared to deny that it was the exact
counterpart of anybody at that particular stage of development.
“I tell you what, Bess,” said George, after the debate had fully
subsided, “you must name that little chap for me.”
“Oh, no,” replied the proud mother, “that is all settled; his name is
Charlie.”
Nothing had been said on the subject before, and I was a little startled
at Bessie’s positive manner, for I thought even this matter would not be
free from her mother’s dictation. The old lady seemed surprised and
vexed. “George is a much better name, I think,” she said very quietly,
keeping down her vexation, “but I thought perhaps you might remember
your dear father in this matter. His name, you know, was Benjamin.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bessie, very firmly, “but I think there is one with
a still higher claim, and the child’s name is Charles.”
“Good for you, little girl!” I thought, but I said nothing. Within me I
felt a gleeful satisfaction at Bessie’s spirit, which showed that if it
ever came to a sharp contest with her mother, nothing could keep her
from holding her own place by her husband’s side. All my misgivings
about her possible estrangement by her mother’s influence vanished, and
I saw that the new tie between us would be stronger than any earthly
power.
“Well,” said George abruptly, after a pause, “I wouldn’t be so
disobliging about a little thing like that.”
“Ah! you wait until you can afford the opportunity of furnishing names,
and see what you will do,” I said jokingly. My joke was not generally
appreciated. The widow gave me a look a little short of savage. Bessie
suppressed a smile, in order to give me a reproof with her eyes, and
Miss Van just then thought of something wholly irrelevant to say, as if
she had not noticed my remark at all. On the whole, I was made to feel
that it was a disgraceful failure.