“A DISH OF GOSSIP”
The seamstress came on Monday to the old Corner House. Mrs. McCall had
recommended her, and in Milton Miss Ann Titus was a person of
considerable importance.
She was a maiden lady well past middle age, but, as she expressed it
herself, “more than middling spry.” She was, as well, a traveling free
information bureau.
“Two things I am fond of, gals,” she said to Ruth and Agnes, the first
day. “A cup of tea, and a dish of gossip.”
She was frank about the last named article of mental diet. She knew
that most of the people she worked for enjoyed her gossip as much as
they desired her needle-work.
Ruth had opened and aired a room for her at the back of the house, and
there she was established with her cutting table and sewing machine.
She would not hear of remaining at night with them.
“I got an old Tom-cat at home that would yowl his head off, if I
didn’t give him his supper, and his breakfast in the morning. He can
forage for himself at noon.”
She lived in a tiny cottage not far from the old Corner House—the
girls had seen it. She had lived there most of her life, and she had a
tidy little sum in the savings-bank. Miss Ann Titus might have lived
without working at her trade.
“But I sartain-sure should die of lonesomeness,” she declared. “A
cat’s well enough as far as he goes; but you can’t call him right
inspiritin’ company.”
Ruth went to the big store where Mr. Howbridge had opened a charge
account for her and bought such goods as Miss Titus wanted. Then the
capable woman went to work to make up several summer and fall dresses
for the four girls.
These were busy times at the old Corner House. The sewing room was a
scene of bustle and hurrying from morning to night. One or the other
of the girls seemed to be “trying-on” all the time. Ruth and Agnes, to
say nothing of Mrs. McCall, spent all their spare minutes helping the
dressmaker.
“You young-uns have sartain-sure got pluck to come to this old place
to live,” Miss Titus declared on the second day. The wind was rising,
the shutters shook, and loose casements rattled.
“It’s a very nice house, we think,” said Ruth.
The smaller girls were not present, but Miss Titus lowered her voice:
“Ain’t you none afraid of what they say’s in the garret?”
“What is in the garret?” asked Ruth, calmly. “We have cleaned it all
up, and have found nothing more dangerous than old clothes and
spiders. We play up there on rainy days.”
“I wouldn’t do it for a farm!” gasped Miss Titus.
“So you believe in that ghost story?”
“Yes, I do. They say some man, ’way back before Peter Stower’s father
lived, hung himself up there.”
“Oh!” cried Ruth. “How wicked it is to repeat such stories.”
“I dunno. I can find you half a dozen good, honest folks, that have
seen the ghost at the garret window.”
Ruth could not help shivering. She had begun to refuse to acknowledge
the evidence of her own eyes, and _that_ had helped. But Miss Titus
seemed so positive.
“Is—is it because they are afraid of ghosts, that so few people have
come to call on us, do you suppose?” Ruth asked.
The seamstress glanced at her through her spectacles. She had very
sharp eyes and she snipped off threads with a bite of her sharp teeth,
and stuck a sharp needle into her work in a very sharp manner.
Altogether, Miss Ann Titus was a very sharp person.
“I shouldn’t wonder if there was another reason,” she said. “Ain’t the
minister’s wife been?”
“Oh, yes. And we think she is lovely. But not many of the girls we
meet at church have called. I thought maybe they were afraid. The
house has had a bad name, because it was practically shut up so long.”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Titus. “And Peter Stower acted funny, too. They say
_his_ ghost haunts it.”
“How foolish!” said Ruth, flushing. “If people don’t want to come
because of _that_——”
“Maybe there _is_ another reason,” said the gossip.
“I’d like to know what it is!” demanded Ruth, determined to learn the
worst. And Miss Titus _did_ look so knowing and mysterious.
“Well, now,” said Miss Titus, biting off another thread. “Speakin’ for
myself, I think you gals are just about right, and Mr. Howbridge did
the right thing to put you into Peter’s house. But there’s them that
thinks different.”
“What _do_ you mean?” begged the puzzled Ruth.
“There’s been a deal of talk. Mr. Howbridge is blamed. They say he did
it just to keep the property in his own hands. He must make a good
speck out of it.”
“But you are puzzling me, more and more,” cried Ruth. “I suppose Mr.
Howbridge does not handle Uncle Peter’s estate for nothing. How could
he?”
“Trust Howbridge for feathering his nest all right,” said the
seamstress, bitingly. “But that ain’t it. You see, there’s them that
believes other folks than you Kenway gals should have the old Corner
House and all that goes with it!”
“Oh!” gasped Ruth. “You do not mean Aunt Sarah?”
“Sally Maltby?” snapped Miss Titus. “Well, I should say _not_. She
ain’t got no rights here at all. Never did have. Never would have, if
Peter had had his way.”
“I am sure _that_ is not so,” began Ruth. Then she stopped. She
realized that Miss Titus would carry everything she said to her next
customer. She did not know that either Mr. Howbridge, or Aunt Sarah,
would care to have the news bandied about that Uncle Peter had left
Aunt Sarah a legacy.
“Well, you’re welcome to your own belief, Ruthie,” said Miss Titus,
curiously eyeing her. “But it ain’t Sally Maltby that folks are
talking about.”
“Who can possibly have any right here?” queried Ruth. “Mr. Howbridge
declares there are no other heirs.”
“He ain’t heard of ’em—or else he don’t want to acknowledge ’em,”
declared Miss Titus. “But these folks live at a distance. They’re
another branch of the Stower family, I reckon, and ’tis said that
they’ve got a better right than you gals.”
“Oh!” gasped Ruth again.
“That’s why folks don’t come to congratulate you, I reckon. They ain’t
sure that you’ll stay here long. Maybe them other relatives will come
on, or begin suit in the courts, or something. And the neighbors don’t
like to mix in, or take sides, until the matter’s straightened out.”
“Oh, dear, me!” sighed Ruth. “We love staying here at the old Corner
House, but we never wished to take anybody’s rights away from them.
Mr. Howbridge assured us that we were the only heirs, and that the
estate would in time be settled upon us. It makes me feel very
badly—this news you tell me, Miss Titus.”
“Well! let sleepin’ dogs lie, is _my_ motter,” declared the
seamstress. “You might as well enjoy what you got, while you got it.”
If Ruth had been troubled before by the circumstances that had brought
her and her sisters to the old Corner House, she was much more
troubled now. Uncle Peter had made a will, she had been assured by Mr.
Howbridge, which left the bulk of the old man’s estate to the Kenway
girls; but that will was lost. If other claimants came forward, how
should Ruth and her sisters act toward them?
That was Ruth’s secret trouble. Without the will to make their own
claim good, did not these other relatives Miss Titus had spoken of
have as good a right to shelter in the old Corner House, and a share
of the money left by Uncle Peter, as they had?
Ruth could not talk about it with her sisters—not even with Agnes.
The latter would only be troubled, while Tess and Dot would not
understand the situation very well. And Aunt Sarah was no person in
whom to confide!
Mr. Howbridge had gone away on business again. She had written him a
note to his office about Joe Maroni and Mrs. Kranz, and Mr. Howbridge
had sent back word—just before his departure on the sudden trip—that
she should use her own judgment about pacifying the tenants in the
Meadow Street houses.
“You know that every dollar you spend on those old shacks reduces the
revenue from the property. You girls are the ones interested. Now, let
us test your judgment,” Mr. Howbridge had written.
It put a great responsibility upon Ruth’s shoulders; but the girl of
sixteen had been bearing responsibilities for some years, and she was
not averse to accepting the lawyer’s test.
“We want to help those Maronis,” she said to Agnes. “And we want Mrs.
Kranz to help them, too. We’ll just clean up that old house, and that
will help all the families in it.”
She ordered the whitewashing materials, and Joe promised to whiten his
cellar. She hired the boy, Iky, and another, to clean the yard, too,
and paid them out of her own pocket. Mrs. Kranz smiled broadly, while
the Maronis considered “the litla Padrona” almost worthy to be their
patron saint!
Ruth had begged Miss Titus to say nothing before Agnes or the little
girls regarding those possible claimants to Uncle Peter’s property.
She was very sorry Mr. Howbridge had gone away before she could see
him in reference to this gossip the seamstress had brought to the
house.
It seemed that a certain Mrs. Bean, a friend of Miss Ann Titus, who
did not attend the First Church, but another, knew all about the
people who claimed relationship with Uncle Peter Stower. Ruth was
sorely tempted to call on Mrs. Bean, but then, she feared she had no
business to do so, until she had talked with the lawyer.
Mr. Howbridge had given her a free hand in many things, but this
matter was too important, it seemed to Ruth, for her to touch without
his permission. With the expectation of other claimants to the
property looming before her, Ruth was doubtful if she ought to go
ahead with the frocks for her sisters and herself, or to increase
their bills at the stores.
However, their guardian had already approved of these expenditures,
and Ruth tried to satisfy her conscience by curtailing the number of
her own frocks and changing the engagement of Miss Titus from three
weeks to a fortnight only.
“I must confer with Mr. Howbridge first, before we go any farther,”
the girl thought. “Mercy! the bills for our living expenses here at
the old Corner House are mounting up enormously.”
Agnes was so delighted over the frocks that were being made for her,
that she thought of little else, waking, and probably dreamed of them
in sleep, as well! She did not notice Ruth’s gravity and additional
thoughtfulness.
As for Tess and Dot, they had their small heads quite full of their
own affairs. They were having a better time this summer than ever they
had dreamed of having in all their young lives.
Tess and Dot were not without friends of their own age to play with,
in spite of the fact that the Creamer girls next door had proved so
unpleasant. There were two girls next door to Mrs. Adams who were
nice, and as Mrs. Adams promised, she arranged a little tea party for
Tess and Dot, and these other girls, one afternoon. The new friends
were Margaret and Holly Pease.
Mrs. Adams had the tea on her back lawn in the shade of a big tulip
tree. She had just the sort of cakes girls like best, and strawberries
and cream, and the “cambric tea,” as Mrs. Adams called it, was rich
with cream and sugar. Mrs. Adams herself took a cup of tea that had
brewed much longer; she said she wanted it “strong enough to bite,” or
it did not give her a mite of comfort.
From where the pleasant little party sat, they could look over the
fence into the big yard belonging to the Pease place. “Your folks,”
said Mrs. Adams to her next door neighbors, “are going to have a right
smart lot of cherries. That tree’s hanging full.”
The tree in question was already aflame with the ripening fruit.
Margaret said:
“Mother says we’ll have plenty of cherries to do up for once—if the
birds and the boys don’t do too much damage. There are two nests of
robins right in that one tree, and they think they own all the fruit.
And the boys!”
“I expect that Sammy Pinkney has been around,” said Mrs. Adams.
“There’s worse than him,” said Holly Pease, shaking her flaxen head.
“This morning papa chased an awfully ragged boy out of that tree. The
sun was scarcely up, and if it hadn’t been for the robins scolding so,
papa wouldn’t have known the boy was there.”
“A robber boy!” cried Mrs. Adams. “I wager that’s who got my milk. I
set a two quart can out in the shed last night, because it was cool
there. And this morning more than half of the milk was gone. The
little rascal had used the can cover to drink out of.”
“Oh!” said Tess, pityingly, “the poor boy must have been hungry.”
“He’s probably something else by now,” said Mrs. Adams, grimly. “Half
ripe cherries and milk! My soul and body! Enough to snarl anybody’s
stomach up into a knot, but a boy’s. I guess boys can eat
anything—and recover.”
Holly said, quietly: “There was a boy worked for Mrs. Hovey yesterday.
He was awfully hungry and ragged. I saw him carrying in wood from her
woodpile. And he just staggered, he was so small and weak. And his
hair looked so funny——”
“What was the matter with his hair?” asked her sister.
“It was red. Brick red. I never saw such red hair before.”
“Oh!” cried Tess. “Did he have sure enough _red_ hair?” Then she
turned to Dot. “Do you s’pose it could be Tommy Rooney, Dot?”
“Who’s Tommy Rooney?” asked Mrs. Adams.
The Corner House girls told them all about Tommy, and how he had run
away from home, and why they half believed he had come here to Milton.
“To shoot Indians!” exclaimed Mrs. Adams. “Whoever heard of such a
crazy notion? Mercy! boys get worse and worse, every day.”
Perhaps it was because of this conversation that Tess and Dot at once
thought of Tommy on the way home that evening after the party, when
they saw a man and a dog chasing a small boy across Willow Street near
the old Corner House.
“That’s Sammy Pinkney’s bulldog,” declared Tess, in fright. “And it’s
Sammy’s father, too.”
The boy crawled over the high fence at the back of their garden and
got through the hedge. When the girls caught up with the man, Tess
asked:
“Oh, sir! what is the matter?”
“That young rascal has been in my strawberry patch again,” declared
Mr. Pinkney, wrathfully. He seemed to forget that he had a boy of his
own who was always up to mischief. “I’d like to wallop him.”
“But the dog might have bit him,” said Dot, trembling, and drawing
away from the ugly looking animal.
“Oh, no, little girl,” said Mr. Pinkney, more pleasantly. “Jock
wouldn’t bite anybody. He only scared him.”
“Well, he _looks_ like he’d bite,” said Tess, doubtfully. “And he
scared our cat, Sandy-face, almost to death.”
“Well, bulldogs always seem to think that cats are their enemies. I am
sorry he scared your cat, girls.”
Tess and Dot hurried on to their gate. They looked for the boy in the
garden, but he was nowhere to be found. When they entered the house,
the back door was open and everybody seemed to be at the front.
The two girls went immediately up the back stairs to the bathroom to
wash and make themselves tidy for dinner.
“Where do you s’pose he went, Tess?” asked Dot, referring to the
strange boy.
“I don’t know,” said Tess. Then she stopped to listen in the hall
outside the bathroom door.
“What’s the matter, Tess?” demanded Dot, quickly. “Did you hear
something? Up the garret stairs?”
“It sounded like the latch of the garret door,” said Tess. “But I
guess it was just the wind. Or maybe,” she added, laughing, “it was
your goat, Dot!”
“Humph!” said the smaller girl, in disgust. “I know there isn’t any
old goat living up in that garret. That’s silly.”
The girls thought no more about the odd noise at that time, but
hurried to join the rest of the family down stairs.