"Oh, you," she returned; "that's different. I hope you don't put her on
a level with real folks, do you?"
I tried to treat the whole matter as if it were of no consequence, and I
did stop the talk here; but secretly I am troubled. George has very
little aside from what he earns in his profession, and he might easily
run behind if his wife is really extravagant. He needs a woman to help
him save.
June 6. Tomine delighted the family to-day by her wonderful precocity in
following with her eyes the flight of a blue-bottle fly that buzzed
about the nursery. Such intelligence in one so young is held by us women
to betoken the most extraordinary promise. I communicated the important
event to Mr. Saychase, who came to call, and he could neither take it
gravely nor laugh at the absurdity of our noticing so slight a thing. He
seemed to be trying to find out how I wished him to look at it; and as
I was divided between laughter and secret pride in baby he could not get
a sure clue. How dull the man is; but no doubt he is good. When piety
and stupidity are united, it is unfortunate that they should be made
prominent by being set high in spiritual places.
June 9. I have a good deal of sympathy with Cain's question when he
asked the Lord if he were his brother's keeper. Of course his crime
turned the question in his case into a mere pitiful excuse, but Cain was
at least clever enough to take advantage of a principle which must
appeal to everybody. We cannot be responsible for others when we have
neither authority nor control over them. It is one of the hardest forms
of duty, it seems to me, when we feel that we ought to do our best, yet
are practically sure that in the end we can effect little or nothing.
What can I do to influence George's wife? Somehow we seem to have no
common ground to meet on. Father used to say that people who do not
speak the same ethical language cannot communicate moral ideas to each
other. This is rather a high-sounding way of saying that Mrs. Weston and
I cannot understand each other when anything of real importance comes
up. It is of course as much my fault as hers, but I really do not know
how to help or change it. I suppose there is a certain arrogance and
self-righteousness in my feeling that I could direct her, but I am
certainly older and I believe I am wiser. Yet I am not her keeper, and
if to feel that I am not involves me in the cowardice of Cain, I cannot
help it. I am ready to do anything I can do, but what is there?
June 11. Still it is George's wife. I dare say a good deal of talk has
been circulating, and I have not heard it. I have been so occupied with
graver matters ever since George was married that I have seen few
people, and have paid little heed to the village talk. To-day old lady
Andrews said her say. She began by reminding me of the conversation we
had had in regard to calling on the bride.
"I am glad we did it, Ruth," she went on. "It puts us in the right
whatever happens; but she will not do. I shall never ask her to my
house."
I could say nothing. I knew she was right, but I was so sorry for
George.
"She is vulgar, Ruth," the sweet old voice went on. "She called a second
time on me yesterday, and I've been only once to see her. She said a
good deal about it's being the duty of us--she said 'us,' my dear,--to
wake up this sleepy old place. I told her that, personally, since she
was good enough to include me with herself, I preferred the town as it
had been."
I fairly laughed out at the idea of old lady Andrews' delivering this
with well-bred sweetness, and I wondered how far Mrs. Weston perceived
the sarcasm.
"Did she understand?" I asked.
"About half, I think, my dear. She saw she had made a mistake, but I
doubt if she quite knew what it was. She was uneasy, and said she
thought those who had a chance ought to make things more lively."
I asked if Mrs. Weston gave any definite idea how this liveliness was to
be secured.
"Not very clearly," was the answer. "She said something about hoping
soon to have a larger house so she could entertain properly. Her dress
was dreadfully showy, according to my old-fashioned notions. I am afraid
we are too slow for her, my dear. She will have to make a more modern
society for herself."
And so the social doom of George's wife is written, as far as I can see.
I can if I choose ask people to meet her, but that will do her little
good when they have looked her over and given her up. They will come to
my house to meet anybody I select, but they will not invite her in their
turn. It is a pity social distinctions should count for so much; but in
Tuskamuck they certainly do.
June 12. Mr. Saychase called again this afternoon. He is so thin and so
pale that it is always my inclination to have Hannah bring him something
to eat at once. To-day he had an especially nervous air, and I tried in
vain to set him at his ease. I fear he may have taken it into his head
to try to bring me into the church. He did not, it is true, say anything
directly about religion, but he had an air of having something very
important in reserve which he was not yet ready to speak of. He talked
about the church work as if he expected me to be interested. He would
not have come so soon again if he did not have some particular object.
It is a pity anything so noble as religion should so often have weak men
to represent it. What is good in religion they do not fairly stand for,
and what is undesirable they somehow make more evident. If superstition
is to be a help, it must appeal to the best feelings, and a weak priest
touches only the weaker side of character. One is not able to receive
him on his merits as a man, but has to excuse him in the name of his
devotion to religion.
Still, Mr. Saychase is a good man, and he means well with whatever
strength of mind nature endowed him.
June 13. Tom came to-day to see baby,--not that he paid much attention
to her when he saw her. It amuses me to find how jealous I am getting
for Tomine, and anxious she shall be treated with deference. I see
myself rapidly growing into a hen-with-one-chicken attitude of mind, but
I do not know how it is to be helped. I exhibited baby this afternoon
with as much pride and as much desire that she should be admired as if
she had been my veriest own, so it was no wonder that Tom laughed at me.
He was very grave when he came, but little by little the fun-loving
sparkle came into his eyes and a smile grew on his face.
"You'd make a first rate saleswoman, Ruth," he said, "if you could show
off goods as well as you do babies."
I suppose I can never meet Tom again with the easy freedom we used to
feel, especially with baby to remind us; but we have been good friends
so long that it is a great comfort to feel something of the old
comradeship to be still possible.
Tom was so awkward about baby, so unwilling to touch her, that I offered
to put her into his arms. Then he suddenly grew brave.
"Don't, Ruth," he said. "It hurts you that I can't care for the baby,
but I can't. Perhaps I shall sometime."
I took Thomasine away without a word, and gave her to Rosa in the
nursery. When I came back to the parlor Tom was in his favorite position
before the window. He wheeled round suddenly when he heard me.
"You are not angry, Ruth?" he asked.
"No, Tom," I answered; "only sorry."
I sat down and took up my sewing, while he walked about the room. He
stopped in front of me after a moment.
"I wanted to tell you, Ruth," he said, "that I am not going back to New
York."