"As most men get wives. I asked her to marry me. First, of course, I
put my best foot forward, for a long time, and kept it there."
"Of course. But didn't the other fellers try to cut you out?"
"Quite likely, for most men have eyes."
"Wa'n't any of 'em millionnaires?"
"Probably not, though I never inquired. As she herself has told you,
Mrs. Somerton was a saleswoman. Millionnaires do their courting in
their own set, where saleswomen can't afford to be."
"That was great luck for you, wasn't it? Are there any women like her
in their set?"
"I don't doubt they think so. Mrs. Somerton says there are plenty of
them in every set, rich and poor alike. As for me,--'There's Only One
Girl in the World'--you've heard the song?"
"Can't say that I have," Caleb replied, suddenly looking thoughtful,
"but the idea of it's straight goods an' a yard wide. Well, sir, it's
plain to me, an' pretty much ev'rybody else, that that wife o' yourn is
the greatest human blessin' that ever struck these parts. Good women
ain't scarce here; neither is good an' smart women. I s'pose our folks
look pretty common to you, 'cause of their clothes, but they improve on
acquaintance. Speakin' o' clothes--ev'rybody, even the best o' folks,
fall short o' perfection in some particular, you know. The only way
Mis' Somerton can ever do any harm, 'pears to me, is by always bein' so
well dressed as to discourage some other women, an' makin' a lot of the
gals envious an' discontented. She don't wear no di'monds nor gewgaws,
I know, but for all that, she looks, day in an' day out, as if she
was all fixed for a party or Sunday-school picnic, an'--But, say, 'I
shouldn't wonder if I was on dangerous ground,' as one of our recruits
remarked to me at Gettysburg after most of our regiment was killed or
wounded."
"Aha!" exclaimed Philip, when he rejoined his wife after the store
closed for the day. "'Pride must have a fall'--that is, supposing
you were proud of silencing Caleb concerning the piano. He has a
torment in preparation for you, personally. He thinks you dress too
handsomely--wear party clothes every day, and are likely to upset the
heads of the village girls, and some women old enough to know better."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Grace, flushing indignantly. "I've absolutely no
clothes but those I owned when we were poor. I thought them good enough
for another season, as no one here would have seen them before, and
none of them was very badly worn." She arose, stood before the chamber
mirror, and said:--
"This entire dress is made of bits of others, that were two, three, or
four years old, and were painfully cheap when new."
"Even if they weren't," said Philip, "they were your own, and earned
by hard work, and if ever again Caleb opens his head on the subject,
I'll--"
"No, you won't! I don't know what you were going to do, but please
don't. Leave Master Caleb to me."
"You don't expect to reason him into believing that you're less
effectively dressed than you are?"
"I expect to silence him for all time," Grace replied, again
contemplating herself in the mirror, and appearing not dissatisfied
with what she saw. The next day she asked Caleb which, if any, of the
calicoes in the store were least salable; the cheapest, commonest stuff
possible, for kitchen wear. Caleb "reckoned" aloud that the best calico
was cheap enough for the store-owner's wife, but Grace persisted, so
she was shown the "dead stock,"--the leavings of several seasons'
goods,--from which she made two selections. Caleb eyed them with
disfavor, and said:--
"That purple one ain't fast color; the yaller one is knowed all over
the county as the Scare-Cow calico. We might 'a' worked it off on
somebody, if the first an' only dress of it we sold hadn't skeered a
cow so bad that she kicked, an' broke the ankle of the gal that was
milkin' her."
"Never mind, Caleb; the purple one can afford to lose some of its
color, and--oh, I'll see about the other."
Three days later Grace, enveloped in a water-proof cloak, hurried
through a shower from the house to the store, and on entering the
back room, threw off the cloak. Caleb, who was drawing vinegar from a
barrel, arose suddenly, with a half-gallon measure in his hands, and
groaned to see his employer's wife, "dressed," as he said afterward,
"like a queen just goin' onto a throne, though, come to think of it,
I never set eyes on a queen, nor a throne, either." More deplorable
still, she looked proud, and conscious, and as if demanding admiration.
There was even a suspicion of a wink as she exclaimed:--
"Be careful not to let any of that vinegar run over and splash near me,
Caleb! You know the purple isn't fast color!"
"Je--ru--salem!" exclaimed Caleb, dropping the measure and its
contents, which Grace escaped by tripping backward to the shelter of a
stack of grain-sacks. When she emerged, with a grand courtesy followed
by a long, honest laugh, Caleb continued:--
"Well, I've read of folk's bein' clothed in purple an' fine linen, but
purple an' Scare-Cow knocks me flat! Dressed in 'dead stock,' from
head to foot, an' yit--Hello, Philip! Come in here! Oh! You're knocked
pretty flat, too, ain't you? Well, I just wanted to take back what I
said the other day about some folk's clothes. I don't b'lieve a dress
made of them grain-sacks would look common on her!"
"How stupid of me!" Grace exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of the
grain-sacks? I might have corded the seams with heavy dark twine, or
piped them with red carpet-binding."
"I don't know what cordin' an' pipin' is," said Caleb, "but after what
I've seen, I can believe that you'd only need to rummage in a big
rag-bag awhile to dress like a queen--or look like one."