No such event could take place in Ashfield as the arrival of this young
stranger at the parsonage, without exciting a world of talk up and down
the street. There were stories that she came of a vile Popish family,
and there were those who gravely believed that the poor little creature
had made only a hair-breadth escape from the thongs of the Inquisition.
There were few even of those who knew that she was the daughter of a
wealthy gentleman, now domiciled in France, and an old friend of the
Doctor's, who did not look upon her with a tender interest, as one
miraculously snatched by the hands of the good Doctor from the snares of
perdition. The gay trappings of silks and ribbons in which she paced up
the aisle of the meeting-house upon her first Sunday, under the
patronizing eye of the stern spinster, were looked upon by the more
elderly worshippers--most of all by the mothers of young daughters--as
the badges of the Woman of Babylon, and as fit belongings to those
accustomed to dwell in the tents of wickedness. Even Dame Tourtelot, in
whose pew the face of Miss Almira waxes yellow between two great saffron
bows, commiserates the poor heathen child who has been decked like a
lamb for the sacrifice. "I wonder Miss Eliza don't pull off them ribbons
from the little minx," said she, as she marched home in the
"intermission," locked commandingly to the arm of the Deacon.
"Waael, I s'pose they're paid for," returns the Deacon.
"What's that to do with it, Tourtelot?"
"Waael, Huldy, we do pootty much all we can for Almiry in that line: this
'ere Maverick, I guess, doos the same. What's the odds, arter all?"
"Odds enough, Tourtelot," as the poor man found before bedtime: he had
no flip.
The Elderkins, however, were more considerate. Very early after her
arrival, Adele had found her way to their homestead, under the guidance
of Miss Eliza, and by her frank, demonstrative manner had established
herself at once in the affections of the whole family. The Squire,
indeed, had rallied the parson not a little, in his boisterous, hearty
fashion, upon his introduction of such a dangerous young Jesuit into so
orthodox a parish.
At all which, so seriously uttered as to take the Doctor fairly aback,
good Mrs. Elderkin shook her finger warningly at the head of the Squire,
and said, "Now, for shame, Giles!"
Good Mrs. Elderkin was, indeed, the pattern woman of the parish in all
charitable deeds,--not only outside, (where so many charitable natures
find their limits,) but indoors. With gentle speech and gentle manner,
she gave, maybe, her occasional closet-counsel to the Squire; but most
times her efforts to win him to a more serious habit of thought are
covered under the shape of some charming plea for a kindness to herself
or the "dear girls," which she knows that he will not have the hardihood
to resist. And even this method she does not push too far,--making it a
cardinal point in her womanly strategy that his home shall be always
grateful to the Squire,--that he shall never be driven from it by any
thought or suspicion of her exactions. Thus, if Grace--who is her oldest
daughter, and almost woman grown--has some evening appointment at Bible
class, or other such gathering, and, the boys being out, appeals timidly
to the father, good Mrs. Elderkin says,--
"I am afraid your papa is too tired, Grace; do let him enjoy himself."