In order to show the position of Mrs. Kinloch and her son in our story, it
will be necessary to make the reader acquainted with some previous
occurrences.
Six years before this date, Mrs. Kinloch was the Widow Branning. Her
husband's small estate had melted like a snow-bank in the liquidation of
his debts. She had only one child, Hugh, to support; but in a country town
there is generally little that a woman can do to earn a livelihood; and
she might often have suffered from want, if the neighbors had not relieved
her. If she left her house for any errand, (locks were but seldom used in
Innisfield,) she would often on her return find a leg of mutton, a basket
of apples or potatoes, or a sack of flour, conveyed there by some unknown
hands. In winter nights she would hear the voices of Ralph Hardwick, the
village blacksmith, and his boys, as they drew sled-loads of wood, ready
cut and split, to keep up her kitchen fire. Other friends ploughed and
planted her garden, and performed numberless kind offices. But, though
aided in this way by charity, Mrs. Branning never lost her self-respect
nor her standing in the neighborhood.
Everybody knew that she was poor, and she knew that everybody knew it; yet
so long as she was not in absolute want, and the poor-house, that bugbear
of honest poverty, was yet far distant, she managed to keep a cheerful
heart, and visited her neighbors on terms of entire equality.
At this period Walter Kinloch's wife died, leaving an only child. During
her sickness, Mrs. Branning had been sent for to act as nurse and
temporary house-keeper, and, at the urgent request of the widower,
remained for a time after the funeral. Weeks passed, and her house was
still tenantless. Mildred had become so much attached to the motherly
widow and her son, that she would not allow the servants to do anything
for her. So, without any definite agreement, their relations continued.
By-and-by the village gossips began to query and surmise. At the sewing-
society the matter was fully discussed.
Mrs. Greenfield, the doctor's wife, admitted that it would be an excellent
match, "jest a child apiece, both on 'em well brought up, used to good
company, and all that; but, land's sakes! he, with his mint o' money,
a'n't a-goin' to marry a poor widder that ha'n't got nothin' but her
husband's pictur' and her boy,--not he!"
Others insinuated that Mrs. Branning knew what she was about when she went
to Squire Kinloch's, and his wife was 'most gone with consumption.
"'Twasn't a mite strange that little Mildred took to her so kindly; plenty
of women could find ways to please a child, if so be they could have such
a chance to please themselves."
The general opinion seemed to be that Mrs. Branning would marry the
Squire, if she could get him; but that as to his intentions, the matter
was quite doubtful. Nevertheless, after being talked about for a year, the
parties were duly published, married, and settled down into the quiet
routine of country life.
Doubtless the accident of daily contact was the secret of the match. Had
Mrs. Branning been living in her own poorly-furnished house, Mr. Kinloch
would hardly have thought of going to seek her. But as mistress of his
establishment she had an opportunity to display her house-wifely
qualities, as well as to practise those nameless arts by which almost any
clever woman knows how to render herself agreeable.
The first favorable impression deepened, until the widower came to believe
that the whole parish did not contain so proper a person to be the
successor of Mrs. Kinloch, as his housekeeper. Their union, though
childless, was as happy as common; there was nothing of the romance of a
first attachment,--little of the tenderness that springs from fresh
sensibilities, for she at least was of a matter-of-fact turn. But there
was a constant and hearty good feeling, resulting from mutual kindness and
deference.
If the step-mother made any difference in her treatment of the two
children, it was in favor of the gentle Mildred. And though the Squire
naturally felt more affection for his motherless daughter, yet he was
proud of his step-son, gave him the advantages of the best schools, and
afterwards sent him for a year to college. But the lad's spirits were too
buoyant for the sober notions of the Faculty. He was king in the
gymnasium, and was minutely learned in the natural history and botany of
the neighborhood; at least, he knew all the haunts of birds, rabbits, and
squirrels, as well as the choicest orchards of fruit.
After repeated admonitions without effect, a letter was addressed to his
stepfather by vote at a Faculty-meeting. A damsel at service in the
President's house overheard the discussion, and found means to warn the
young delinquent of his danger; for she, as well as most people who came
within the sphere of his attraction, felt kindly toward him.
The stage-coach that conveyed the next morning's mail to Innisfield
carried Hugh Branning as a passenger. Alighting at the post-office, he
took out the letter superscribed in the well-known hand of the President,
pocketed it, and returned by the next stage to college. This prank only
moved the Squire to mirth, when he heard of it. He knew that Hugh was a
lad of spirit,--that in scholarship he was by no means a dunce; and as
long as there was no positive tendency to vice, he thought but lightly of
his boyish peccadilloes. But it was impossible for such irregularities to
continue, and after a while Mr. Kinloch yielded to his step-son's request
and took him home.
Next year it was thought best that the young man should go to sea, and a
midshipman's commission was procured for him. Now, for the second time,
after an absence of three years, Hugh was at home in all the dignity of
navy blue, anchor buttons, glazed cap, and sword.