When the neat and modest little mistress of the Hendrik Athenæum and
Circulating Library descended to open the shop and take down the bars,
all her sense of delicacy was shocked, and she was brought to shame;
for her meek skirts, missing the generous support of the quilted
silk petticoat, clung about her mortified extremities in thin and
limp dejection. It was plain to Miss Wimple that she looked
poverty-stricken,--an aspect most dreadful to the poor, and upon
which the brothers and sisters of penury who by hook or by crook
contrive to keep up appearances for the nonce have no mercy.
"Today," she thought, "callers will delight me not, nor customers
neither." But Miss Wimple was in a peculiarly provoking predicament,
and for such there is ever a malignant star;--callers and customers
dropped in, one after another, all day, as they had rarely come
before,--as though, indeed, her most spiteful enemy had got wind of
the petticoat affair, and sent them to plague her.
That day, Miss Wimple had recourse to as much painfully ingenious
dodging behind the low counters as though she had a cloven foot to
hide. When evening came, she could have sat down--if she had been
any other plagued woman in the world but Sally Wimple--and had a
good cry. It was bitter weather, and she had shivered much;--she did
not mind that; but to look poverty-stricken! No, she did not cry
_outside_, but it was a narrow escape. In her trouble, her eyes
wandered around the shop beseechingly; and lo! she beheld in the
window a timely hooped skirt,--a daring speculation wherein she had
lately invested, in consideration of the growing importance of her
millinery department; and straightway Miss Wimple went and took the
hoop, and offered it up for a pride-offering in the stead of her
delicacy, that was so dear to her. It was a thing of touching
artlessness to do; only so cunning-simple a soul as Sally Wimple
could ever have thought of it. She sat up late that night, engaged
in compromising with her prejudices, by drawing out the whalebones,
one by one, from the "Alboni," shaving them down with a piece of
glass, very thin, and tucking them,--until all their loud defiance
was subdued, and for Miss Wimple's Hoop it might be tenderly
deprecated that it was nothing to speak of, "such a _leetle_ one."
The sacrifice was made, and, let us hope, not merely figuratively
accepted by Him to whom _prejudices_ may arise today an offering
not less honored than was the blood of rams in the hour when Abraham
laid his first-born on an altar in the thicket of Jehovah-jireh.
If any challenge the probabilities of this incident, and cavil at
the chance that Miss Wimple's necessity could, under any
circumstances, bring forth such an invention, I hope I have only to
remind them that that brave angel had become straitened to a point
whereat she had neither material from which to erect another quilted
petticoat, nor the means of procuring it, even if she could spare the
time necessary to the making of one,--which she could not, being now
closely occupied between the engagements of her hired needle and the
newly-found cares that Charity had imposed upon her.
But, however the probabilities may appear, Miss Wimple's Hoop was a
shaved-whalebone fact; and the quilted petticoat would never have
been missed, but for the officious scrutiny of the eyes, and the
provoking prating of the tongues, of a sophisticated few who
marvelled greatly at the pliancy and the "perfect set" of Miss Wimple's
Alboni,--"and that demure little prig, too! who'd have thought it?"
As for Simon Blount, he was quick to perceive the new experience to
which the skimped delaine had been introduced, and at first it
disturbed and embarrassed him; but his light, elastic temper soon
recovered its careless buoyancy, with a sly smile at what he
considered an oddity, newly discovered, in the character of his
prim sweetheart. "Oh! it's all right, of course," he thought;
"Sally knows what she's about; but it's very funny!"
And so, if this strange disturbing of the established order of
"things" in the kingdom of Wimple had rested with the exaltation of
the Hoop, that body politic would presently have been reduced to
tranquillity, no doubt, and the all-agogness of Hendrik would have
come quietly to nought, like any other popular flutter following
upon a new thing under the sun. But in a romantic cause the
conscientiousness of Miss Wimple, for all her seeming matter-of-fact,
took on a quality of chivalry; and she displayed a Quixotism most
tiltfully disposed toward any windmill of conventional proprieties
that might plant itself in the way by which her beauteous and
distressed damsel was to escape. So, before all the decencies of
Hendrik had recovered from the shock of the Hoop, she threw them
into a new and worse "conniption" by an even more daring innovation
upon their good, easy notions of her; for the next thing she did
was--a basque and flounces. Thus it happened:--
Madeline had become quite another Madeline,--say a Magdalen, rather,
--under the gentle discipline of her admirable angel. Her wonted
distraction had subsided into a pensive sadness, which manifested
itself in many a grateful, graceful tenderness toward that glorifier
of the skimped delaine. She had observed the Hoop at once, and
greeted it with a solitary smile, accepting it for a happy sign and
a token; for she had recognized Simon Blount when she turned into
the shop, that night, out of the darkness and the cold, and, with
the alert intelligence of a woman, even so self-absorbed as she was
then, had construed his gallant "good-night." She thought she
understood Miss Wimple's Hoop, because she had not discovered the
poetry in Miss Wimple's quilted petticoat. They had not spoken of
those things again. Delicacy was the law for those two; and to do
their best, and thankfully, bravely, accept the first deliverance
Heaven might send them, was their religion. Like two Micawbers of
Faith, Hope, and Charity, they waited for something to "turn up."
Miss Wimple invested a daily three-cent piece in a New York paper,
and diligently conned the "Wants" before the Marriages and Deaths,
--extraordinary woman! An "opening" had but to show itself, and
Miss Wimple was ready to fling her character into the breach for the
benefit of her Magdalen. Strong-minded woman!
At last it came. A gentleman who had recently lost his wife wanted a
house-keeper and governess for his two little girls,--the offices to
be united in the person of "a lady by birth, education, and
associations"; to such a liberal salary would be given; and in case
she should be in straitened circumstances, a reasonable advance
would be made, "to enable the lady to assume at once the position of
a respected member of his family." The very place!
Now what did that dashing Miss Wimple-Quixote--of such is the Kingdom
of Heaven!--but sit down and pour her enormous little heart out in a
letter to a person she had never seen or heard of,--telling him
everything but names and localities, and appealing, with an
inspiration, to his divine spark. There is no doubt that, "for that
occasion only," Providence sent an advertiser to the "Tribune" to
justify the large faith of Pity in skimped delaine; for the word of
Hope and Love that Miss Wimple let fall, unstudied, from the heart,
fell upon a genial mind, and lo!--
"It raised a sister from the dust,
It saved a soul from death!"
The gentleman--the nobleman!--thanked his unknown correspondent,
whose hand he would esteem it an honor to touch, for the opportunity
she had afforded him to do good in a graceful way. Mrs. Morris
(Miss Wimple had written: "Let us know this poor lady as 'Mrs. Morris,'
a childless widow") should be most welcome to his house; she need
never be aware that the sad passages of her history had come to his
knowledge, and by all over whom he exercised authority or influence
her _sorrows_ should be reverenced. He took the liberty to inclose a
check, which Mrs. Morris would have the goodness to regard as a small
advance on her salary; she would make whatever preparation she might
deem necessary, at her perfect leisure; he would be happy to see her
as soon as it should be quite agreeable to her to come. Once more,
with all his heart, he thanked the admirable lady who had in so
remarkable a manner distinguished him by her noble impulse of
confidence. It would be his dearest duty hereafter to deserve it.
And he gave his address: "Lawrence Osgood, Fourteenth St., New York."
It was evident that the "necessary preparations" for Madeline's
appearance in this new _rôle_ could not be made in Hendrik. Miss Wimple
was distressingly sensitive for the safety of her _protégée_ from
scandalous discovery. Even she herself could not expend any
considerable portion of Mr. Osgood's advance without arousing
surmise and provoking dangerous prying. Besides, how should she get
the money for the check?--to whom dare she confess herself in
possession of it? Of course, _there_ was a conclusive impossibility.
Nevertheless, something must be done at once to put Madeline at
least in travelling trim; for the things of which--to use her own
sensitive expression--Miss Wimple had "cleansed" her when she came
were out of the question. It was as true of this poor young lady in
her trunkless plight, as of any dishevelled Marius in crinoline, who
sits down and weeps among the brand-new ruins of a Carthage of satin,
lawns, and laces, that she had Nothing to Wear. So Miss Wimple,
encouraged by the happy success of the Hoop stratagem, forthwith
began to cast about her; and for the present Mr. Osgood's letter and
the check were hushed up in her bosom.
Now Miss Wimple and Madeline Splurge were examples of how much our
views of a person's character have to do with our notions of his or
her stature or carriage. All Hendrik spoke of the demure heroine of
the skimped delaine as "_Little_ Miss Wimple"; and Madeline, though
the youngest of the sisters, was universally known as "Miss Splurge,"
--as it were, awfully. Yet Miss Wimple and Madeline were almost
exactly "of a size," by any measurement, and Miss Wimple's clothes
were a sweet fit for Madeline; the petticoat experiment had
discovered that. So the skimped delaine, Miss Wimple thought, must
be promoted to the proud person of the handsome Madeline, and
something must be found to take its place.
Now, among store of respectable family-rubbish, scrupulously saved
by half a graveyard-full of female relations,--for the women-folk of
the Wimples had been ever noted for their thrift,--a certain quaint
garment had come down to Sally from her great-grandmother. It was a
black "silken wonder," wherewith, no doubt, that traditionally dear,
delightful creature was wont to astonish the streets, in the days of
her vanity and frivolous vexation of spirit.
A generous expanse of cape pertained to it, and it was cut much
shorter behind than before, in order to display to advantage the
pert red heels whereon that antique Wimple aforetime exalted herself.
"With some trifling alterations," said Miss Wimple to herself,
"this will do nicely for me; and my delaine--which is not so very bad,
after all--a little cleaning will do wonders for it--will look
sweetly appropriate on the Widow Morris, while her outfit is making
in New York."
So Miss Wimple let down the dress behind, by piecing it in the back
just below the waist; and from the generous cape she made a basque
to hide the alteration; and some stains, like iron-mould, on the
skirt, she covered with three flounces, made of some fine crape that
was left from her mother's funeral.
"_But, by your leave, where was this 'silken wonder' when your
unhandy heroine was casting about her for a substitute for the
quilted petticoat_?"
Anywhere but in her mind. Of the _round-aboutness_ of her directness
you have had examples enough already; nothing could be more romantic
than her simplest realities, and that which would seem most
out-of-the-way to another woman was often "handiest" to her. So,
when you ask me, Why did not Sally Wimple sooner think of her
great-grandmother's dress? my easiest answer is, Because she _was_
Sally Wimple.
When Miss Wimple first put on the new dress, in Madeline's presence,
Madeline smiled again, for she thought she understood; and Miss Wimple
smiled also, for she knew no one could understand.
Then Miss Wimple broke the news to Madeline, by telling her that
"an old friend of her father's," a wealthy Mr. Osgood, of New York,
was in want of a governess for his two daughters, and had written
to her on the subject;--(a not very improbable story; for Madeline
could not but be aware that in the conscientious and proud little
bookseller was the making of a very respectable "Jane Eyre," under
favorable circumstances;)--whereupon she had taken the liberty to
recommend a clever and accomplished friend of her own, one Mrs. Morris,
a widow,--"of course, that's you, Madeline,"--and Mr. Osgood had
accordingly done her the honor to offer the place to Mrs. Morris,
and, "with characteristic consideration and delicacy," had inclosed
a check, by way of an advance on her salary, which would be liberal,
to defray the expense of an outfit,--"and there it was." His writing
to her, Miss Wimple said, was a circumstance as strange as it was
fortunate; for, in fact, she had, personally, but a very slight
acquaintance with him, and was "quite sure she should not recognize
him, if she were to see him now";--as for his little girls, she had
never seen them, nor even heard their names. But Mr. Osgood's
character was of the very highest, and she rejoiced that Madeline
would have so honorable, influential, and generous a protector, who
had given his word that she should be received and entertained with
the consideration due to a superior and esteemed friend.
[Never mind Miss Wimple's white lies, my dear; there is no danger
that they will be found filling the blank place in the Recording
Angel's book, left where his tear blotted out My Uncle Toby's oath.
And in a purely worldly point of view, too, those touching offerings
to Mercy were safe enough; for when Miss Wimple promised Madeline
that she would find Mr. Osgood "a singularly discreet person, who
would be sure not to annoy her with impertinent curiosity," it was
not said by way of a hint;--she well knew, that, from the moment the
proud and jealous Madeline departed across the threshold of the
Hendrik Athenæum and Circulating Library, she would set a close and
solemn seal upon her heart and upon her lips, and the "old familiar
faces" and places would be to her as the things that Memory is a
silent widow for. Nevertheless, in writing to Mr. Osgood, to
acknowledge the receipt of the check, and to thank him, that cunning
Miss Wimple took the precaution to put him in possession of as much
of _her_ personality as would serve his purpose in case of accident,
and provide for the chance of a shock to his suspicious and vigilant
governess.]
Madeline received Miss Wimple's extraordinary good news with the
silence of one bewildered. Nor even when she had come fully to
appreciate all the beauty and the joy of it, did she give audible
expression to her gratitude; she was too proud--or rather say, too
religious--to subject the divine emotion to the vulgar ordeal of
words; she only kissed Miss Wimple's hands, and mutely laid them on
her bosom.
Then Miss Wimple arrayed her _protégée_ in the skimped delaine, for
which the "trifling alterations" and the "little cleaning" _had_
done wonders,--and Madeline was, as it were, "clothed on with
chastity." And Miss Wimple was jubilant over the charming effect,
and "went on" in a manner surprising to behold. First she kissed
Madeline, and then she kissed the dress; and she told Madeline, in a
small torrent of triumph, what a tremendous fellow of a skimped
delaine it was,--how cheap, and how _dear_ it was,--what remarkable
powers of endurance it had displayed, and with what force and
versatility of character it had adapted itself to every new
alteration or trimming,--and how she was so used to its ways, and
it to hers, that she was almost ready to believe it could "get on
her by itself,"--and how she felt sure it was expressly
manufactured to do good in the world,--until she had so glorified
the lowly skimped delaine, that Madeline began to feel in it like a
queen, whose benignant star has forever exalted her above the vulgar
sensation of having Nothing to Wear.
Now Madeline was quite ready to depart on her pilgrimage of penitence.
But almost at the parting hour a circumstance occurred which
grievously alarmed Miss Wimple, and so roused the devil whereof
Madeline had been but just now possessed, that it stirred within her.