FIRST PURCHASES.
DAYS went by, and still the money did not come. Father grew chafed and
restless waiting for it, and mother was in a state of constant ups
and downs. Every morning we were keeping watch on the post, and every
morning we were disappointed afresh.
"It's no manner of use to be so impatient," grannie said sometimes.
"You know right well, Miles, that the lawyers are not bound to pay you
short of a twelvemonth, and nobody thinks they'll do it yet awhile."
"Then they ought," father made answer very hotly: for he was getting
hasty and not near so pleasant in his ways as he used to be. "We ought
to have the money now directly. Not pay for a twelvemonth, indeed! It's
my money, not theirs. What right have they to keep us waiting?"
But of course we had to wait all the same, whether he was vexed or no.
It was wonderful how folks ran after us in those days. I had not known
before that we had one quarter so many friends. The neighbours were for
ever dropping in to talk of our good fortune, and mother seemed such a
favourite with them all. I could not help thinking that the money had a
good deal to do with her being so, else why should they have cared so
little about her before we heard of the five thousand pounds? Grannie
felt the same about it that I did, I could see plainly enough, but
mother did not. She took it all for real, and was delighted.
A great many asked us out to Sunday dinners, and did their best to
give good fare. We hadn't been used to going out on a Sunday to dine,
for grannie had always set her face against the custom, and father had
only once in a way done it. But now he said it would seem stuck-up and
unneighbourly to refuse, just when this "windfall," as he called it,
had come to us. He said it would look as if we counted ourselves too
grand for the neighbours.
Grannie told him the real question lay deeper; for it wasn't a question
of giving offence to one or two people, who ought to know us better
than to be so easily offended, but of breaking God's holy day. But
father was not to be persuaded, and he and mother went out Sunday after
Sunday, and took Asaph with them. And, somehow, after father had been
out pleasuring all the afternoon, he did not seem inclined to go to
Church in the evening, as he had been always used to do; and one day
and another he found some excuse for staying away. I could see that it
was a great grief to grannie.
I did not go to these dinners with father and mother, but kept grannie
company at home. It was grannie's wish, and mother did not care, for
Asaph was her favourite. I don't think I always quite liked being the
one left behind, and yet I should not have been happy doing anything
else. But if I did not like it, I took care that grannie should not see
what I felt. She was sorry enough already about the break-up of our old
quiet Sundays.
One day father came in, chuckling and laughing, and carrying a big
bundle under his arm.
"What d'you think I've got now?" says he. "O Miles! has the money come
at last?" shrieked mother.
"No, it hasn't," said he. "Why, you don't think surely that I'd be
carrying five thousand pounds rolled up into a bundle like this! No,
it isn't the money, but it's something. And it don't so much matter
now, if the money should be longer coming. They'll trust me down at
Trowgood's for anything I want. Trowgood himself came up to me in the
street, and told me so, as civil as could be. So I went straight off
with him, and did some shopping."
"I don't like Mr. Trowgood, and I never did," said grannie. "He's a
deep one, Miles."
"Maybe so, maybe no," says father. "Deep or shallow, that won't keep
me from using his goods, if so be they suit my wants. And nobody could
speak more civil than he did, anyway. Look here, Sue."
Father untied the bundle, while we all stood round. I saw grannie shake
her head softly to herself, once or twice, as if she didn't like it at
all. But we children could not help thinking the big brown-paper parcel
very delightful, for we had not seen many such in our lives. And when
it was rolled open, mother quite screamed with delight at the first
thing her eyes fell on. For there on the top lay a quantity of smooth
bright shining green silk. I almost thought mother would say it was
too bright and shining for her. But she did not. She only laughed and
clapped her hands, and seemed half beside herself.
"That's the thing now, isn't it?" says father. "Green was the colour
you wanted, Sue, and I've chosen the smartest I could see in all the
shop, so as you should look your best. You'll have to get it made up
quick, and we'll have some folks in to dinner, to look at you. Why, I
shall hardly know you, I declare, nor anybody else either. See here!
I've bought a real coral necklace for Phœbe. Isn't that pretty, my
girl? And here's a cap for Asaph. And I haven't forgotten you, mother.
I knew you wouldn't like a green dress, and I had my doubts if you'd
wear a silk; so I've chose some good black stuff,—merino, Trowgood
says, and the very best they have. You'll wear that to please me."
"Why, it looks like mourning," mother said.
"Grannie never will wear anything but black for her best, and I wanted
to get what she'd use," says father.
Grannie was feeling the merino between her finger and thumb.
"It's beautiful stuff," she said—"the best I ever had. And I'm much
obliged to you for thinking of me, Miles. It's like your kind heart.
But I'd sooner you had waited till the money was come. Supposing it
wasn't to come after all, how would you pay for these things?"
"Oh, nonsense, mother,—bother!" said he. "The money's sure."
"Maybe so," said she. "But I'll wait to have my dress made up till it
does come."
"I shan't wait," mother said, tossing her head back.
"I shall," grannie said. "I'm obliged to you, Miles, but you'll please
to remember that I'm not going to have anything else got for me at all,
till the money has come. I don't think it's right. I would send this
back straight to Trowgood's, if I wasn't afraid of vexing you."
"It would vex me too," father said. "That's a nice sort of gratitude,
I do think. It would vex me, mother, and what's more, Trowgood never
takes back cut goods. So you'll just have to be content, and if you're
a wise woman you'll get it made up, and wear it when Sue wears her
green silk."
"But haven't you got anything for yourself, Miles?" asked mother,
looking as pleased as a child over a new toy.
"Haven't I?" said father. "Dear me, yes, a whole new suit. It isn't
made up yet, but it soon will be. And I've got a brand new sofa for the
parlour, and a clock for the mantel-shelf,—cheap enough, but Trowgood
says it'll go like a twenty-guinea clock. Oh, we'll have things smart
now, and no mistake. Anything else you want me to get, Sue?"
"I'd like a new cap," mother said. "I saw a beauty to-day, in
Trowgood's window, all over pink bows. And I do want a new bonnet for
Sundays. I'm sure I should go to Church ever so much more regular, if
I had a decent bonnet to show myself in. Mine's got washed strings,
and the flowers are all faded. And wouldn't it be nice if we were to
get a new carpet for the parlour, and put up the old one in a bedroom?
The pattern's all trodden out, and it never was anything but a dingy
fright. I should like something nice and bright,—like Mrs. Raikes'
carpet. I don't see why she's to have a prettier carpet than us, now
we've got five thousand pounds."
"We haven't got it yet, Sue," says grannie.
"Well, we're going to have it," mother answered. "And we may just as
well get the carpet. I don't see why we should wait."
"Nor I neither," father said.
"I do," said grannie, looking at them. "Miles, if you take my advice,
you'll do nothing in a hurry."
But father was in no mood for waiting, nor mother either. The new
carpet was chosen, and a grand one we children thought it, for there
were huge bunches of red and purple flowers and green leaves, on a
sort of yellowish ground. The old carpet, which had lasted nearly all
through grannie's married life until now, was a real Brussels, and it
had only a small brown pattern with a little red in it. The new was not
a Brussels, but only a cheap sort of tapestry, which Mr. Trowgood said
would wear "next door to a Brussels." And the bunches of flowers were
so big, that only four whole ones could get into our little bit of a
parlour. And the odd part of the matter was, that the room seemed all
at once to have grown much smaller. I didn't know why then, though I am
sure now that it was because the pattern was too large for the size of
the room. Small-patterned carpets and papers always make a room seem
bigger. When I asked grannie how she liked it, she only said: "I love
the dear old carpet, Phœbe. No new one can ever be what the old one was
to me."
Four new chairs with stuffed blue seats and yellow buttons were bought
at the same time; and they did smarten up the room wonderfully, there's
no denying. The new sofa was blue too, only it did not quite match the
chairs. And the clock looked grand on the mantel-shelf, for it had
a lot of gilt about it. It went all right for two days, and then it
stopped, and wouldn't go any longer. But when father spoke about it,
Trowgood said it must have been wrongly wound up, and father was so
afraid of vexing him that he didn't complain any more.
Mother got herself the new cap, and a fine new bonnet too, and she
spent a good deal of time before the looking-glass, trying them on. And
the only thing grannie said about it all to me was: "They must learn,
Phœbe. People have to learn by experience. You and I can't help it.
Maybe all will come right in the end. But if you want to please me, my
dear, you'll not wear the coral necklace yet awhile."
"No, I won't, grannie," I said. "I'll wait till you put on your new
gown."