was raw and cold. But who cared for such trifles? Not Dot, decidedly.
Not Tilly Slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a cart, on any terms, the
highest point of human joys. Not the baby, I’ll be bound; for it’s not
in baby nature to be warmer or more sound asleep than the blessed young
Peerybingle was, all the way.
You couldn’t see very far in the fog, of course; but you could see a
great deal! It’s astonishing how much you may see in a thicker fog
than that, if you will only take the trouble to look for it. Why, even
to sit looking for hazy fairy rings, and ghostly figures near the
hedges and trees was a pleasant occupation, to make no mention of the
unexpected shapes in which the trees themselves came out of the mists
and glided in again.
In one place there was a great mound of weeds burning, and they watched
the fire flaring through the fog, with here and there a dash of red in
it, until, because of getting “smoke up her nose,” as she explained,
Miss Slowboy choked and woke the baby, who wouldn’t go to sleep again.
But Boxer, who was in advance a quarter of a mile or so, had passed the
outskirts of the town, and gained the corner of the street where Caleb
and his daughter lived; and long before they reached the door, he and
the blind girl were on the pavement waiting to receive them.
_The Party at Caleb’s_
May Fielding was already there; and so was her mother, a little
querulous chip of an old lady with a peevish face. Gruff and Tackleton
was also there, pretending to be agreeable and perfectly at home, and
really quite as much out of his element as a fish out of water.
“May! My dear old friend!” cried Dot, running up to meet her. “What
happiness to see you!”
Her old friend was as glad as she, and it really was, if you’ll
believe me, a pleasant sight to see them embrace each other. Tackleton
had shown taste, beyond all question. May was very pretty. And so
was Dot pretty. They simply set each other’s beauty off and, as
John Peerybingle came near saying, they ought to have been born
sisters--which was the only improvement you could have suggested.
Tackleton had brought his leg of mutton, and, wonderful to relate, a
tart beside--but he could afford such generosity this time; one doesn’t
get married every day. And in addition to these dainties, there were
the veal-and-ham-pie and “things,” as Mrs. Peerybingle called them;
which were chiefly nuts and oranges and cakes.
When the repast was set forth on the table, together with Caleb’s
contribution, a bowl of smoking potatoes, which was all he was allowed
to provide, Tackleton led his future mother-in-law to the post of
honor. Why, she was gotten up for the occasion; even wearing gloves.
Caleb sat next his daughter. Dot and her old school friend were side by
side. The carrier took care of the bottom of the table. Miss Slowboy
was seated a little distance away, far from every other article of
furniture but the chair she sat on, that she might have nothing to
knock the baby’s head against. She was delighted not only to take care
of the baby, but to stare around at the toys.
“Ah, May,” said Dot. “Dear, dear, what changes! To talk of those merry
school days makes one young again.”
“Why, you ain’t particularly old at any time, are you?” said Tackleton.
“Look at my sober, plodding husband there,” returned Dot. “He adds
twenty years to my age at least. Don’t you, John?”
“Forty,” John replied.
“How many _you’ll_ add to May’s I am sure I don’t know,” said Dot,
laughing. “But she can’t be much less than a hundred years of age on
her next birthday.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Tackleton. Hollow as a drum was the laugh, though.
And he looked as if he could have twisted Dot’s neck comfortably.
“Dear, dear,” said Dot. “Only think how we used to talk sometimes
about the husbands we would choose. I don’t know how lively and gay
mine was not to be! And as to May’s--ah, dear! I don’t know whether to
laugh or cry when I think what silly girls we were.”
May seemed to know which to do, for the color flashed into her face and
tears stood in her eyes.
“We little thought how things would come about,” said Dot. “I never
fixed on John, I’m sure; I never so much as thought of him. And if I
had told you you were ever to be married to Mr. Tackleton--why, you’d
have slapped me, wouldn’t you, May?”
Though May didn’t say yes, she certainly didn’t say no, or express no,
by any means.
Tackleton laughed--quite shouted, he laughed so loud. John Peerybingle
laughed too, in his ordinary, good-natured and contented manner; but
his was a mere whisper of a laugh compared to Tackleton’s.
“You couldn’t help yourselves for all that,” said Tackleton. “You
couldn’t resist us, you see. Here we are! Here we are! Where are your
gay young bridegrooms now?”
“Some of them are dead,” said Dot; “and some of them forgotten. Some of
them, if they could stand among us at this moment, would not believe
that we are the same creatures, because they would not believe we
_could_ forget them so. No! they would not believe one word of it!”
“Why, Dot!” exclaimed the carrier. “Little woman!” And Dot kept quiet,
while Tackleton looked at her through his half-shut eye.
May uttered no word, good or bad, but sat quite still, with her eyes
downcast, and made no sign of interest in what had passed. Her mother,
however, observed that girls were girls, and bygones were bygones, and
that so long as young people were young and thoughtless, they would
probably conduct themselves like young and thoughtless persons. She
then remarked that she thanked heaven that she had always found in May
a dutiful and obedient child, for which she took no credit to herself,
though she had every reason to believe it was owing to herself. With
regard to Mr. Tackleton, she said that he was a son-in-law to be
desired, as no one in their senses could doubt.
Now, the meal ended, John Peerybingle rose to go, for he only stopped
to feed his horse, and to enjoy the social hour before finishing his
route. He would call for Dot on his way back. This was always the
program on picnic days.
“Good-by,” he said, pulling on his dreadnought coat. “I shall be back
at the usual time. Good-by, all.”
Then he called Boxer, and soon the old horse and the cart were making
lively music down the road.
Caleb and Bertha were talking together at one end of the room.
“So bring me the precious baby, Tilly,” said Dot, drawing a chair to
the fire; “and while I have him in my lap, here’s Mrs. Fielding, Tilly,
who will tell me all about the management of babies, and straighten
me out in twenty points where I’m as wrong as can be. Won’t you, Mrs.
Fielding?”
Here Tackleton walked out, and Mrs. Fielding, sitting bolt upright in
front of Dot, gave her such a marvelous collection of receipts and
rules that would, if Dot had carried them out, have utterly destroyed
the young Peerybingle, even if he had been an infant Samson.
Now Dot brought her needlework out of her pocket, and had a whispering
chat with May while the old lady dozed, and after a while Caleb and
Bertha joined them, and all found it a very short afternoon.
Then as it grew dark, since it was the solemn rule that Bertha should
do no household tasks on the days of the picnics, Dot trimmed the fire,
and swept the hearth, and set the tea-tray out, and drew the curtains,
and lighted a candle. Then she played an air or two on a rude kind of
harp which Caleb had made for Bertha, and played them very well; for
Nature had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for music as it
would have been for jewels--if she had had them to wear.
By this time, it was the usual hour for tea, and Tackleton came back
again, to share the meal and spend the evening.
When it was night, and tea was over, and Dot had nothing more to do
after washing the cups and saucers--when the time drew near for the
carrier’s return, Dot began to grow nervous. Every time she heard the
sound of distant wheels, her color came and went, and she was restless.
Not as good wives are when listening for their husbands. No, no, no. It
was a different sort of restlessness from that.
Soon wheels were heard very near--horse’s feet--the barking of a
dog--and then the scratching of Boxer’s paw.
“Whose step is that?” cried Bertha, starting up.
“‘Whose step’?” said the carrier, standing in the door, his brown face
ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air. “Why, mine.”
“The other step,” Bertha said. “The man’s tread behind you!”
“She’s not to be deceived,” observed the carrier, laughing. “Come
along, sir. You’ll be welcome, never fear!”
_The Shadow on the Hearth_
He spoke in a loud tone; and as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman
entered.
“He’s not so much a stranger that you haven’t seen him once, Caleb,”
said the carrier. “You’ll give him house-room till we go?”
“Oh, surely, John, and take it as an honor.”
“He’s the best company on earth to talk secrets in,” said John. “I have
reasonably good lungs, but he tried them, I’ll tell you.” Turning to
the old gentleman, he spoke in a loud voice again, “Sit down, sir. All
friends here, and glad to see you.”
Then he added in his natural tone, “A chair in the chimney-corner, and
leave to sit silent and look pleasantly about him is all he cares for.
He’s easily pleased.”
Bertha had been listening intently. She called Caleb to her side, and
when he came, asked him, in a low voice, to describe their visitor.
When he had done so, she moved away and showed no further interest in
him.
The carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, and fonder of
his little wife than ever.
“Some folks may think it queer,” he said jokingly, putting his rough
arm about her, as she stood apart from the others, “but I like this
little lady somehow. Look yonder, Dot.”
He pointed to the old man. She looked down. I think she trembled.
“He’s--ha, ha, ha!--he is so fond of you that he talked of nothing else
the whole way here. I like him for it.”
“I wish he had a better subject, John,” she said with an uneasy glance
about the room--at Tackleton especially.
“A better subject!” cried the jovial John. “There’s no such thing.
Come! Off with the great-coat, off with this thick shawl, off with the
heavy wrappings! And now for a cozy half-hour by the fire. How would
it please you, Mrs. Fielding, to have a game of cards, you and I? All
right? Where are the cards, Dot--and will you let us have a cup of tea
here if there’s any left, small wife?”
Soon the carrier and the old lady were deep within the game. At first
the carrier looked about him sometimes with a smile, or now and then
called Dot to peep over his shoulder to advise him on some knotty
point. But soon he became so absorbed that he had neither eyes nor ears
to spare, and his whole attention was upon the cards, and he thought of
nothing else, until a hand was laid upon his shoulder.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” said Tackleton in a low voice, “but I want
a word with you, please.”
“It’s my turn to deal,” returned the carrier. “Can you wait?”
“No,” said Tackleton. “Come on, man.”
There was an expression in his pale face which made John rise
immediately, and ask him in a hurry what the matter was.
“Hush, John Peerybingle,” said Tackleton. “I am sorry for this. I am
indeed. I have been afraid of it. I have suspected it from the first.”
“What is it?” asked the carrier in alarm.
“Hush! I’ll show you if you’ll come with me.”
The carrier accompanied him without another word. They went across
the yard, where the stars were shining, and by a little side door
they entered Tackleton’s own counting-house. There, through a window,
they could look into a window of the wareroom where the boxes of toys
were kept. The counting-house was closed for the night, and there was
no light, but a dim light was burning in the wareroom, so they could
easily see within.
“Wait a moment!” said Tackleton. “Can you bear to look through that
window, do you think?”
“Why not?” asked the carrier.
“It will be a shock,” said Tackleton. “Promise not to do anything
violent.”
And then John looked, and what do you think he saw?
He saw his dear young wife with the old man--old no longer, but
straight and handsome, holding in his hands his soft white hair with
which he had made every one think him old and treat him so kindly. He
saw her listening to him as he bent his head to whisper in her ear,
and then let him place his arm about her waist and lead her slowly to
the door. He saw her, with her own hands, adjust the wig on his head,
laughing as she did so!
John felt weak as an infant as Tackleton led him back to the house.
He was wrapped up to the chin and busy with his horse and parcels when
she came into the room, ready for going home.
“Now, John, dear! Good-night, May! Good-night, Bertha,” she said.
How could she kiss them? How be so blithe and gay in her parting? Why
didn’t she blush? Tackleton as well as John wondered.
Tilly was hushing the baby and as she walked to and fro, she was
repeating drowsily: “Did they thought that it was to be its wives wring
its heart almost to breaking? and did it weep all nights when nobody
was there to see it?”
“Now, Tilly, give me the baby,” said little Mrs. Peerybingle.
“Good-night, Mr. Tackleton. Where’s John, for goodness’ sake?”
“He’s going to walk beside the horse’s head,” said Tackleton, who
helped her into the cart.
“My dear John! Walk?--to-night?”
The muffled figure of her husband made a hasty sign; and the Stranger
and nurse being by this time in their places, the old horse moved off,
Boxer running on before, running back, running round and round the
cart, and barking merrily.
When Tackleton had gone off likewise, taking May and her mother, poor
Caleb sat down by the fire beside his daughter. The toys that had been
wound and set in motion for the baby had run down long ago. In the
silence one might have imagined that they had been stricken motionless
with wonder at Dot being false, or Tackleton beloved under any set of
circumstances.
Presently Bertha spoke.
“After Mr. Tackleton is married, we shall not see so much of him, shall
we, Father?”
“Well, we might--that is to say--” began Caleb.
“How I should love to be like May, Father, and have my eyes so that I
might serve him, might show my love for him, who has been so good, so
kind, so dear.”
Poor Caleb! How often he said to himself as he looked at her, in
remorse, “Have I deceived her from her cradle, thinking to make her
happier, but to break her heart at last?”
XXXVI
CHIRP THE THIRD
_John Listens to the Cricket_
THE Dutch clock in the corner struck ten, when the carrier sat down at
his fireside. So troubled was he that he scarcely heard the cuckoo as
it counted off the strokes.
He could scarcely believe what his eyes had seen in the wareroom
of Gruff and Tackleton. If any one had told him, he would not have
believed his Dot could be a party to such dreadful deceit.
Yet, in his own heart, he did not blame her, but rather the old young
man who had been so wickedly unfair, and he was planning to do him
harm to pay him back. He hoped that Dot would be able to explain; but
no--there really wasn’t any hope of that.
There, she was coming.
She had been upstairs with the baby, putting it to bed.
As he sat brooding near the hearth, she came close to him, and put her
little stool at his feet. He then felt her hand upon his own, and knew
she was looking up in his face.
He glanced at her. She looked as sweet as ever, until she caught
the expression on his face. At first she seemed surprised, then her
surprise changed in a wild recognition of his thoughts, and she simply
bent her head and clasped her hands, but no words were said.
At length she rose and went away, and he felt glad, for the first time
since he had known her, to have her gone.
There was a gun hanging on the wall. He took it down, and moved toward
the Stranger’s room. He put his hand to the door--when suddenly the
struggling fire burst into a glow of light, and the cricket on the
hearth began to chirp.
No sound he could have heard, no human voice, not even hers, could so
have moved and softened him. The very words in which she had told him
of her love for this same cricket were as if just spoken in her sweet,
pleasant voice, making household music; and they thrilled through and
through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action.
He moved from the door like a man who had been walking in his sleep
when awakening from a frightful dream. He put the gun aside. Clasping
his hands before his face, he sat down again beside the fire.
The cricket on the hearth came out into the room and stood in fairy
shape before him.
“‘I love it’,” said the fairy voice, “‘for the many times I have heard
it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me’.”
“She said so!” cried the carrier. “True!” “‘This has been a happy home,
John; and I love the cricket for its sake.’”
“She’s so sweet-tempered, so cheerful, busy, light-hearted. Otherwise I
never could have loved her as I did.”
The voice, correcting him, said, “do.”
“You should trust her,” the fairy voice said.
All night long he listened to the voice. All night long the household
fairies were busy with him, showing him how sweet and dear she was; how
he had never found her untrue, or had reason to doubt her except this
once.
He rose up when it was broad day, and washed and tidied himself.
He could not go on his usual rounds, for it was Tackleton’s wedding
day. He had planned to go merrily to the church with Dot. But such
plans were at an end. Ah! what a different wedding anniversary he had
expected!
_John Blames Himself_
The carrier had thought that Tackleton would pay him an early visit,
and he was right. He had just finished brushing his hair when he saw
the merchant in his carriage coming along the road. As the carriage
drew near he saw that Tackleton was dressed out sprucely for marriage,
and that he had decorated his horse’s head with flowers and favors.
The horse looked much more like a bridegroom than Tackleton, whose
half-closed eye was more disagreeably expressive than ever. But the
carrier took little heed of this. His thoughts were elsewhere.
“John Peerybingle!” said Tackleton. “My good fellow, how do you find
yourself this morning?”
“I have had but a poor night, Mr. Tackleton,” said the carrier, shaking
his head, “for I have been a good deal disturbed in my mind. But it’s
over now! Can you spare me half an hour or so, for some private talk?”
“I came on purpose,” returned Tackleton lightly. “Never mind the horse.
He’ll stand quiet enough if you’ll give him a mouthful of hay.”
“You are not to be married before noon, I think?” said John.
“No,” answered Tackleton. “Plenty of time. Plenty of time.”
When they entered the kitchen, Tilly Slowboy was knocking at the
Stranger’s door. One of her very red eyes was at the keyhole, for she
had been crying because her mistress cried. She was knocking very loud,
and seemed frightened.
“If you please, I can’t make nobody hear,” said Tilly, looking round.
“I hope nobody ain’t gone and been and died, if you please.”
This hope Miss Slowboy made more emphatic by kicking on the door, but
it led to no result.
“Shall I help?” asked Tackleton, turning to John.
The carrier nodded his head.
So Tackleton went to the door and he, too, kicked and knocked; and he,
too, failed to get any reply. But he thought of trying the handle of
the door, and as it opened easily, he peeped in, went in, and soon came
running out again.
“He’s gone!” said Tackleton; “and the window’s open. I don’t see any
marks--to be sure--or signs of a fight, but I thought perhaps you might
have been so angry----”
He nearly shut up the expressive eye altogether, he looked at John so
hard. And he gave his eye, and his face, and his whole body, a sharp
twist, as if he would have screwed the truth out of John.
“Make yourself easy,” said the carrier. “He went into that room last
night without harm in word or act from me, and no one has entered it
since. He has gone away of his own free will.”
“Oh! Well, I think he has got off pretty easy,” said Tackleton, taking
a chair.
The sneer was lost upon the carrier, who sat down, too, and shaded his
face in his hand for some time before speaking.
“You showed me last night,” he said at length, “my wife, my dear wife
that I love, deceiving me, and meeting a strange man who had deceived
me. I think there’s no man in the world I wouldn’t rather have had show
it to me.”
“I confess I know that I am not a favorite in your home, John, because
I never believed wholly in your pretty little wife,” said Tackleton.
“And as you did show me, and as you saw her to such disadvantage, it is
right you should know what my mind is on the subject. For it’s settled,
and nothing can change it.”
Tackleton muttered a few words about its being necessary to decide, but
he was overawed by the manner of his companion. Plain and unpolished as
it was, there was something noble and dignified about it.
“I am a plain, rough man,” continued the carrier, “with very little to
recommend me. I am not a clever man, as you very well know. I am not
a young man. I loved my little Dot because I had seen her grow up from
a child, in her father’s house; because I knew how precious she was;
because she had been in my life for years and years.”
He paused a moment, then went on.
“I often thought that though I wasn’t good enough for her, I should
make her a kind husband, and perhaps appreciate her better than
another. And so it came about we were married.”
“Hah!” said Tackleton, with a shake of his head.
“I knew how much I loved her, and how happy I should be,” continued the
carrier; “but I had not sufficiently considered her.”
“No,” said Tackleton. “No; you didn’t stop to think how giddy,
frivolous, fickle, vain! Hah!”
“You’d better not interrupt me,” said the carrier, with some sternness,
“till you understand me, which you seem far from doing.”
The toy merchant looked at him in surprise.
“I didn’t consider that I took her, at her age, with her beauty, away
from her young companions and their many scenes of pleasure into my
dull house and my tedious society. I didn’t consider how little suited
I was to her fun and humor, and how wearisome I must be to one of her
quick spirit. No! I took advantage of her hopeful nature, and I married
her. I shouldn’t have done so!”
The toy merchant gazed at him without winking. Even the half-shut eye
was now open.
“Heaven bless her!” said the carrier, “for the cheerful way she has
tried not to let me see how it was! Heaven help me, that, in my slow
mind I have not found it out before. Poor child! Poor Dot! Strange I
did not realize when I have seen her eyes fill with tears on hearing of
such a marriage as our own spoken of. How good and kind she has been!
The thought will comfort me when I am here alone.”
“Here alone?” said Tackleton. “Then you do mean to take some notice of
her deceit?”
“I mean,” answered the carrier, “to do her the greatest kindness in my
power--to try to make it all up to her. She shall be free to go where
she will.”
“Make it up to her!” exclaimed Tackleton, twisting and turning his
great ears with his hands. “I must have heard wrong. You didn’t say
that, of course.”
“Didn’t I speak plainly?” said the carrier, giving the toy merchant a
shake.
“Very plainly indeed,” answered Tackleton.
“As if I meant it?”
“Very much as if you meant it.”
“Anger and distrust have left me,” said the carrier; “and nothing but
my grief remains. In an unhappy moment some old lover, better suited
to her years than I, returned. Last night she saw him in the interview
we witnessed. It was wrong. But otherwise than this, she is innocent
if there is truth on earth! I should not have taken her from her home.
She shall return to it, and I will trouble her no more. Her father and
mother will be here to-day, and they shall take her home. This is the
end of what you showed me. Now, it’s over.”
“Oh, no, John, not over. Do not say it’s over yet. Not quite yet. I
heard your noble words. I could not steal out again, letting you think
me ignorant of what you said. Do not say it’s over--’till the clock has
struck again!”
Dot had entered quietly while John and Tackleton were talking, and had
heard every word.
“No hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the hours
that are gone,” replied the carrier, with a faint smile. “But let it be
so, if you will, my dear.”
“Well!” muttered Tackleton. “I must be off, for when it strikes again,
I must be on my way to church. Good-by, John Peerybingle.”
The carrier saw him to the door, watched his horse until it disappeared
in the distance, and then went out himself.