couldn't hardly believe it of you, Mrs. Lathrop, 'n' yet if you can't
believe what a person says of themselves who can you believe when it
comes to talkin' about anybody? I'm glad to know the truth, though,
Mrs. Lathrop, for I was more upset 'n I showed at the notion o' losin'
faith in you. You know what I think of you, 'n' I called you over
to-night to ask your advice about suthin' as has been roamin' my head
for a long time, 'n' you can mebbe understand 's it didn't over-please
me to have your first remark one as I couldn't in reason approve of. A
woman as 'll begin a quilt 'n' trade hen's eggs 'n' all but go aroun'
town on her bended knees to get the old ties of other women's lawful
husbands, jus' to give up in the end has got no advisin' stuff for me
inside o' her. I wouldn't like to hurt your feelin's, Mrs. Lathrop,
'n' as long as you say it's a sofa-pillow o' course there's no harm
done, but still it _was_ a shock 'n' I can't deny it."
Mrs. Lathrop appeared most regretful, withdrew her gaze from the fire
and the yellow polka-dots and directed its entire volume at Susan.
The latter altered her needles with a fierce fling, and then
continued:
"However, now 's all is made clear I will go on 'n' tell you what's on
my mind. I'd be a fool not to tell you, havin' got you over here just
for the purpose o' bein' told, 'n' yet I've sat here a good hour--'n'
you know I ain't over-give to sittin', Mrs. Lathrop--tryin' to decide
whether after all I would tell you or not. You see this subjeck isn't
nowise new to me, but it'll be new to you, 'n' bein' new to you I
can't see how anythin' 's goin' to be got out o' askin' you f'r
advice. It ain't likely 't any one first go-off c'n think of things 't
I ain't thought of already, 'n' you know yourself, Mrs. Lathrop, how
little you ever have to say to me compared to what I say to you.
Besides, 's far's my observation 's extended no one don't ask f'r
advice 'nless they've pretty well made up their mind not to take it,
if so be 's it suits 'em better untook, 'n' when I make up my mind I'm
goin' to do a thing anyhow so there ain't much use in me askin' you 'r
anybody else what they think about it. A woman 's rich 's I be don't
need to take no one else's say-so nohow--not 'nless she feels so
inclined, 'n' the older I get the less I incline."
Mrs. Lathrop sighed slightly, but did not alter her position by a
hair. Susan whirled her stocking, took a fresh breath, and went on:
"It's a subjeck 't I've been lookin' straight in the face, 's well 's
upside down 'n' hind end to, f'r a good long time. I 'xpeck 't it'll
mebbe come in the nature of a surprise to the c'mmunity in general,
'n' yet, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Lathrop, I was thinkin' o' this
very thing away back las' spring when Mrs. Shores eloped. I was even
thinkin' of it that very minute, f'r I was one o' them 's was in the
square when Johnny come runnin' from the station with the telegram.
Everybody 's see Johnny's face thought 's two trains had smashed on
his a'count somewhere, 'n' I recolleck Mr. Kimball's sayin' 's he
couldn't 'a' looked more miserable 'f he'd been the man 's had run
away with her. It was too bad you wasn't there, Mrs. Lathrop,--Mrs.
Macy always says 't she'll regret to her dyin' day 's she thought o'
comin' to town that mornin' to get the right time f'r her clock 'n'
then decided to wait 'n' set it by the whistle. Gran'ma Mullins was
there--she was _almost_ in front o' Mr. Shores' store. I've heard her
say a hunderd times 't, give her three seconds more, 'n' she'd 'a'
been right in front; but she was takin' her time, 'n' so she jus'
missed seein' Johnny hand in the telegram. I was standin' back to the
band-stand, tellin' Mrs. Allen my receipt for cabbage pickle, so I
never felt to blame myself none f'r not gettin' nearer quicker. The
first thing I recolleck was I says, ''N' then boil the vinegar again,'
'n' Mrs. Allen give a scream 'n' run. Then I turned 'n' see every one
runnin', 'n' Mr. Shores in the lead. They do say 's he was so crazy 't
first 't he seemed to think he c'd catch the Knoxville Express by
tearin' across the square. But he give out afore he reached Judge
Fitch's, 'n' Johnny 'n' Hiram Mullins had to carry him home. Well, it
was a bad business at first, 'n' when she kidnapped the baby 't was
worse. I was down in the square the day 't Johnny come with that
telegram too. I remember Mrs. Macy 'n' me was the only ones there
'cause it was Monday. I wasn't goin' to wash 'cause I only had a
nightgown 'n' two aprons, 'n' the currants was ripe 'n' I'd gone down
to get my sugar, 'n' Johnny come kitin' up fr'm the station, 'n' Mrs.
Macy 'n' me didn't put on no airs but just kited right after him. Mrs.
Macy always says she learned to see the sense in Bible miracles that
day, f'r she had n't run in years then, 'n' she's walked with a stick
ever since, but she run that day, 'n' Johnny bein' tired 'n' Mrs. Macy
'n' me fresh--she was a little fresher 'n me f'r I 'd been talkin'--we
all three come in on Mr. Shores together. Seems like I c'n see him
now. He sort of shivered all over 'n' says, 'Ah--a telegram!' 'n'
Johnny says, 'Jus' come,' 'n' then we all waited. Well, Mrs. Lathrop,
I guess I've told you before how he jus' sort o' went right up in the
air!--it said, 'We have took the child,' 'n' he bounced all over like
a rat that ain't good caught 'n' then he out 'n' away 'n' we right
after him. He kept hollerin', 'It's a lie--it's a lie,' but when he
got home he found out 't Mrs. Shores had kep' her word 's usual. Mrs.
Macy put cold water to his head 'n' I mixed mustard plasters 'n' put
'em on anywhere 't he was still enough, but all the same they had to
lace him to the ironin' board that night. I hear lots o' folks says 's
he's never really knowed which end up he was walkin' since, but I
guess there's more reasons f'r that 'n her takin' the baby. My own
view o' the matter is 't he misses his clerk full 's much 's he misses
his family, f'r he's got to tend both sides of the store at once 'n'
he don't begin to be as spry 's that young feller was. He can't hop
back 'n' forth over the counter like he used to; he's got to go way
back through the calicoes every time or else climb up in the
window-seat over that squirrel 't he keeps there in a cage advertisin'
fur-lined mitts 'n' winter nuts. Mr. Kimball 's forever makin' one o'
them famous jokes of his over him, 'n' sayin' 't he never looks across
the square without he sees Shores tryin' to rise above his troubles
'n' his squirrel together, but I don't see nothin' funny in any of it
myself. I think it's no more 'n' what he might of 'xpected. He got the
squirrel himself 'n' his wife too, 'n' she never did suit him. He was
all put out at first over her takin' it so to heart 't he wore a wig,
'n' then he was clean disgusted over the baby 'cause he wanted a boy
't he could name after himself. They said he all but cried, 'n' she
cried dreadful, f'r she didn't know nothin' about babies 'n' thought
it was goin' to be bald always, jus' like him. But what did he marry
for if he did n't want trouble?--That was what I said to the
minister's wife. She come to call right in the first of it, 'n' I must
say 't if she hadn't come mebbe a good many things might o' been
different, for my mind was about made up then, an' I was thinkin' very
serious o' mebbe sayin' suthin' to you that very night. But she put me
at outs with the whole thing--not as I won't admit 't there ain't a
difference between one 'n' nine, f'r any one c'n work _that_ out on
their fingers fast enough."
Mrs. Lathrop assented to this statement by moving her head in a slow
acquiescent rhythm as she rocked.
"But her talk was certainly awful discouragin'. She was tryin' to
speak o' Mr. Shores, but she kep' trailin' back to herself, 'n' when
she said 't she'd never had time to crimp her hair since her weddin'
day she jus' broke right down. I cheered her up all I could. I told
her she couldn't with a clear conscience blame any one but herself 'n'
she'd ought to say her prayers of gratitude 't she hadn't got eight
herself, same 's him. She sort o' choked 'n' said she couldn't have
eight 'cause she had n't been married but one year. 'Well,' I says, 'I
don't see no great sense in that; he had eight the day he was married
's far 's that goes, did n't he?' She jus' rocked back 'n' forth 'n'
said 't no one in the whole wide world had any notion how many eight
children was till they turned aroun' from the altar 'n' see 'em strung
out in the pew 's is saved for the family. I told her 't as far 's my
observation 'd 'xtended quite a number o' things looked different
comin' down from the altar, 'n' it was in my heart to tell her 't if
I'd let any man get so much the better o' me 's to marry me, my
self-respeck would certainly shut my mouth up tight afterwards. As
long 's a woman 's single she's top-dog in the fight 'n' can say what
she pleases, but after she's married a man she'll keep still 'f she's
wise, 'n' the wiser she is the stiller she'll keep, for there's no
sense in ever lettin'folks know how badly you've been fooled.--But I
didn't say all that to the minister's wife, for she didn't look like
she had strength to listen, 'n' so I made her some tea instead.--'N'
_then_ it come out 't after all what she come for was to borrow my
clo'es-wringer! Well, Mrs. Lathrop, I certainly didn't have no blame
f'r myself at feelin' some tempered under them circumstances,--me _so_
sympathetic--'n' the tea--'n' all."
Mrs. Lathrop shook her head in calm and appreciative understanding.
"Did you lend--" she asked.
"--'N' there are folks just like that in this world too," Susan
continued, "'n' it beats me what the Lord makes 'em so for, for
they'll talk 'n' talk 'n' wander all over every subjeck in Creation to
come 'n' never even begin to get around to the point till you're clean
gi'n out with listenin'. 'F the minister's wife hadn't come that day
'n' hadn't talked as she did, I might 'a' been left less wore out and,
as a consequence, have told you that night what I ain't never told you
yet, for it was strong in my mind then 'n' it's strong in my mind now,
'n' bein' one o' them 's wastes no words, I'll state to you at once,
Mrs. Lathrop, 't before Mrs. Shores run away--'n' after she run away
too, f'r that matter--I was thinkin' very seriously o' adoptin' a
baby."
"A--" said Mrs. Lathrop, opening her eyes somewhat.
"A baby," repeated Susan. "I feel you ought to be the first one to
know it because, 's much 's I'm out, you'll naturally have the care of
it the most of the time."
Mrs. Lathrop clawed feebly among her pieces and seemed somewhat
bewildered as she clawed.
"Mrs. Shores' ba--" she queried.
Susan screamed.
"_Mrs. Lathrop!_"--she stopped knitting so that she might concentrate
her entire strength into the extreme astonishment which she desired to
render manifest in those two words--"Mrs. Lathrop!--Me!--adopt Mrs.
Shores' baby! Adopt the baby of a woman as 'd gone off 'n' left it!"
Mrs. Lathrop looked deeply apologetic.
"I didn't know--" she ventured.
"Well, you'd ought to of," said Susan, "'n' if you didn't I'd never
own to it. Such a idea never entered my head, 'n' I can't conceive
when nor how it entered yours. Only I'm free to confess to one thing,
Mrs. Lathrop, 'n' that is 't 'f _I_ was give to havin' ideas 's
senseless 's yours often are, I'd certainly keep my mouth shut 'n' let
people 's knows more do the talkin'."
Mrs. Lathrop swallowed the rebuke and remained passively overcome by
the after-clap of her astonishment.
Susan began to knit again.
"I wasn't thinkin' o' Mrs. Shores' baby 'n' I wasn't thinkin' o' no
baby in particular. I never said I was thinkin' of any baby--I said I
was thinkin' of _a_ baby. I sh'd think you could 'a' seen the
difference, but even if you can't see it there is a difference just
the same. My sakes alive! it's a serious enough matter decidin' to
adopt some one for good 'n' all without hurryin' the doin' of it any.
If you was 's rich 's I be, Mrs. Lathrop, you'd understand that
better. 'N' if you was 's rich 's I be, you might not be in no more of
a hurry 'n I am. I ain't in a hurry a _tall_. I ain't in a hurry 'n' I
don't mean to be in a hurry. I'm only jus' a-gettin' on towards makin'
up my mind."
Mrs. Lathrop slowly and meditatively drew a piece of sky-blue farmer's
satin from her bag and looked at it absent-mindedly. Susan twirled her
stocking and went on.
"'S long 's I've begun I may 's well make a clean breast of the whole
now. O' course you don't know nothin', Mrs. Lathrop, but, to put the
whole thing in a shell, this adoptin' of a child 's a good deal to
consider. When a woman 's married, it's the Lord's will 'n' out o' the
Bible 'n' to be took without no murmurin' 's to your own feelin's in
the matter. Every one 's sorry for married people, no matter how their
children turn out, because, good or bad, like enough they done their
best, 'n' if they didn't it was always the other one's fault; but
there ain't no one goin' to lay themselves out to try 'n' smooth my
child's thorns into a bed o' roses for me. Every one 's jus' goin' to
up 'n' blame me right 'n' left, 'n' if it has a pug-nose or turns out
bad I can't shoulder none of it onto the Lord, I'll jus' have the
whole c'mmunity sayin' I've got myself 'n' no one else to thank. Now,
when you know f'r sure 't you can't blame nobody else but jus'
yourself, you go pretty slow, 'n' for that very reason I'm thinkin'
this subjeck well over afore I decide. There's a good many questions
to consider,--my mind 's got to be made up whether boy or girl 'n' age
'n' so forth afore I shall open my lips to a livin' soul."
Mrs. Lathrop appeared to be slowly recovering from the effects of her
surprise.
"Would you take a small--" she asked, perhaps with some mental
reference to the remark that dowered her with the occasional charge of
the future adopted Clegg.
"Well, I d'n' know. That's a very hard thing that comes up first of
all every time 't I begin thinkin'. When most folks set out to adopt a
baby, the main idea seems to be to try 'n' get 'em so young 't they
can't never say for sure's you ain't their mother."
Mrs. Lathrop nodded approval, mute but emphatic, of the wisdom of her
friend's views.
"But I ain't got none o' that foolish sort o' notions in me. I
wouldn't be its mother, 'n' 'f there was n't no one else to tell it so
Mr. Kimball 'd rejoice to the first time I sent it down town alone.
It's nigh to impossible to keep nothin' in the town with Mr. Kimball.
A man f'rever talkin' like that 's bound to tell everythin' sooner or
later, 'n' I never was one to set any great store o' faith on a
talker. When I don't want the whole town to know 't I'm layin' in
rat-poison I buy of Shores, 'n' when I get a new dress I buy o'
Kimball. I don't want my rats talked about 'n' I don't mind my dress.
For which same reason I sh'll make no try 't foolin' my baby. I'll be
content if it cooes. I remember Mrs. Macy's sayin' once 't a baby was
sweetest when it cooes, 'n' I don't want to miss nothin', 'n' we ain't
never kep' doves for me to be dead-sick o' the noise, so I want the
cooin' age. I think it'll be pleasant comin' home days to hear the
baby cooin', 'n' 'f it cooes too loud when I'm away you c'n always
come over 'n' see if it's rolled anywhere. I c'n see that, generally
speaking, it's a wise thing that folks jus' have to take 'em as they
come, because when it's all for you to choose you want so much 't like
's not I can't be suited after all. It's goin' to be pretty hard
decidin', 'n' when I've done decidin' it's goin' to be pretty hard
findin' a baby that's all 't I've decided; 'n' then, _if_ I find
it,--then comes the raisin' of it, 'n' I espect that 'll be suthin'
jus' awful."
"How was you goin' to find--" Mrs. Lathrop asked.
"Well, I've got to go to town to look at winter coats, 'n' I thought
't when I'd found what I wanted I'd jus' glance through two or three
orphan asylums afore comin' home."
Mrs. Lathrop pinned the purple to the yellow and shut one eye so as to
judge of the combination from the single standpoint of the other. She
seemed to be gradually regaining her normal state of abnormal
calmness.
"I thought 't your coat was pretty good," she said mildly, as Susan
altered her needles. The stocking started violently.
"Pretty good! It's most new. My heavens alive, Mrs. Lathrop, don't you
know 's well 's I do 't I ain't had my new coat but four years 'n'
then only to church!"
"You _said_ 't you was goin' to get--" Mrs. Lathrop remarked, unpinning
the purple as she spoke and replacing it in the bag.
"_Mrs. Lathrop_! 'f you don't beat anythin' 't I ever saw for puttin'
words 't I never even dreamed of into other folks's mouths! 'S if I
should ever think o' buyin' a new coat 'n' the price-tag not even
dirty on the inside o' mine yet! I never said 't I was goin' to buy a
coat,--I never thought o' goin' to buy a coat,--what I did say was 't
I was goin' to _look at_ coats, an' the reason 't I'm goin' to look at
coats is because I'm goin' to cut over the sleeves o' mine. I thought
all last winter 't it was pretty queer for a woman 's rich 's I be to
wear old-fashioned sleeves--more particularly so where I c'n easy cut
a new sleeve crossways out o' the puffs o' the old ones. 'N' _that's_
why I want to look at coats, Mrs. Lathrop, for I ain't in the habit o'
settin' my shears in where I can't see my way out."
Mrs. Lathrop fingered a piece of rusty black silk and made no comment.
"When I get done lookin' at coats, lookin' 't orphans 'll be jus' a
nice change. If I see any 't I think might suit I'll take their
numbers 'n' come home 'n' see about decidin', 'n' if I don't see any
't I like I'll come home jus' the same."
The clock struck nine. Mrs. Lathrop rose and gathered up her bag of
pieces.
"I mus' be goin' home," she said.
"I was thinkin' that very same thing," said Susan, rising also. "It's
our thinkin' so much the same't keeps us friends, I guess."
Mrs. Lathrop sought her shawl and departed.
* * * * *
It was about a week later that the trip to town took place. The day
was chosen to suit the opening of a most unprecedented Fire-Sale. Miss
Clegg thought that the latest styles in coat-sleeves were likely to
bloom broadcast on so auspicious an occasion, and Mrs. Lathrop herself
was sufficiently infected by the advertising in the papers to dare to
intrust her friend with the whole of a two-dollar bill to be
judiciously invested if bargains should really run as wildly rife as
was predicted.
Susan departed very early and did not get back till very late--so late
in fact that her next-door neighbor had the time to become more than a
little anxious as to the possibilities of some mischance having
befallen her two-dollar bill.
But towards eight o'clock signs of life next door appeared to the
anxious watcher in the Lathrop kitchen window, and one minute later
she was on her way across. She found the front door, which was
commonly open, to be uncommonly shut, and was forced to rap loudly and
wait lengthily ere the survivor of the Fire-Sale came to let her in.
Then when the door did open the figure which appeared in the opening
was such as to startle even the phlegmatically disposed chewer of
clover.
"My heavens alive, Susan, whatever is the matter with--"
Susan backed faintly into the hall so as to allow the other to enter.
"I'm worn to a frazzle--that's all!" she said weakly and wearily.
They turned into the parlor, where the lamp was burning, and Mrs.
Lathrop gave a little frightened scream:
"Susan! why, you look half--"
Miss Clegg collapsed at once heavily upon the haircloth-covered sofa.
"I guess you'd better make me some tea," she suggested, and shut her
eyes.
Mrs. Lathrop had no doubt whatever on the subject. Hurrying out to the
kitchen, she brewed a cup of the strongest possible tea in the fewest
possible moments, and brought it in to the traveller. The latter drank
with satisfaction, then leaned back with a sigh.
"It was a auction!" she said in tones that gasped.
Mrs. Lathrop could restrain her anxiety no longer.
"Did you get anything with my--" she asked.
"Yes; it's out in the hall with my shawl."
"What did--"
"It's a parrot," said Susan.
"A parrot!" cried Mrs. Lathrop, betraying as much feeling as it was in
her to feel.
"Without any head," Susan added wearily.
"Without any head!"
Then Miss Clegg straightened up in her seat and opened her eyes.
"There ain't no need o' bein' so surprised," she said in that peculiar
tone with which one who has spent another's money always defends his
purchase,--"it's a stuffed parrot without any head."
"A stuffed parrot without any head!" Mrs. Lathrop repeated limply, and
her tone was numb and indescribable.
"How much did it--" she asked after a minute.
"I bid it in for one dollar 'n' ninety-seven cents,--I was awful
scared f'r fear it would go over your two dollars, an' it wasn't
nothin' that I'd ever want, so I couldn't 'a' taken it off your hands
if it _had_ gone over your money."
"I wonder what I can do with it," her neighbor said feebly.
"You must hang it in the window so high 't the head don't show."
"I thought you said it didn't have no head."
Miss Clegg quitted the sofa abruptly and came over to her own chair;
the tea appeared to be beginning to take effect.
"It _hasn't_ got no head! If it had a head, where would be the sense
in hangin' it high a _tall_? It's your good luck, Mrs. Lathrop, 't it
hasn't got no head, for the man said 't if it had a head it would 'a'
brought four or five dollars easy."
Mrs. Lathrop got up and went out into the hall to seek her parrot.
When she brought it in and examined it by the light of the lamp, her
expression became more than dubious.
"What did _you_ get for your--" she asked at last.
"I didn't get nothin'. I didn't see nothin' 't I wanted, 'n' I learned
long ago 't an auction 's generally a good place f'r buyin' things 't
you don't want after you've bought 'em. Now take that parrot o'
yours!--I wouldn't have him 'f you was to offer him to me for a gift;
not to speak o' his not havin' no head, he looks to me like he had
moths in him,--you look at him by daylight to-morrow 'n' see if it
don't strike you so too."
Mrs. Lathrop was silent for a long time. Finally she said:
"Did you go to the Orphan Asylum?"
"Well--no--I did n't. I would 'a' gone only I got on the wrong car 'n'
ended in a cemetery instead. I had a nice time there, though, walkin'
roun' 'n' readin' ages, an' jus' as I was goin' out I met a monument
man 't had a place right outside the gate, 'n' he took me to look at
his things, 'n' then I remembered father--two years dead 'n' not a
stone on him yet!"
Mrs. Lathrop laid the parrot aside with a heavy sigh and concentrated
all her attention upon her friend's recital.
"The man was about 's pleasant a man 's ever I met. When I told him
about father, he told me he took a interest in every word, whether I
bought a monument of him or not. He said he'd show me all he had 'n'
welcome 'n' it was no trouble but a joy. Then he took me all through
his shop 'n' the shed behind, 'n' really I never had a nicer time. I
see a lamb lyin' down first, 'n' I thought 't that would be nice f'r a
little, but the further back we went the finer they got. The man
wanted me to take a eagle grippin' a pen 'n' writin' father's name on
a book 't he's sittin' on to hold open while he writes. I told him 'f
I bought any such monument I cert'nly would want the name somewhere
else than up where no one but the eagle could read it. He said 't I
could have the name below 'n' let the eagle be writin' 'Repose in
Peace,' but I told him 't father died of paralysis after bein' in bed
for twenty years 'n' that his idea o' Heaven wasn't reposin' in
peace,--he always looked forward to walkin' about 'n.' bein' pretty
lively there. Then the man said 't maybe suthin' simple would be more
to my taste, 'n' he took me to where there was a pillow with a wreath
of roses on it, but--my gracious, I'd never be so mean 's to put a
pillow anywhere near father after all them years in bed, 'n' as to the
roses they'd be jus' 's bad or worse, for you know yourself how they
give him hay-fever so 's we had to dig up all the bushes years ago.