THE NEW LIFE
The next morning Posey was awakened by the voice of Mrs. Hagood at her
door, “Come, Posey; time to get up, and be spry about it, too.”
The clock was just striking six as she came out of her room, but the
kitchen was already warm and Mrs. Hagood in a loose calico wrapper was
busy about the breakfast.
“I don’t want you to dawdle in bed,” was her salutation. “I’m stirring
myself mornings and I want folks about me to stir, too. Hurry and wash
you, then take this dish and go down cellar for some cucumber pickles.
They are in that row on the left hand side, the third jar. Now mind and
remember, for I don’t want to keep telling things over to you.”
As she returned with the pickles Mr. Hagood came in with a pail
of foaming milk, and Posey, who in her household experience had
been accustomed to see milk measured by the pint, or more often the
half-pint, gave a little cry of wonder and delight.
“I want ter know?” and Mr. Hagood’s thin, kindly face wrinkled from
mouth to eyes in a smile. “Never saw so much milk as this at once
before. Why I get this pail full every night and morning, and I
calc’late Brindle’ll do still better when she gets out to grass.” As he
spoke he had strained out a cupful of the fresh, warm milk and handed
it to Posey, saying, “Drink that now, an’ see if it don’t taste good.”
“What are you doing, Elnathan?” demanded Mrs. Hagood, who was
skillfully turning some eggs she was frying.
“Wal, now, Almiry, I’m just givin’ the child what she never had before
in her life, a drink o’ fresh, warm milk. I thought, Almiry,” with an
accent of mild reproof, “you’d like her to have what milk she wanted to
drink.”
“You know as well as anybody,” was her tart retort, “that I never
scrimped anybody or anything around me yet of victuals; Posey can have
all the milk she wants to drink with her breakfast, but there’s no use
for her to be stoppin’ her work and spendin’ time to drink it now, or
you to be lettin’ the cream rise on the milk before it’s strained, to
watch her.”
Breakfast out of the way Mrs. Hagood said, “Now, Posey, you may go
out and feed the chickens. You will find a bag of shelled corn on the
granary floor; give them the basin that stands on a barrel beside it
twice full.”
It was a command that Posey gladly obeyed, but she wondered that the
flock of eager fluttering chickens, who crowded around her, and flew
up into the granary door, seemed so indifferent to the breakfast she
scattered for them. “Go and eat,” she vainly urged, “go!”
Posey had on occasion seen city hens, poor, dirty, bedraggled fowls,
but these were so different, plump and snowy, bright of eye, and sleek
of plumage, that it was a pleasure to linger among them. But Mrs.
Hagood’s voice soon sounded from the door, “Posey, is it going to take
you all the forenoon to feed those hens?”
A little later as Posey was washing the breakfast dishes, taking great
pains to follow all of Mrs. Hagood’s many directions, for she truly
wished to please, she heard that lady calling her, and dropping the
wiping-towel ran out into the yard to see what was wanted.
“How came all those beans here on the ground?” Mrs. Hagood demanded
sharply, pointing as she spoke to the white kernels scattered around.
“Why,” replied Posey in surprise, “that is what I fed the chickens as
you told me.”
“‘As I told you!’ A likely story that I would tell you to feed the hens
beans. Don’t you know enough to know beans from corn?”
“No, I don’t,” retorted Posey hotly. “And why should I? I never was in
the country before in my life, and I don’t know anything about corn,
except green corn, or beans, either.”
“Shut right up,” exclaimed Mrs. Hagood sternly. “I won’t put up with
any impudence, and I want you to make up your mind to that. Now look
here,” holding up a handful of yellow kernels, “_this_ is corn;
remember it, and if you make such a blunder again I’ll help you to
remember with a whip.”
Posey turned slowly and with a swelling heart re-entered the house.
She had meant no harm, the two bags had sat side by side, the mistake
had been wholly accidental, and under other circumstances she would
have been sorry enough, but now with the sense of injustice burning at
her heart she said to herself, “Cross old thing, I don’t care if I did
spill her old beans, not one bit.”
So Posey’s life with Mrs. Hagood began, and had the latter been an
agreeable person to live with it might have been a pleasant life; she
was comfortably clothed, she had an abundance of wholesome food, and
the work expected of her was in no way beyond her strength. But Mrs.
Hagood always so managed that when one task was ended another was ready
to take its place. With her it was one continuous grind from morning
till night; that the child required a share of pleasure and recreation
was an idea she would have scouted. _She_ worked all the time, she
would have said, why was it any worse for Posey? Besides, this was a
poor child who would always have to earn her living and the sooner she
realized it the better.
So the stocking was set up, and Posey inducted into the mysteries of
knitting. For other spare moments there were towels to hem and sheets
to turn, and when everything else failed to fill all the available time
there was always on hand a huge basket of carpet rags to be cut, sewed,
and wound.
With it all she was one of those women who never dream of bestowing
praise: if the work were ever so well done, and Posey was at times
fired with the ambition to see how well she could do, never a word
of commendation followed; if on the contrary, there was any failure,
and Mrs. Hagood’s eyes were always alert for faults, there was always
the word of sharp reproof. Then Posey would solace herself with the
reflection that she couldn’t suit her if she tried, and she wasn’t
going to try any more, and she hoped she wouldn’t be suited, “so there!”
Often and often as Posey sat in the open doorway in the long summer
afternoons, the distant woods beyond the village beckoning with their
green shade and the basket of endless carpet rags at her side, did she
wish herself back within the pent-up walls of the Refuge; for there
when her appointed task was done she could enjoy some free time, while
here was no escape from the atmosphere of repression, fault-finding,
and petty irritation, to say nothing of the absence of all love and
sympathy, or even interest.
Mrs. Hagood would have said that all she was doing was for Posey’s
interest, but it is exceedingly doubtful if Almira Hagood ever viewed
anything or any one in a light separate from her own interest. With
a sublime self-confidence in her own ideas and opinions, she would
unhesitatingly have crushed a stronger opposition to her will; how much
the more anything so insignificant as the wishes and feelings of a
little charity girl! One, too, whom she had taken solely that she might
have her work, and whose highest good therefore was to be useful, as
her highest aim and desire ought to be to do the work she assigned her
quickly and well; while, unfortunately for both, Posey’s mind was often
filled with a host of other and widely differing wishes and desires.
Had kindly Mr. Hagood been an active factor in the domestic economy,
her life would have been very different; but he was only a passive
factor, so passive, in fact, as to be seldom considered, and least of
all by his wife. From the first Posey had regarded Mr. Hagood in the
light of a fellow sufferer, with the present advantage of his little
shop to escape to, where with his work as a plea he managed to spend
not only most of his days but many of his evenings, and where he could
enjoy the pleasure of his pipe and dog, both forbidden the house, and a
frequent chance visitor. For Mrs. Hagood so frowned upon his making one
of the nightly group at the village store and post-office that, social
as he was by nature, he seldom ventured on the enjoyment.
Still if this was his present advantage, he would always, so Posey
reflected, have to live with Mrs. Hagood, while some glad day she would
be old enough to leave, and then never need see her again unless she
chose, which she didn’t much think would ever happen.
An amiable, easy-going man, Elnathan Hagood, it was said, at the time
of his marriage had inclined to ways slightly convivial. But his wife
speedily changed all that, and by the sheer force of her superior will
had set and kept his feet in a straight path. By nature “handy” with
tools the shop had been her idea, where she started him as surgeon to
the various disabled vehicles of Horsham; while she, in the meantime,
having taken charge of his modest patrimony, proceeded to put it out to
usury, in a literal as well as figurative sense.
In all the country round no one knew how to drive a sharp bargain, and
for that matter a hard one, better than Almira Hagood; and woe to the
luckless debtor who expected mercy at her hands. With these qualities
but few really liked Mrs. Hagood; she was too dominant, positive,
selfish, and avaricious to win many friends, or to care much for
friendship. At the same time, and for all that her methods were now
and then a shade questionable, there were many who admired her thrift,
energy, business shrewdness, and practical ability, and took a certain
pride in her success as in some sort reflecting credit on her home
village.
It is almost needless to say that in the twenty years or more she had
managed the property it had greatly increased in value, and at this
time included outlying farms, village property, bank stock, mortgages,
and sundry other investments. In regard to this she never thought of
consulting her husband, and if he ever ventured on a suggestion as a
rule passed it over without the slightest regard. The word “we” was
one seldom heard from her lips. It was always “my horse,” “my cow”;
she referred to the time when “I built my barn,” or “when I bought my
farm,” with a complete ignoring of any partner in the firm matrimonial.
Indeed, whatever the light in which she regarded Elnathan Hagood
personally, for his ability and opinions she did not disguise her
contempt, and any attempt to assert himself was quickly and vigorously
suppressed; and the common opinion as to his condition was voiced by an
old companion, “I tell you, she keeps his nose clus to the grindstun.”
It was then not strange that for the most part he went about with the
subdued and apologetic air of one aware of his own insignificance.
Sometimes, for his kindly nature held an especially tender place for
children, he attempted to expostulate in Posey’s behalf; but his mild,
“Now, Almiry, I wouldn’t,” or “Almiry, you know children will be
children,” made matters no better for Posey, and only brought a storm
about his own head.
Weakness held no part in Mrs. Hagood; “capable” was the term that
truly fitted her; at the same time there was no more tenderness in her
nature than in her well-polished cook-stove. A timid, sensitive child
would have wilted, pined, and perhaps have died in her atmosphere;
but Posey was not more sensitive than the average healthy, hungry
child, and was even more than usually high-spirited and fearless.
Her affections—meagerly as they had been fed—were warm, her impulses
generous, and her nature one to whom love and kindness might have
proved controlling forces where threats and violence failed. Such being
the case, her life with Mrs. Hagood could hardly fail to intensify all
her faults of temperament; the more so as the almost daily outraging
of her sense of justice led to a feeling of resentment that from its
frequency became well-nigh constant.
There were also occasions when this rose to an especial high-water
mark. One such was the event of a Sunday School picnic to a little
lake distant some half-hour’s ride on the cars. An event that all
the younger members of the school had looked forward to with eager
anticipations, and Posey perhaps most of all, for a picnic was
something she had never known. But when the time came Mrs. Hagood
flatly refused her permission to attend.
“_I’m_ not going to throw away forty cents to go, and if I wouldn’t for
myself I don’t know why I should for you,” she had said. “Crystal Lake!
I want to know! Nobody ever thought of calling it anything but Wilson’s
Pond when I was a girl, or of its being any great sight. But now it’s
Crystal Lake folks must all run to see it, and I don’t suppose it’s
anything more than it was before.”
“Almiry,” ventured Mr. Hagood in his most persuasive tone, with a
glance at Posey’s drooping head, “ef you’ll let her go I’ll pay the
fare.”
“Really, Elnathan Hagood,” turning on him with withering sarcasm,
“seems to me you have grown suddenly rich. If you have more money than
you know what to do with you may go over to the store and get me ten
pounds of sugar, and a couple of pounds of raisins. I want them right
away. As for Posey, I’ve said once she couldn’t go and _that_ settles
it. I don’t believe in picnics, anyway; they’re just an excuse for
people to spend time and money; Posey hasn’t been good for anything
since they began to talk of this one, and if she was to go she’d
wear out her shoes, and tear her dress, and come home so used up she
wouldn’t be good for anything for a week to come. It’s all nonsense,
and she’s enough sight better off right here.”
So with a swelling heart Posey saw the others gathering for the start.
“Why, Posey, aren’t you ready?” called one of her classmates over the
fence as she was sweeping off the walk.
“No, I can’t go,” she answered with the curtness of despair.
“Won’t Mrs. Hagood let you?”
Posey shook her head; it was an occasion where words were insignificant.
“Well, I just think she’s a horrid, mean old thing,” cried the
indignant and friendly sympathizer.
“Who’s that is a ‘mean old thing’?” demanded Mrs. Hagood, who at that
moment suddenly appeared around the corner of the house.
“No-nobody,” stammered the little girl, all the more frightened because
of her guilty consciousness.
“Oh,” blandly remarked that lady, “it was my mistake then; I thought I
heard you saying that somebody was,” and with a grim smile she turned
away, adding as she did so, “Posey, you have swept that walk long
enough, come in now and wash the dishes.”
It is to be feared that Mrs. Hagood found Posey anything but efficient
help that day, for the bitter rebellion in her heart found outward
expression in careless, sullen indifference. She slopped water on the
floor, jammed the wood into the stove, and slammed the dishes with
a violence that threatened their destruction. And when Mrs. Hagood
sharply demanded what she was thinking of, she muttered a reply in a
tone that brought her a shake, with the admonition to be careful, if
she knew what was good for herself.
After the morning’s work was finished Posey was sent out to pick
currants for jelly; and a little later Mr. Hagood might have been
seen slipping, with all the caution of a criminal, along behind the
screening grapevine trellis towards the end of the garden where were
the currant bushes, and half hidden among them Posey shedding hot and
bitter tears over her task.
“I’m real sorry you couldn’t go, Posey,” he said in a voice lowered as
if fearful it might reach the keen ears of his wife, “for I know how
you’d been a-lottin’ on it; but Mrs. Hagood knows what’s best fer you.”
Loyalty was a strong element in Elnathan Hagood’s nature. Whatever his
private thought might be, not a complaining word of her had he ever
been heard to utter. And child though she was, Posey instinctively
recognized and respected this feeling, but now carried away by her
disappointment and grief she exclaimed passionately, “I don’t know
whether she does or not! At any rate I don’t believe she ever was a
little girl in her life.”
“Well, you know the real trouble is,” explained Mr. Hagood, “that she
never had any little girl of her own.” For it was one of his favorite
theories that a child, especially a little daughter, would have
softened all the asperity of that somewhat flinty nature, rendering it
at once sweet and tender.
“Besides,” he continued, “a picnic isn’t anything really so wonderful.
I wouldn’t give a single cent to go to one myself; though to be sure
I’m gettin’ oldish and a bit stiff for swingin’, and rowin’ on the
lake, and racin’ through the woods, an’ all that sort of thing I used
to enjoy so when I was your age.”
He checked himself with the sudden realization that this was hardly
the way to impress upon her what undesirable affairs picnics were, and
busied himself in extracting a paper parcel from his coat pocket. “Now
don’t cry any more,” he urged; “see here, I’ve brought you some nuts
and candy.”
“Oh, Mr. Hagood,” cried Posey impulsively jumping up and throwing her
arms around his neck, to his great astonishment, and hardly less
confusion, “you are the very best man in all the world!”
“Well, now, Honey,” his wrinkled face flushing with pleasure at the
caress, to him something so unwonted and unexpected, and giving her
hand an awkward stroke by way of return, “you be a good girl and mebby
you and I will go somewhere and have a picnic by ourselves some day.
I’ll see if I can’t fix it.”
Then Mr. Hagood, in the same stealthy manner with which he had come,
returned to his shop. And Posey behind the currant bushes forgot to
breathe out threatenings and slaughter against Mrs. Hagood, as she
munched her candy, so much the sweeter for the sympathy that had
accompanied it, and found herself more cheered than an hour before she
would have believed it possible she ever could be again.