WALDSTRICKER AND MOTHER MOLL
"Deforrest is so interested in the little Skinner girl," Helen Young
explained to Ebenezer Waldstricker when they were alone after supper.
"Ever since he helped to get her father out of Auburn, he's done all he
could for her."
"He's a philanthropist at heart, I imagine," remarked Ebenezer,
agreeably.
"Yes, and so good to everybody. Dear Forrie! I wish he'd meet the right
woman and marry her. He'd be so happy in a home of his own. When I think
of leaving him alone--"
The tender face flushed crimson, and happy eyes dropped under the man's
bright gaze. He reached over and took a slender hand in his.
"But you're not sorry you're coming with me, are you, dear?" he chided
gently, and Helen lifted her head with a glad cry.
"Oh, no, no, darling!... I'm the happiest woman in the world!"
"And I'll keep you so," replied Ebenezer, in earnest.
"I was thinking, though," observed Helen, after a moment, "that
Deforrest might come with us if he hasn't made other arrangements."
Waldstricker contemplatively kissed each pink finger of the small hand
he held, then pressed his lips to the soft palm.
"I should like very much to have him, Helen," said he. "I'm very proud
of your brother, you know."
"You can't make me happier than to praise him," she smiled.
For several minutes no more was said. Then Waldstricker spoke as though
thinking aloud,
"I wonder if that little Skinner girl will be of any assistance in the
matter of locating Bishop?"
"Perhaps," replied Helen. "She seemed very eager to get the money! Don't
you think so?"
"Yes, I think she did, but I've been wondering if she's trustworthy. Is
she, Helen?"
Miss Young made a hasty affirmation.
"Yes, indeed, she's more than that!" she exclaimed. "She wouldn't
deceive any one she loves for anything in the world, so Deforrest tells
me."
"I sincerely hope so," sighed Ebenezer. "I've quite set my heart on her
helping me. Money is no object in a matter like this."
"Of course not," murmured Helen, sympathetically.
"Letts also is doing some good work," Ebenezer continued. "He's been
through nearly every hut on the Rhine."
Helen shivered. "I can't tolerate that man around," she replied. "Once
in a while he comes here to see Deforrest or to sell something, and I
can't get him away quickly enough."
"He's a good spy, though. That's all I want. He and the Skinner girl
ought to produce that dwarf between them."
"I hope so for your sake, dear," murmured Helen.
Waldstricker took out his watch and glanced at it hurriedly.
"It's time for me to go, sweetheart," said he. "I want to get home
before dark. Come as far as the lane with me--do!"
"The twilight is lovely, isn't it?" whispered the girl, when they were
traversing the pear orchard.
"Made more lovely because of you," replied Waldstricker, sentimentally.
"How romantic you are tonight, dearest!" Helen laughed.
They had turned slowly up the hill, when suddenly Helen stopped and
slipped her hand into Ebenezer's arm.
"There is that old woman you heard read from the fortune pot!" she
exclaimed. "Let's step one side until she's passed us? She rarely lets a
person go by without speaking."
Waldstricker threw up his head arrogantly.
"I'm not afraid of the hag," he replied pompously.
Together they advanced up the hill. Mother Moll, leaning on her cane,
crept slowly down toward them. When her faded, nearsighted eyes caught
sight of the two approaching figures, she halted in the middle of the
road until they were almost upon her. She stared at Waldstricker fully
fifteen seconds, while he looked steadily back at her. Then her withered
lips spread wide in a sneering, cackling laugh.
"So he air aready been settin' on yer head an' layin' on yer heart,
mister," she greeted him, "the leetle man like this, huh, ain't he?"
She shook her cane at the tall man and clacked at him again. Helen was
conscious that at Moll's insults, Ebenezer's anger was rising by the
minute. She was herself greatly moved by a kind of superstitious awe of
the old woman's cryptic utterances. But seeking to avoid any further
unpleasantness, she smiled in a friendly manner and asked,
"How do you do, Mother Moll?"
The hag thrust forward her face and raised one withered arm,
"I air fine, young lady," she screamed, crooking her fingers at the
girl, "an' feel finer'n you can do this day, or ye'll ever with him."
She pointed her cane at the scowling, dark-faced man; and slowly bobbed
her head back to Helen. "Yer life'll draw out long an' terrible, till
ye'll wish ye hadn't never seen 'im. He'll set up a knot hole an' drag
ye livin' through it. Then he'll turn yer heart inside out an' haul ye
back again."
She paused, while Waldstricker's face grew darker and darker. The frown
on his brow roused Helen to action.
"Let's go on, dear," she whispered. "Don't pay any attention to her
foolish talk."
"Not yet," returned Waldstricker, ominously. "Not yet!"
Moll laughed discordantly, shaking her head until the wisps of gray hair
fell in strings about her face.
"He knows I ain't done tellin' ye what'll happen if ye line yer life
with his'n," she croaked. "Lady, he air wicked, awful wicked, an'
nothin' but misery, deep an' plentiful, air a goin' to make him any
better. Every one he loves--"
Incoherently, she rambled on and the man's countenance took on an
expression of such rage that Helen Young uttered a cry of dismay. She
had never seen Ebenezer in one of his savage moods. Before she could
draw him away, he had lifted his riding whip and a sudden twist of his
arm brought it sharply down on the grandam's thin bent shoulders.
"Ebenezer!" screamed Helen, horrified.
"Drat ye, ye brute!" cried Moll, tottering back, "an' twice drat ye!"
She swayed forward on her cane. "Ye can lick me till I die, an' 'twon't
change yer own life any. It'll only add to the sufferin' ye got to go
through yerself."
Waldstricker's arm went up again, but Helen grasped it frantically.
"Ebenezer, don't!... Don't strike her any more. Please!... Go home,
Mother Moll.... Please go! Oh, do!"
The old woman leaned heavily on her stick, tearless sobs shaking her
emaciated frame. For a space of sixty seconds her watery, faded eyes
stared into Waldstricker's flashing dark ones--then she drew a long,
convulsive breath.
"It air like ye to hit the awful young an' the awful old," she shrilled
at him, "but, 'twon't do ye no good. Curls'll bring yer to yer knees,
hair'll make yer heart bleed blood redder'n the sun, an' the leetle
man'll jerk 'em tight 'bout yer throat till ye thunder out fer mercy."
"Come along," muttered Ebenezer, roughly, to Helen. "If she torments me
any more, I fear I'll kill her."
His words were not so low but they caught the quick ear of the old
woman.
"Kill me, yep, kill me, ye proud whelp! Go 'long; do it, ye big coward!
Before ye're done with life, ye'll hate yerself worse'n uther folks hate
ye."
She hobbled a little distance, reaching backward to rub her shoulders.
Then she twisted completely around, facing the other two.
"Mind my word, pretty miss," she croaked in half grunt, half yelp. "Let
'im go like ye would a snake; like ye would a slimy worm a crawlin' at
yer feet." Still snarling in pain, she lifted one shaking arm and
pointed a crooked forefinger at Waldstricker. "She won't always stay
with ye, ye skunk ye!" Then she staggered away, Helen and Ebenezer
staring after her until she was lost in the gloom of the gully.
"Isn't she dreadful?" Ebenezer said, with a rueful laugh.
"She's so old," was Helen's gentle reproof. "She's not accountable for
anything. Deforrest says she's very good to the other squatters."
"They're an unseemly mess." The man struck at an overhanging bough
savagely. "And your brother has power enough to remove the worst of them
if he wanted to. That old hag, for instance--"
"Deforrest wouldn't do it," interjected Helen.
"He may if I make it worth his while," replied Waldstricker. "But there,
I was foolish to let 'er get on my nerves so. I beg your pardon, dear.
My only excuse is I dislike to see the laws of God broken in such an
iniquitous way. Why, I felt when I struck her the righteous indignation
the Master must have felt when he drove the money changers from the
temple."
Helen looked at him, startled. She was shocked at his words, as she had
been terrified by his act.... A dreadful doubt darted into her mind. Was
Mother Moll right? Could she be? Instantly she dismissed the suggestion,
condemning herself for paying any attention to the empty vaporings of
the half-witted, childish, old woman. She was sorry for Moll, of course,
and grieved and hurt because Ebenezer had lost his temper and struck
her. But her loving heart excused him. Certainly the provocation had
been great. Old Moll was unusually impertinent.
Intent to repair the momentary disloyalty of her doubt, she pressed his
arm lovingly.
"There, dear, let's not speak of it again. It's over now and we'll
forget all about it."
A little later, when Waldstricker was moodily riding toward Ithaca,
Mother Moll's hateful prophecies repeated themselves in his mind.