THE winter of 1892-93 Mary spent at home with us. Her first expressed
wish, when the family returned from Interlaken, was to be confirmed, and
the Rev. Mr. Armstrong of the church we do not attend was duly notified.
"He says I must be christened first," said Mary. "Would you mind if he
called me 'Mary Gemmell'? There aint any name that I've a right to, and
I don't want to be called 'Mason,' because that's the name of the woman
that abused me when I was little. I'd rather have yours."
She was such a pathetic-looking young person, standing there before
Belle in her fresh and innocent loveliness, that my wife had not the
heart to refuse her anything.
When I came home that same evening there was a _tableau vivant_ in front
of the parlor fire. Dressed in white, Mary sat on a low stool at the
feet of the Rev. Walter Armstrong, her hands clasped in her lap, gazing
up into the clean-shaven clerical face, with that which passed for her
soul in her eyes. In spite of his stiff round collar and long black coat
the rector is a young man, and I saw that he was impressed.
"You understand, do you, Mary," he said tenderly, "that when you are
received into the Church you have God for your Father and Christ for
your Elder Brother?"
"Yes, I understand, Mr. Armstrong," replied the girl earnestly. "And
that's just what I always wanted--was to have _'folks.'_"
I retired in haste to the dining room, where Isabel was brimming over
with a new scheme.
"I've always found the housekeeping a drag, and it becomes more so every
year as my outlook broadens. I want to keep up to the times, but I never
have any leisure for reading, and our four eldest being boys, there
seemed to be no hope for years of having any one to relieve me."
"Mary's a godsend," said I.
"I wish you really thought that, as I do. She's quick and adaptable, and
I'm going to hand over to her a weekly allowance and let her keep the
house on it."
"What about her accomplishments--the elocution and the cornet?"
"They can stand in the meantime. Do you know, Davie," hesitatingly, "I'm
beginning to be afraid she hasn't a good ear for music."
"Why?"
"The other night when the Mortons were in she sat and talked to Frank
Wade the whole time Eva was playing."
"That's nothing. Everyone else did the same."
"But for a girl who is trying to pose as a cornet player, who thinks she
might earn her living leading a church choir with one, it's bad policy,
to say the least of it."
"Earn her living! I asked Joe Mitchell, when he was listening to her
practicing out in the summer-house, what he thought of her playing, and
he said she'd better keep to a penny whistle."
"Very rude of him!"
"No, it wasn't. I asked him point blank if I should be justified in
paying for the more lessons she wants, and he said decidedly I should
not."
"Well," said Belle wearily, "we'll try the housekeeping. That's a
woman's true vocation, according to orthodox ideas. I shouldn't have set
my heart on Mary turning out to be anything extraordinary. If she'll
only be kind of half decent, and help me out with the housework, I'll be
more than satisfied."
The sense of power gave new brightness to Mary's fair face, and her step
through the house was of the lightest during the next week or two, but
the boys rebelled in turn.
"_Mam_ma! Mary's locked the pantry. Must we go to her for the key
whenever we want anything?"
"I call it a mean shame!" from Joe.
"What were you doing?"
"We didn't do nothin', on'y eat up the pie she meant for dessert. I'm
sure Margaret wouldn't mind makin' another."
"Mary's perfectly right, boys; I've indulged you too much."
Then it was Watty who complained:
"Mary says she won't have us mussing up the parlor after she's tidied
it, and that we've got to change our boots when we come into the house."
Or Chrissie:
"Mary says I'm big enough now to keep my own room in order, and she aint
going to do it any more. She's wors'en grandma!"
To their grandma did they go with their woes when they found their
mother so unaccountably obdurate, but they did not get much comfort
there. Detest Mary as she might, my poor mother is always loyal to the
powers that be, and she told the children:
"Yer mither kens fine what she's aboot, an' ye needna fash yer heids tae
come cryin' tae me."
She even went so far as to back Mary up in her suggestion that the boys
should eat what was set before them, asking no questions.
"That's the w'y yer faither was brocht up. If he didna finish his
parritch in the mornin', they were warmed up for him again at nicht. Ye
tak' but a spinfu' 'at ye could hardly ca' parritch, for they're jist
puzhioned wi' sugar."
Mary was not naturally fond of children, and, having entered our family
full-grown, she found it hard to put up with the freaks of our six,
there being no foundation of sisterly love upon which to build
toleration.
Belle's housekeeping had always been lavish. She ordered her groceries
wholesale, and when they were done never inquired what had become of
them.
"I decline to go into details--life is too short! I don't know where my
patience ends and my laziness begins, but I'd rather be cheated than
lock things up, or try to keep track of what Margaret wastes. She's not
an ideal 'general,' but it's only one in a hundred that would stand the
children pottering about in the kitchen so much."
After the time-worn custom of new brooms, Mary made a bold attempt to
record each item of expenditure, and ordered what she wanted from day to
day; but there was no calculating the appetites of four growing boys,
especially when, as Mary affirmed, they sometimes over-ate themselves
just to spite her.
"We're living from hand to mouth, _pa_pa," they would say, when an
unwonted scarcity occurred.
Truth to tell, I began to sympathize with my revolting sons when I
brought an old friend home with me to dinner one day, and went to
announce the fact to our "housekeeper."
"I just wish that Bob Mansell would quit coming here so much when he's
not expected. There's only enough pudding for ourselves."
"Mary," said I sternly, "Mr. Mansell's been coming to this house before
you were here, and he'll keep on coming after you're gone, if you're not
careful."
It was the first time I had ever spoken sharply to her, and I flattered
myself that I had done some good, though she held her head high and left
the room.
Belle came to the conclusion that the housekeeping scheme did not work
smoothly, and she resumed the reins of government. Mary was still
supposed to do the work of a second maid, but it was evident that her
heart was not in it.
"What does Mary want now?" I asked my wife when she took her usual seat
beside me, as I lay on the sofa with my pipe.
"She thinks she'd like to go to the Boston School of Oratory to prepare
herself to be a public reader."
"Is it necessary that she should be before the public in one way or
another?"
"She doesn't seem to be much of a success in private life."
"In that respect she's no worse than half the girls in town. None of
them dote on housework."
"But, considering that this girl has no earthly claim on us, you'd think
she might be different."
"Don't be angry, Belle, at my saying so, but you've only yourself to
thank for that. You've been most anxious that Mary should be just like
one of ourselves--should not feel that she was accepting charity, and
you've succeeded only too well. The girl takes everything you do for her
as her right, and asks for more."
"Well, what about Boston?"
"I think it would be arrant folly to send her there. How do we know she
has any more talent for elocution than for music?"
"She has the desire to learn. I suppose that's a sign of the ability."
"She has an intense desire for admiration, that's about the size of it.
To be the center of all eyes, giving a recitation in a drawing room,
pleases her down to the ground, but it doesn't follow that she would be
a success professionally."
"I dare say we've spent about as much on her education as you care to do
just now."
"We have indeed!"
My wife and I are much in demand at all the social functions of our
town, and, though I accompany her under protest, I confess that, once
the affair is in full swing, I enjoy as much as anybody a hand at
"Pedro" or a dance.
The houses of our city are mostly wooden and mostly new, for an annual
conflagration keeps building brisk. Hardwood floors and mantels are the
order of the day, and if some of our lumbermen and their wives have not
a command of English grammar in keeping with their horses, their
sealskins, and their diamonds, they have a heartier than an English
welcome--except, of course, for guests of such questionable antecedents
as our Mary.
Mrs. David Gemmell is a bright and witty woman, though I say it, who
should not. But why should I not? She did not inherit her wits from me.
Mrs. David Gemmell let the leading ladies of the town understand that
unless Mary was invited to everything that was going on, we stayed away
ourselves. Lake City society could not proceed without Isabel, so the
"white elephant" was received in her train, and truly she did us credit
in company, if nowhere else. She was always stylishly dressed, and her
dancing was a joy forever. We did not marvel when Will Axworthy, the
most eligible young man about, took it into his head to introduce the
german to our benighted citizens, that he chose Mary for his partner to
lead it with him. She had private lessons from himself, as well as from
the dancing master, and proud and happy were Belle and I to sit at the
side of the ballroom and watch her going through the figures and
bestowing her favors with all the grace and dignity of one of the four
hundred.
"She shall go to Boston to-morrow, if she wants to," said I, but this
time Belle demurred.
"I think she seems likely to have a good time here this winter, and we
may as well let her have her fling."
The prophecy was fulfilled. In spite of the supreme jealousy of the
other girls, who could not say mean enough things about her, Mary
became quite the rage with the young men.
One Sunday afternoon Will Axworthy called. He is short and broad, has
reddish hair and a chronic blush hardly to be looked for in the Ward
McAllister of Lake City. Too nervously did he plant himself in my frisky
spring rocker, and therefore involuntarily did he present the soles of
his boots to the assembled family, while his head bumped the wall, to
the huge delight of our boys!
Undaunted by that inauspicious beginning, he came again the next Sunday,
smoked my best cigars, and talked lumber, the one subject upon which he
is posted, for he was the manager of a mill here.
He stayed to supper that evening and went with Mary to church afterward.
Then he called for her with a cutter the first bright day, and took her
sleigh riding. The embryo wrinkle left Belle's forehead.
"Do you really think he means anything?" said she.
"Don't be too sanguine about it. Nowadays, young men pay a girl a great
deal of attention with nothing in their heads but a good time."
"Still, Axworthy's no boy. He's thirty if he's a day, and he has a good
salary, and can afford to marry whenever the mood takes him."
"Let us hope and pray that it may take him soon!"
"Amen!" said Belle solemnly.
The daily friction with her _protégée_ was becoming too much for the
good-natured patience even of my better half. Acting upon generous
impulses is all very fine, but they need to be backed up by a large
amount of endurance and tolerance if the results are to be successfully
dealt with.
From my vantage-ground on the nursery sofa, behind my screen of
newspaper, I frequently hear more than is suspected by the family.
"Mary, you're not going to the rink to-night!" in Belle's most imploring
tone.
"Yes, mawm, I am. Lend me your wrench, Watty."
"Mary, I positively forbid you to go to the rink!"
"Well, I do think that's just too mean for anything. Every girl in town
goes."
"Every girl in town doesn't skate with barber, or bandsman, or anybody
who comes along, as you do."
"Watty's been telling!"
"Watty hasn't been telling!" broke in our eldest son in indignant
protest, which he further emphasized by going out and banging the door
after him.
"And, Mary," Belle continued, "are you engaged to Mr. Axworthy?"
"No!" sullenly.
"Then if I were you I wouldn't let him kiss me when he says
'Good-night' at the door after bringing you home from a party."
"You're old-fashioned. All the girls do it!"
"No _lady_ would permit a man to take such a liberty. You're spoiling
your chances with Mr. Axworthy, I can tell you. I never knew a man yet
that would bind himself to a girl when he could have all the privileges
of an engaged man, and none of the responsibilities."
"I don't care anything at all about him. I don't want to marry him. He's
just giving me a good time."
A good time he undoubtedly did give her throughout the winter. To the
smartest balls and parties he was her escort, and she always wore the
roses he never neglected to send. Every Sunday about dusk he would come
round to our house, and, martyrs to a good cause, Isabel, mother, and I
vacated the cozy parlor with its easy chairs and blazing fire for the
nursery--always uproarious with children on that day.
"I wonder what those two find to talk about," speculated Belle. "Mary
has no conversation at all, and Axworthy hasn't much more."
"Perhaps he takes it out in looking at her. By the way, Belle, when are
you going to appear in the new dress I gave you that fifty dollars to
buy? I am quite tired of the mauve tea gown."
My wife glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Grandma was out of
hearing.
"The truth is, Dave, I thought I must wait to see how much of it I had
left after getting Mary rigged up for the Robinsons' dance. She goes out
so often that she needs a change of evening dress."
"Did she ask for it?"
"Not directly, but she remarked that she didn't see what I wanted with
a new black silk, that I had plenty of clothes, and that when she was my
age she didn't think she'd bother about what she had to wear."
I sprang up from the sofa, prepared to shove Mary out of the house, neck
and crop, but Belle's outburst of laughter calmed me.
"Her cheek is so great that it passes from the ridiculous to the
sublime!"
"Why do you stand it, Belle? You wouldn't from anybody else."
"I can't very well go back on her at this stage, and send her about her
business. She's shrewd enough to know that."
"People would laugh; that's so!"
"Besides, if she marries Axworthy, she'll be our social equal here in
this town, and it must never be in her power to say that we did not
treat her well."
"What is the prospect with Axworthy?"
"Good, I think. He is thoroughly kind to her, and he has given me plenty
of hints about the state of his affections, hopes by another winter that
Mary will have somebody else to look after her, and so on. He is always
most particular in seeing that she is well wrapped up, and that is
highly necessary, for she is extremely careless about how she goes out.
In spite of a certain amount of physical dash, she isn't a bit strong;
has no staying power."
"It won't be much fun for Axworthy to be saddled with a delicate wife."
"Well, I guess he needs some discipline, just as much as I do. I've had
my share out of Miss Mary for the last three years, and I am quite
willing to let somebody else have a turn. He walks into this thing with
his eyes open. He knows her history."
"But does he know her disposition?"
"Let him find that out--if he can. Most mothers don't think it necessary
to tell their daughters' suitors how the girls get on with them in the
house."
"You say she has no constitution. Supposing he does marry her, how about
the possible children? What have they done that they should have Mary
for a mother?"
"That's exactly the right way to put it--what have they done? We don't
know, but they must have gone far astray last time, if they are given
such a bad start this incarnation."
Will Axworthy left town in the spring. Lumber was done in our part of
Michigan and he had to follow it further south. He and Mary
corresponded, for I caught Belle in the act of correcting one of her
letters.
"Do you think that's quite fair to Axworthy? If they become engaged, the
first unedited letter he gets from Mary will be considerable of a
surprise to him."
"Don't you bother your old head, Dave! I'm running this thing! He's
arranging to meet us in Chicago, and hopes to have the pleasure of
showing Mary the Columbian Exhibition. Something is sure to happen while
we're there!"