MADAM CONWAY'S DISASTERS.
At a comparatively early hour Madam Conway arose, and going to the
parlor found there Arthur Carrollton, who asked if Margaret were not
yet up. "Say that I wish her to ride with me on horseback," said he.
"The morning air will do her good;" and, quite delighted, Madam Conway
carried the message to her granddaughter.
"Tell him I shan't do it," answered the sleepy Maggie, adjusting
herself for another nap. Then, as she thought how his eyes probably
looked as he said, "I wish her to ride," she felt impelled to obey,
and greatly to her grandmother's surprise she commenced dressing.
Theo's riding dress was borrowed, and though it did not fit her
exactly she looked unusually well when she met Mr. Carrollton in the
lower hall, and once mounted upon the gay steed, and galloping away
into the country, she felt more than repaid for the loss of her
morning slumber.
"You ride well," said Mr. Carrollton, when at last they paused upon
the brow of a hill overlooking the town, "but you have some faults
which, with your permission, I will correct," and in the most polite
and gentlemanly manner he proceeded to speak of a few points wherein
her riding might be improved.
Among other things, he said she rode too fast for a lady; and, biting
her lip, Maggie thought, "If I only had Gritty here, I'd lead him such
a race as would either break his bones or his neck, I'm not particular
which."
Still, she followed his directions implicitly, and when, ere they
reached home, he told her that she excelled many who had been for
years to riding schools, she felt repaid for his criticisms, which she
knew were just, even if they were not agreeable. Breakfast being over,
he announced his intention of going down to Boston, telling Maggie he
should probably return that evening and go with her to Hillsdale on
the morrow.
Scarcely had he gone when Henry Warner appeared, asking an interview
with Madam Conway, who haughtily led the way into a private room. Very
candidly and honorably Henry made known to her his wishes, whereupon
a most stormy scene ensued, the lady so far forgetting herself as to
raise her voice several notes above its usual pitch, while Henry,
angered by her insulting words, bade her take the consequences of her
refusal, hinting that girls had been known to marry without their
guardian's consent.
"An elopement, hey? He threatens me with an elopement, does he?" said
Madam Conway, as the door closed after him. "I am glad he warned me
in time," and then, trembling in every limb lest Maggie should be
spirited away before her very eyes, she determined upon going home
immediately and leaving Arthur Carrollton to follow in the cars.
Accordingly, Maggie was bidden to pack her things at once, the excited
old lady keeping her eye constantly upon her to see that she did
not disappear through the window or some other improbable place. In
silence Maggie obeyed, pouting the while a very little, partly because
she should not again see Henry, partly because she had confidently
expected to ride home with Mr. Carrollton, and partly because she
wished to stay to the firemen's muster, which had long been talked
about, and was to take place on the morrow. They were ready at last,
and then in a very perturbed state of feeling Madam Conway waited
for her carriage, which was not forthcoming, and upon inquiry George
Douglas learned that, having counted upon another day in the city,
Mike was now going through with a series of plunge-baths, by way of
sobering himself ere appearing before his mistress. This, however,
George kept from Madam Conway, not wishing to alarm her; and when
after a time Mike appeared, sitting bolt upright upon the box, with
the lines grasped firmly in his hands, she did not suspect the truth,
nor know that he too was angry for being thus compelled to go home
before he saw the firemen.
Thinking him sober enough to be perfectly safe, George Douglas felt no
fear, and, bowing to his new relatives, went back to comfort Theo, who
as a matter of course cried a little when the carriage drove away.
Worcester was left behind, and they were far out in the country ere
a word was exchanged between Madam Conway and Maggie; for while the
latter was pouting behind her veil, the former was wondering what
possessed Mike to drive into every rut and over every stone.
"You, Mike!" she exclaimed at last, leaning from the window. "What
ails you?"
"Nothing, as I'm a living man," answered Mike, halting so suddenly as
to jerk the lady backwards and mash the crown of her bonnet.
Straightening herself up, and trying in vain to smooth the jam, Madam
Conway continued: "In liquor, I know. I wish I had stayed home." But
Mike loudly denied the charge, declaring he had spent the blessed
night at a meeting of the "Sons," where they passed around nothing
stronger than lemons and water, and if the horses chose to run off the
track it wasn't his fault--he couldn't help it; and with the air of
one deeply injured he again started forward, turning off ere long into
a cross road, which, as they advanced, grew more stony and rough,
while the farmhouses, as a general thing, presented a far less
respectable appearance than those on the Hillsdale route.
"Mike, you villain!" ejaculated the lady, as they ran down into a
ditch, and she sprang to one side to keep the carriage from going
over.
But ere she had time for anything further, one of the axletrees
snapped asunder, and to proceed further in their present condition was
impossible. Alighting from the carriage, and setting her little feet
upon the ground with a vengeance, Madam Conway first scolded Mike
unmercifully for his carelessness, and next chided Maggie for
manifesting no more concern.
"You'd as lief go to destruction as not, I do believe!" said she,
looking carefully after the bandbox containing her purple satin.
"I'd rather go there first," answered Maggie, pointing to a brown
old-fashioned farmhouse about a quarter of a mile away.
At first Madam Conway objected, saying she preferred sitting on the
bank to intruding herself upon strangers; but as it was now noonday,
and the warm September sun poured fiercely down upon her, she finally
concluded to follow Maggie's advice, and gathering up her box and
parasol started for the house, which, with its tansy patch on the
right, and its single poplar tree in front, presented rather an
uninviting appearance.
"Some vulgar creatures live there, I know. Just hear that old tin
horn!" she exclaimed, as a blast, loud and shrill, blown by practiced
lips, told the men in a distant field that dinner was ready.
A nearer approach disclosed to view a slanting-roofed farmhouse such
as is often found in New England, with high, narrow windows, small
panes of glass, and the most indispensable paper curtains of blue
closely shading the windows of what was probably the "best room." In
the apartment opposite, however, they were rolled up, so as to show
the old-fashioned drapery of dimity, bordered with a netted fringe.
Half a dozen broken pitchers and pots held geraniums, verbenas, and
other plants, while the well-kept beds of hollyhocks, sunflowers, and
poppies indicated a taste for flowers in someone. Everything about
the house was faultlessly neat. The doorsill was scrubbed to a chalky
white, while the uncovered floor wore the same polished hue.
All this Madam Conway saw at a glance, but it did not prevent her
from holding high her aristocratic skirts, lest they should be
contaminated, and when, in answer to her knock, an odd-looking,
peculiarly dressed woman appeared, she uttered an exclamation of
disgust, and, turning to Maggie, said, "You talk--I can't!"
But the woman did not stand at all upon ceremony. For the last ten
minutes she had been watching the strangers as they toiled over the
sandy road, and when sure they were coming there had retreated into
her bedroom, donning a flaming red calico, which, guiltless of hoops,
clung to her tenaciously, showing her form to good advantage, and
rousing at once the risibility of Maggie. A black lace cap, ornamented
with ribbons of the same fanciful color as the dress, adorned her
head; and, with a dozen or more pins in her mouth, she now appeared,
hooking her sleeve and smoothing down the black collar upon her neck.
In a few words Maggie explained to her their misfortune, and asked
permission to tarry there until the carriage was repaired.
"Certing, certing," answered the woman, courtesying almost to the
floor. "Walk right in, if you can git in. It's my cheese day, or I
should have been cleared away sooner. Here, Betsy Jane, you have
prinked long enough; come and hist the winders in t'other room, and
wing 'em off, so the ladies can set in there out of this dirty place;"
then turning to Madam Conway, who was industriously freeing her
French kids from the sand they had accumulated during her walk, she
continued, "Have some of my shoes to rest your feet a spell"; and
diving into a recess or closet she brought forth a pair of slippers
large enough to hold both of Madam Conway's feet at once.
With a haughty frown the lady declined the offer, while Maggie looked
on in delight, pleased with an adventure which promised so much fun.
After a moment Betsy Jane appeared, attired in a dress similar to that
of her mother, for whose lank appearance she made ample amends, in the
wonderful expansion of her robes, which, minus gather or fold at the
bottom, set out like a miniature tent, upsetting at once the bandbox,
which Madam Conway had placed upon a chair, and which, with its
contents, rolled promiscuously over the floor!
"Betsy Jane! How can you wear them abominable things!" exclaimed the
distressed woman, stooping to pick up the purple satin which had
tumbled out.
A look from the more fashionable daughter, as with a swinging sweep
she passed on into the parlor, silenced the mother on the subject of
hoops, and thinking her guests must necessarily be thirsty after their
walk she brought them a pitcher of water, asking if they'd "chuse it
clear, or with a little ginger and molasses," at the same time calling
to Betsy Jane to know if them windows was "wung" off!
The answer was in the affirmative, whereupon the ladies were invited
to enter, which they did the more willingly as through the open door
they had caught glimpses of what proved to be a very handsome Brussels
carpet, which in that room seemed a little out of place, as did the
sofa, and handsome haircloth rocking-chair. In this last Madam Conway
seated herself, while Maggie reclined upon a lounge, wondering at the
difference in the various articles of furniture, some of which were
quite expensive, while others were of the most common kind.
"Who can they be? She looks like someone I have seen," said Maggie as
Betsy Jane left the room. "I mean to ask their names;" but this her
grandmother would not suffer. "It was too much like familiarity," she
said, "and she did not believe in putting one's self on a level with
such people."
Another loud blast from the horn was blown, for the bustling woman of
the house was evidently getting uneasy, and ere long three or four men
appeared, washing themselves from the spout of the pump, and wiping
upon a coarse towel which hung upon a roller near the back door.
"I shan't eat at the same table with those creatures," said Madam
Conway, feeling intuitively that she would be invited to dinner.
"Why, grandma, yes you will, if she asks you," answered Maggie. "Only
think how kind they are to us--perfect strangers!"
What else she might have said was prevented by the entrance of Betsy
Jane, who informed them that dinner was ready, and with a mental
groan, as she thought how she was about to be martyred, Madam Conway
followed her to the dining room, where a plain, substantial farmer's
meal was spread. Standing at the head of the table, with her
good-humored face all in a glow, was the hostess, who, pointing Madam
Conway to? chair, said: "Now set right by, and make yourselves to hum.
Mebby I or to have set the table over, and I guess I should if I had
anything fit to eat. Be you fond of biled victuals?" and taking it for
granted they were, she loaded both Madam Conway's and Maggie's plate
with every variety of vegetables used in the preparation of the dish
known everywhere as "boiled victuals."
By this time the men had ranged themselves in respectful silence upon
the opposite side of the table, each stealing an admiring though
modest glance at Maggie; for the masculine heart, whether it beats
beneath a homespun frock or coat of finest cloth, is alike susceptible
to glowing, youthful beauty like that of Maggie Miller. The head of
the house was absent--"had gone to town with a load of wood," so his
spouse informed the ladies, at the same time pouring out a cup of tea,
which she said she had tried to make strong enough to bear up an egg.
"Betsy Jane," she continued, casting a deprecating glance, first at
the blue sugar bowl and then at her daughter, "what possessed you to
put on this brown sugar, when I told you to get crush? Have some of
the apple sass? It's new--made this morning. Dew have some," she
continued, as Madam Conway shook her head. "Mebby it's better than
it looks. Seem's ef you wan't goin' to eat nothin'. Betsy Jane,
now you're up after the crush, fetch them china sassers for the
cowcumbers. Like enough she'll eat some of them."
But, affecting a headache, Madam Conway declined everything save
the green tea and a Boston cracker, which, at the first mention of
headache, the distressed woman had brought her. Suddenly remembering
Mike, who, having fixed the carriage, was fast asleep on a wheelbarrow
under the woodshed, she exclaimed: "For the land of massy, if I hain't
forgot that young gentleman! Go, William, and call him this minute.
Are you sick at your stomach?" she asked, turning to Madam Conway,
who at the thought of eating with her drunken coachman had uttered
an exclamation of disgust. "Go, Betsy Jane, and fetch the camphire,
quick!"
But Madam Conway did not need the camphor, and so she said, adding
that Mike was better where he was. Mike thought so too, and refused
to come, whereupon the woman insisted that he must. "There was room
enough," she said, "and no kind of sense in Betsy Jane's taking up the
hull side of the table with them rattans. She could set nearer the
young lady."
"Certainly," answered Maggie, anxious to see how the "rattans" would
manage to squeeze in between herself and the table-leg, as they would
have to do if they came an inch nearer.
This feat could not be done, and in attempting it Betsy Jane upset
Maggie's tea upon her handsome traveling dress, eliciting from her
mother the exclamation, "Betsy Jane Douglas, you allus was the
blunderin'est girl!"
This little accident diverted the woman's mind from Mike, while
Madam Conway, starting at the name of Douglas, thought to herself:
"Douglas!--Douglas! I did not suppose 'twas so common a name. But then
it don't hurt George any, having these creatures bear his name."
Dinner being over, Madam Conway and Maggie returned to the parlor,
where, while the former resumed her chair, the latter amused herself
by examining the books and odd-looking daguerreotypes which lay upon
the table.
"Oh, grandmother!" she almost screamed, bounding to that lady's
side, "as I live, here's a picture of Theo and George Douglas taken
together," and she held up a handsome casing before the astonished
old lady, who, donning her golden spectacles in a twinkling, saw for
herself that what Maggie said was true.
"They stole it!" she gasped. "We are in a den of thieves! Who knows
what they'll take from my bandbox?" and she was about to leave the
room when Maggie, whose quick mind saw farther ahead, bade her stop.
"I may discover something more," said she, and taking up a handsomely
bound volume of Lamb, she turned to the fly-leaf, and read, "Jenny
Douglas, from her brother George, Worcester, January 8."
It was plain to her now; but any mortification she might otherwise
have experienced was lost in the one absorbing thought, "What will
grandma say?"
"Grandmother," said she, showing the book, "don't you remember the
mother of that girl called her Betsy Jane Douglas?"
"Yes, yes!" gasped Madam Conway, raising both hands, while an
expression of deep, intense anxiety was visible upon her face.
"And don't you know, too," continued Maggie, "that George always
seemed inclined to say as little as possible of his parents? Now, in
this country it is not unusual for the sons of just such people as
these to be among the most wealthy and respectable citizens."
"Maggie, Maggie!" hoarsely whispered Madam Conway, grasping Maggie's
arm, "do you mean to insinuate--am I to understand that you believe
that odious woman and hideous girl to be the mother and sister of
George Douglas?"
"I haven't a doubt of it," answered Maggie. "'Twas the resemblance
between Betsy Jane and George which I observed at first."
Out of her chair to the floor tumbled Madam Conway, fainting entirely
away, while Maggie, stepping to the door, called for help.
"I mistrusted she was awful sick at dinner," said Mrs. Douglas, taking
her hands from the dish-water, and running to the parlor. "I wish
she'd smelt of the camphire, as I wanted her to do. Does she have such
spells often?"
By this time Betsy Jane brought a basin of water, which she dashed in
the face of the unconscious woman, who soon began to revive.
"Pennyr'yal tea'll settle her stomach quicker'n anything else," said
Mrs. Douglas. "I'll clap a little right on the stove;" and, helping
Madam Conway to the sofa, she left the room.
"There may possibly be a mistake, after all," thought Maggie. "I'll
question the girl;" and, turning to Betsy Jane, she said, taking up
the book which had before attracted her attention, "Is this 'Jenny
Douglas' intended for you?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered the girl, coloring slightly. "Brother George
calls me Jenny, because he thinks Betsy so old-fashioned."
An audible groan from the sofa, and Maggie continued, "Where does your
brother live?"
"In Worcester, ma'am. He keeps a store there," answered Betsy, who was
going to say more, when her mother, re-entering the room, took up the
conversation by saying, "Was you tellin' 'em about George Washington?
Waal, he's a boy no mother need to be ashamed on, though my old man
sometimes says he's ashamed of us, we are so different. But, then, he
orto consider the advantages he's had. We only brung him up till he
was ten years old, and then an uncle he was named after took him
and gin him a college schoolin', and then put him into his store in
Worcester. Your head aches wus, don't it? Poor thing! The pennyr'yal
will be steeped directly," she added, in an aside to Madam Conway,
who had groaned aloud as if in pain. Then resuming her story, she
continued, "Better'n six year ago Uncle George, who was a bachelor,
died, leaving the heft of his property, seventy-five thousand dollars
or more, to my son, who is now top of the heap in the store, and worth
one hundred thousand dollars, I presume; some say two hundred thousand
dollars; but that's the way some folks have of agitatin' things."
"Is he married?" asked Maggie, and Mrs. Douglas, mistaking the motive
which prompted the question, answered: "Yes, dear, he is. If he wan't,
I know of no darter-in-law I'd as soon have as you. I don't believe in
finding fault with my son's wife; but there's a proud look in her
face I don't like. This is her picter," and she passed to Maggie the
daguerreotype of Theo.
"I've looked at it before," said Maggie; and the good woman proceeded:
"I hain't seen her yet; but he's going to bring her to Charlton
bime-by. He's a good boy, George is, free as water--gave me this
carpet, the sofy and chair, and has paid Betsy Jane's schoolin' one
winter at Leicester. But Betsy don't take to books much. She's more
like me, her father says. They had a big party for George last night,
but I wan't invited. Shouldn't 'a' gone if I had been; but for all
that a body don't want to be slighted, even if they don't belong to
the quality. If I'm good enough to be George's mother I'm good enough
to go to a party with his wife. But she wan't to blame, and I shan't
lay it up against her. I shall see her to-morrow, pretty likely, for
Sam Babbit's wife and I are goin' down to the firemen's muster. You've
heard on't, I suppose. The different engines are goin' to see which
will shute water the highest over a 180-foot pole. I wouldn't miss
goin' for anything, and of course I shall call on Theodoshy. I
calkerlate to like her, and when they go to housekeepin' I've got a
hull chest full of sheets and piller-biers and towels I'm goin' to
give her, besides three or four bedquilts I pieced myself, two in
herrin'-bone pattern, and one in risin' sun. I'll show 'em to you,"
and leaving the room, she soon returned with three patchwork
quilts, wherein were all possible shades of color, red and yellow
predominating, and in one the "rising sun" forming a huge centerpiece.
"Heavens!" faintly articulated Madam Conway, pressing her hands upon
her head, which was supposed to be aching dreadfully. The thought of
Theo reposing beneath the "risin' sun," or yet the "herrin'-bone," was
intolerable; and looking beseechingly at Maggie, she whispered, "Do
see if Mike is ready."
"If it's the carriage you mean," chimed in Mrs. Douglas, "it's been
waiting quite a spell, but I thought you warn't fit to ride yet, so I
didn't tell you."
Starting to her feet, Madam Conway's bonnet went on in a trice, and
taking her shawl in her hand she walked outdoors, barely expressing
her thanks to Mrs. Douglas, who, greatly distressed at her abrupt
departure, ran for the herb tea, and taking the tin cup in her hand
followed her guest to the carriage, urging her to "take a swaller just
to keep from vomiting."
"She is better without it," said Maggie. "She seldom takes medicine,"
and politely expressing her gratitude to Mrs. Douglas for her kindness
she bade Mike drive on.
"Some crazy critter just out of the asylum, I'll bet," said Mrs.
Douglas, walking back to the house with her pennyroyal tea. "How queer
she acted! but that girl's a lady, every inch of her, and so handsome
too--I wonder who she is?"
"Don't you believe the old woman felt a little above us?" suggested
Betsy Jane, who had more discernment than her mother.
"Like enough she did, though I never thought on't. But she needn't.
I'm as good as she is, and I'll warrant as much thought on, where I'm
known;" and quite satisfied with her own position, Mrs. Douglas went
back to her dish-washing, while Betsy Jane stole away upstairs to
try the experiment of arranging her hair after the fashion in which
Margaret wore hers.
In the meantime Mike, perfectly sobered, had turned his horses' heads
in the direction of Hillsdale, when Madam Conway called out, "To
Worcester, Mike--to Worcester, as fast as you can drive."
"To Worcester! For what?" asked Maggie, and the excited woman
answered: "To stop it! To forbid the banns! I should think you'd ask
for what!"
"To stop it," repeated Maggie. "I'd like to see you stop it, when
they've been married two months!"
"So they have! so they have!" said Madam Conway, wringing her hands
in her despair, and crying out that a Conway should be so disgraced.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Make the best of it, of course," answered Maggie. "I don't see
that George is any worse for his parentage. He is evidently greatly
respected in Worcester, where his family are undoubtedly known. He is
educated and refined, if they are not. Theo loves him, and that is
sufficient, unless I add that he has money."
"But not as much as I supposed," moaned Madam Conway. "Theo told me
two hundred thousand dollars; but that woman said one. Oh, what will
become of me! Give me the hartshorn, Maggie. I feel so faint!"
The hartshorn was handed her, but it could not quiet her distress.
Her family pride was sorely wounded, and had Theo been dead she would
hardly have felt worse than she did.
"How will she bear it when it comes to her knowledge, as it
necessarily must? It will kill her, I know!" she exclaimed, after
Maggie had exhausted all her powers of reasoning in vain; then, as
she remembered the woman's avowed intention of visiting her
daughter-in-law on the morrow, she felt that she must turn back; she
must see Theo and break it to her gently, or the first sight of that
odious creature, claiming her for a daughter, might be of incalculable
injury.
"Stop, Mike," she was about to say; but ere the words passed her lips
she reflected that to take Maggie back to Worcester was to throw her
again in Henry Warner's way, and this she could not do. There was
but one alternative. She could stop at the Charlton depot, not far
distant, and wait for the downward train, while Mike drove Maggie
home; and this she resolved to do. Mike was accordingly bidden to take
her at once to the depot, which he did, while she explained to Maggie
her reason for returning.
"Theo is much better alone, and George will not thank you for
interfering," said Maggie, not at all pleased with her grandmother's
proceedings.
But the old lady was determined. It was her duty, she said, to stand
by Theo in trouble; and if a visit from that horrid creature wasn't
trouble, she could not well define it.
"When will you come home?" asked Maggie.
"Not before to-morrow night. Now I have undertaken the matter, I
intend to see it through," said Madam Conway, referring to the
expected visit of Mrs. Douglas, senior.
But Mike did not thus understand it, and thinking her only object in
turning back was to "see the doin's," as he designated the firemen's
muster, he muttered long and loud about being thus sent home while his
mistress went to see the fun.
In the meantime, on a hard settee, at the rather uncomfortable depot,
Madam Conway awaited the arrival of the train, which came at last,
and in a short time she found herself again in Worcester. Once in
a carriage, and on her way to the "Bay State," she began to feel a
little nervous, half wishing she had followed Maggie's advice, and
left Theo alone. But it could not now be helped, and while trying to
think what she should say to her astonished granddaughter she was set
down at the door of the hotel, slightly bewildered and a good deal
perplexed, a feeling which was by no means diminished when she learned
that Mr. and Mrs. Douglas were both out of town.
"Where have they gone, and when will they return?" she gasped, untying
her bonnet strings for easier respiration.
To these queries the clerk, replied that he believed Mr. Douglas had
gone to Boston on business, that he might be home that night; at all
events, he would probably return in the morning; she could find Mr.
Warner, who would tell her all about it. "Shall I send for him?" he
continued, as he saw the scowl upon her face.
"Certainly not," she answered; and taking the key, which had been left
in his charge, she repaired to Theo's rooms, and sinking into a large
easy-chair fanned herself furiously, wondering if they would return
that night, and what they would say when they found her there. "But I
don't care," she continued, speaking aloud and shaking her head very
decidedly at the excited woman whose image was reflected by the mirror
opposite, and who shook her head as decidedly in return. "George
Douglas has deceived us shamefully, and I'll tell him so, too. I wish
he'd come this minute!"
But George Douglas knew well what he was doing. Very gradually was he
imparting to Theo a knowledge of his parents, and Theo, who really
loved her husband, was learning to prize him for himself, and not for
his family. Feeling certain that the firemen's muster would bring his
mother to town, and knowing that Theo was not yet prepared to see her,
he was greatly relieved at Madam Conway's sudden departure, and had
himself purposely left home, with the intention of staying away until
Friday night. This, however, Madam Conway did not know, and very
impatiently she awaited his coming, until the lateness of the hour
precluded the possibility of his arrival, and she retired to bed,
but not to sleep, for the city was full of firemen, and one company,
failing of finding lodgings elsewhere, had taken refuge in an
empty carriage-shop near by. The hard, bare floor was not the most
comfortable bed imaginable, and preferring the bright moonlight and
open air they made the night hideous with their noisy shouts, which
the watchmen tried in vain to hush. To sleep in that neighborhood was
impossible, and all night long Madam Conway vibrated between her bed
and the window, from which latter point she frowned wrathfully down
upon the red coats below, who, scoffing alike at law and order as
dispensed by the police, kept up their noisy revel, shouting lustily
for "Chelsea, No. 4" and "Washington, No. 2," until the dawn of day.
"I wish to mercy I'd gone home!" sighed Madam Conway, as weak and
faint she crept down to the breakfast table, doing but little justice
to anything, and returning to her room pale, haggard, and weary.
Ere long, however, she became interested in watching the crowds of
people who at an early hour filled the streets; and when at last the
different fire companies of the State paraded the town, in a seemingly
never-ending procession, she forgot in a measure her trouble, and
drawing her chair to the window sat down to enjoy the brilliant scene,
involuntarily nodding her head to the stirring music, as company after
company passed. Up and down the street, far as the eye could reach,
the sidewalks were crowded with men, women, and children, all eager
to see the sight. There were people from the city and people from the
country, the latter of whom, having anticipated the day for weeks and
months, were now unquestionably enjoying it to the last degree.
Conspicuous among these was a middle-aged woman, who elicited remarks
from all who beheld her, both from the peculiarity of her dress and
the huge blue cotton umbrella she persisted in hoisting, to the great
annoyance of those in whose faces it was thrust, and who forgot in a
measure their vexation when they read the novel device it bore. Like
many other people, who can sympathize with the good woman, she
was always losing her umbrella, and at last, in self-defense, had
embroidered upon the blue in letters of white:
"Steal me not, for fear of shame.
For here you see my owner's name:
"CHARITY DOUGLAS."
As the lettering was small and not very distinct, it required a
close observation to decipher it; but the plan was a successful one,
nevertheless, and for four long years the blue umbrella had done good
service to its mistress, shielding her alike from sunshine and from
storm, and now in the crowded city it performed a double part,
preventing those standing near from seeing, while at the same time it
kept the dust from settling on the thick green veil and leghorn bonnet
of its owner. At Betsy Jane's suggestion she wore a hoop to-day on
Theo's account, and that she was painfully conscious of the fact was
proved by the many anxious glances she cast at her chocolate-colored
muslin, through the thin folds of which it was plainly visible.
"I wish I had left the pesky thing to hum," she thought, feeling
greatly relieved when at last, as the crowd became greater, it was
broken in several pieces and ceased to do its duty.
From her seat near the window Madam Conway caught sight of the
umbrella as it swayed up and down amid the multitude, but she had no
suspicion that she who bore it thus aloft had even a better right
than herself to sit where she was sitting. In her excitement she had
forgotten Mrs. Douglas' intended visit, to prepare Theo for which she
had returned to Worcester, but it came to her at length, when, as
the last fire company passed, the blue umbrella was closed, and the
leghorn bonnet turned in the direction of the hotel. There was no
mistaking the broad, good-humored face which looked so eagerly up at
"George's window," and involuntarily Madam Conway glanced under the
bed with the view of fleeing thither for refuge!
"What shall I do?" she cried, as she heard the umbrella on the stairs.
"I'll lock her out," she continued; and in an instant the key was in
her pocket, while, trembling in every limb, she awaited the result.
Nearer and nearer the footsteps came; there was a knock upon the door,
succeeded by a louder one, and then, as both these failed to elicit a
response, the handle of the umbrella was vigorously applied. But all
in vain, and Madam Conway heard the discomfited outsider say, "They
told me Theodoshy's grandmarm was here, but I guess she's in the
street. I'll come agin bime-by," and Mrs. Douglas, senior, walked
disconsolately down the stairs, while Madam Conway thought it doubtful
whether she gained access to the room that day, come as often as she
might.
Not long after, the gong sounded for dinner, and unlocking the door
Madam Conway was about descending to the dining room, when the thought
burst upon her: "What if she should be at the table! It's just like
her."
The very idea was overwhelming, taking from her at once all desire for
dinner; and returning to her room she tried, by looking over the books
and examining the carpet, to forget how hungry and faint she was.
Whether she would have succeeded is doubtful, had not an hour or two
later brought another knock from the umbrella, and driven all thoughts
of eating from her mind. In grim silence she waited until her
tormentor was gone, and then wondering if it was not time for the
train she consulted her watch. But alas! 'twas only four; the cars did
not leave until six; and so another weary hour went by. At the end of
that time, however, thinking the depot preferable to being a prisoner
there, she resolved to go; and leaving the key with the clerk, she
called a carriage and was soon on her way to the cars.
As she approached the depot she observed an immense crowd of people
gathered together, among which the red coats of the firemen were
conspicuous. A fight was evidently in progress, and as the horses
began to grow restive she begged of the driver to let her alight,
saying she could easily walk the remainder of the way. Scarcely,
however, was she on terra-firma when the yelling crowd made a
precipitate rush towards her, and in much alarm she climbed for safety
into an empty buggy, whereupon the horse, equally alarmed, began to
rear, and without pausing an instant the terrified lady sprang out on
the side opposite to that by which she had entered, catching her dress
upon the seat, and tearing half the gathers from the waist.
"Heaven help me!" she cried, picking herself up, and beginning to wish
she had never troubled herself with Theo's mother-in-law.
To reach the depot was now her great object, and, as the two
belligerent parties occupied the front, she thought to effect an
entrance at the rear. But the doors were locked, and as she turned the
corner of the building she suddenly found herself in the thickest of
the fight. To advance was impossible, to turn back equally so, and
while meditating some means of escape she lost her footing and fell
across a wheelbarrow which stood upon the platform, crumpling her
bonnet, and scratching her face upon a nail which protruded from the
vehicle. Nearer dead than alive, she made her way at last into the
depot, and from thence into the cars, where, sinking into a seat, and
drawing her shawl closely around her, the better to conceal the
sad condition of her dress, she indulged in meditations not wholly
complimentary to firemen in general and her late comrades in
particular.
For half an hour she waited impatiently, but though the cars were
filling rapidly there were no indications of starting; and it was
almost seven ere the long and heavily loaded train moved slowly from
the depot. About fifteen minutes previous to their departure, as Madam
Conway was looking ruefully out upon the multitude, she was horrified
at seeing directly beneath her window the veritable woman from whom,
through the entire day, she had been hiding. Involuntarily she glanced
at the vacant seat in front of her, which, as she feared, was soon
occupied by Mrs. Douglas and her companion, who, as Madam Conway
divined, was "Sam Babbit's wife."
Trembling nervously lest she should be discovered, she drew her veil
closely over her face, keeping very quiet, and looking intently from
the window into the gathering darkness without. But her fears were
groundless, for Mrs. Douglas had no suspicion that the crumpled bonnet
and sorry figure, sitting so disconsolately in the corner, was the
same which but the day before had honored her with a call. She was in
high spirits, having had, as she informed her neighbor, "a tip-top
time." On one point, however, she was disappointed. She meant as much
as could be to have seen "Theodoshy," but she "wan't to hum." "Her
grandmarm was in town," said she, "but if she was in the room she must
have been asleep, or dreadful deaf, for I pounded with all my might.
I'm sorry, for I'd like to scrape acquaintance with her, bein' we're
connected."
An audible groan came from beneath the thick brown veil, whereupon
both ladies turned their heads. But the indignant woman made no sign;
and, in a whisper loud enough for Madam Conway to hear, Mrs. Douglas
said, "Some Irish critter in liquor, I presume. Look at her jammed
bonnet."
This remark drew from Mrs. Babbit a very close inspection of the
veiled figure, who, smothering her wrath, felt greatly relieved when
the train started and prevented her from hearing anything more. At the
next station, however, Mrs. Douglas showed her companion a crochet
collar, which she had purchased for two shillings, and which, she
said, was almost exactly like the one worn by the woman who stopped at
her house the day before.
Leaning forward, Madam Conway glanced contemptuously at the coarse
knit thing, which bore about the same resemblance to her own handsome
collar as cambric does to satin.
"Vulgar, ignorant creatures!" she muttered, while Mrs. Babbit, after
duly praising the collar, proceeded to make some inquiries concerning
the strange lady who had shared Mrs. Douglas' hospitality.
"I've no idee who she was," said Mrs. Douglas; "but I think it's purty
likely she was some crazy critter they was takin' to the hospital."
Another groan from beneath the brown veil, and turning around the
kind-hearted Mrs. Douglas asked if she was sick, adding in an aside,
as there came no answer, "Been fightin', I'll warrant!"
Fortunately for Madam Conway, the cars moved on, and when they stopped
again, to her great relief, the owner of the blue umbrella, together
with "Sam Babbit's wife," alighted, and amid the crowd assembled on
the platform she recognized Betsy Jane, who had come down to meet her
mother. The remainder of the way seemed tedious enough, for the train
moved but slowly, and it was near ten o'clock ere they reached the
Hillsdale station, where, to her great delight, Madam Conway found
Margaret awaiting her, together with Arthur Carrollton. The moment
she saw the former, who came eagerly forward to meet her, the weary,
worn-out woman burst into tears; but at the sight of Mr. Carrollton
she forced them back, saying, in reply to Maggie's inquiries, that
Theo was not at home, and that she had spent a dreadful day, and been
knocked down in a fight at the depot, in proof of which she pointed
to her torn dress, her crumpled bonnet, and scratched face. Maggie
laughed aloud in spite of herself, and though Mr. Carrollton's eyes
were several times turned reprovingly upon her she continued to
laugh at intervals at the sorry, forlorn appearance presented by her
grandmother, who for several days was confined to her bed from the
combined effects of fasting, fright, firemen's muster, and her late
encounter with Mrs. Douglas, senior!