Mrs. Bird gets in a Rage.--Starve a Child.--Mrs. Bird blows
off at Mrs. Beagle.--Takes Breath.--Blows off again.--Mrs.
Beagle gives a Piece of her Mind.--Aunt Sonora drops
in.--She has no Faith in Second Wives.--All adjourn to the
House of Mrs. Swipes.--General Fight of Tongues.--Mrs.
Swipes gives her Opinion.--A Dead Set by all upon Mrs.
Longbow.--Mrs. Longbow raps at the Door.--The Scene
changes.--Final Wind-up.
Aunt Graves had not got warm in her seat as mistress of Squire Longbow's
household, when she found half of the female portion of Puddleford upon her
in full cry. The Swipeses, and the Beagles, and Birds, who were very
jealous of the sudden elevation of the old spinster, gave her no peace
night nor day. They had seen the time when she looked up to them, and now
she was the wife of a Squire--had taken good old Mrs. Longbow's place, and
"really," as they said, "tried to lord it over them."
Mrs. Bird went all the way in the rain, mud over shoe, to inform Mrs.
Beagle "that she warn't a-goin' to stand it any longer; _she_'d seen
enough, and if other people were a-mind to blind their eyes, they
might--she guessed she know'd what was what--she warn't brought into the
world for nothin'--they might humbug her if they could--she only wished old
Mrs. Longbow could jist rise from her grave--jist _once_--that's all she
would ask--she'd make a scatterin' among the dry bones--jist to think--to
think--"
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Beagle, who stood waiting for the climax, with her
mouth wide open, holding her dish-cloth in her hand.
"What?--what"--repeated Mrs. Bird, "you may well say what--that Longbow
woman abuses little Elvira Julia Longbow like sixty--the _dar_ling
creature--how my heart bleeds. That child," continued Mrs. Bird, putting
down each word in a measured way by striking her fist on the table--"that
child--that dear--Elvira Julia--the idol--you know of her mother--and what
a mother she had, too, Mrs. Beagle--O, _what_ a mother! That child is
starved! She don't get half enough to eat--I know it just as well as if the
child had told me so with her own lips. She looks puny-like. She didn't
hold up her head in church all sarvice time, last Sunday--how my heart
ached for her--I couldn't think of nothin' else--and to think--to _think_,
Mrs. Beagle, that that woman who warn't nobody, and who'd come onto the
town if she hadn't fooled the old Squire, is now goin' to turn round and
starve his children. One thing I _do_ know, I shall never knuckle to
her--not while my name is Bird--I'll let her know who Mrs. Bird is. She'll
find out that the Birds can hoe their own row--the Birds allers _have_
liv'd, and will live, I guess, and they never were beholdin' to the
Longbows, nuther. Starve a child!--and if she thinks I ever mean to know
her as anybody but old Poll Graves, she is most grandly mistaken. I'll jist
tell her who old Graves, her father, was, and what he was, and how he used
to drink, the old brute. She knows it all--but she thinks Mrs. Bird forgets
such things--but Mrs. Bird don't forget such things--she has a long
memory--and her mother warn't none _too_ good, nuther--I could touch her up
a little on that. Starve a child! Lord-a-massey, I s'pose she thinks she is
the queen of Puddleford, now, and can do as she has a mind-ter. If she
don't run agin a snag some day, then call Sally Bird a liar, that's all.
Pride must have its fall, Mrs. Beagle;" and here Mrs. Bird took the first
long breath, after entering the house.
"How--you--do--talk!" ejaculated Mrs. Beagle, her eyes half started from
her head. "I'd thought just as much, but dare not say so."
"Darsen't! darsen't!" popped Mrs. Bird, "Well, thank the Lord, _I_ dare;
I'll pull down the whole Longbow nest around her ears; I'll complain to the
town officers; I'll have her taken up, and then let her show her hand; to
think that the child of that dear, good woman we lov'd so much, should be
starved! And that ain't all: old Longbow is one of the most miserablest men
livin'; he don't have a minute's peace day _nor_ night; he rolls and
tumbles, and talks to himself--thinks, in his dreams, that his former wife
is back agin, and he talks to her jest as if she was; he hain't had a full
meal for a mouth. She is the _stin_giest of all mortals! She liv'd on
nothin' afore she was married--why she counts the very coffee kernels she
uses--she allers was afraid of goin' to the poor-house--pity she hadn't-er
gone--but la-sa-me, you can't get one of the Longbows to say a word about
it--they are as whist as mice--fairly caught--less said the better, you
know--they are so everlastin' etarnal proud, the hull pack on 'em would die
before they'd let anything out--but they can't deceive Mrs. Bird--murder
will out--starve a child!" and here Mrs. Bird took another long breath.
Mrs. Beagle looked still wilder, if possible, than before. But she was a
very cautious woman, as has been seen. There was a method in _her_ malice.
"She had thought for a long time," she said, "that affairs were all
wrong-end-foremost at the Longbows. _She_ could see some things too. But
she didn't want to say a word agin nobody. She had allers tried to be a
_keer_ful woman--and she _was_ a keerful woman--and although she said it,
who had not orter say it, she was a keerful woman. She tried to live in
peace and Christian charity with everybody--and she would put up with
enymost anything rather than to have hard feelings 'gin anybody. She had
allers been a friend of Mrs. Longbow, and was really glad when she heard
she had at last got married, for she _did_ think she would make a good
wife--she had orter, for Squire Longbow had been the makin' on her, and had
set her up in the world for _sum_thin'--but things warn't-er a-goin' right,
that she know'd, and had know'd it for a long time; the old Squire looked
as _cowed_-like as if he'd give all his old shoes to see his old wife back
agin--he didn't look so chirck as he used to do--but then she didn't
want-er say nothin' about it, for there was one thing she didn't do--she
didn't talk about her neighbors--if there was any kind of people that she
_did_ hate, it was the slanderers--she never slandered nobody--but she
allers did know that Mrs. Longbow was tighter than bark to a tree--she used
to jest keep soul and body together 'fore she married--a leetle _too_ tight
to be honest--there wern't no slander in that--she hadn't said she _was_
dishonest, nor she warn't a-goin' to say it--she would skin a copper the
closest of anybody she ever see'd; such people _can't be_ honest--they will
cheat in the dark--not that she meant to say that Mrs. Longbow _would_
cheat--she slandered nobody--but the child _did_ look _half_-starved, and
anybody could see it with one eye, and you can't learn old dogs new
tricks--what's bred in the bone stays there--and the old Squire's darter,
Livinny, looks like death, too--she's lost a _mother_, and it'll be a long
time before that woman will fill _her_ place--this is between you and me,
Mrs. Bird--'twarn't no longer than t'other day that Mrs. Swipes told me
that old Longbow wanted to marry Mary Jane Arabella, but Mrs. Swipes said
she jest put her foot down and said No! and he's been _cross_-grained at
her ever since. Well--well--so it goes."
Aunt Sonora dropped in "to take a breath," as she said. Mrs. Bird and Mrs.
Beagle had to repeat to her the new developments in the Longbow family,
with some new additions.
Aunt Sonora said she never did have any faith in second wives. "Depend
upon't," said the old lady, "no good comes out on 'em. And the old maids
were the _very_ worst on 'em all. They were the awfullest dead-settest
people she ever know'd. They _will_ have their way. They allers rule the
roost. She guessed that her old man knew when he was well off. He hated
second marriages like pizen."
Finally, the women, after exhausting themselves, all agreed to adjourn to
the house of Mrs. Swipes, to see what could be done to improve the domestic
arrangements of the Longbow family. Mrs. Bird said at first she wouldn't
move an inch, to see Mrs. Swipes or anybody else, for it wasn't no
business of her'n, but then she know'd that, if it was _her_ child, and
_she_ was dead, and Mrs. Longbow wasn't dead, Mrs. Longbow would do just as
she did.
Mrs. Swipes was delighted to see such a crowd of her friends, but declared
"she couldn't for the life of her tell what was up."
By the time the "ladies" had arrived at the house of Mrs. Swipes, they were
very highly charged with electricity. They had lashed themselves into a
very respectable sort of fury. Even Aunt Sonora, amiable as she was,
muttered to herself, while crossing the road--"Starve a child!"
Nobody ever told Mrs. Swipes any news--that was not possible--she had
always heard of it, seen it, or expected it; the most astounding
development was no more than she had "allers known would come about." There
was no story so large that it was unexpected, or beyond her power to add a
little to it--no black so black, that she couldn't make it a little
blacker--no slander so public, but that she had heard a little more than
her neighbors of it. A piece of scandal melted like sugar in her mouth, and
it seemed to send a glow over her whole being while she digested it; it
braced her up for a whole day, and carried her through the most fiery
domestic trials--no story, therefore, ever lost strength or sting while in
her keeping--it gathered weight and power like a snowball--she paid it out
with interest. Her husband, Zeb Swipes, she didn't like, for he did not
care a pin about his neighbors, "'specially the women folks," as he said;
and Mrs. Swipes declared she never could interest him in the wickedness of
the place. Many a time she had talked him to sleep, flaring, and foaming,
and fretting about Puddleford.
When Mrs. Bird, and Beagle, and Aunt Sonora entered Mrs. Swipes's room, the
clap burst at once from the whole delegation.
"Don't you think!" exclaimed Mrs. Bird.
"Did you ever!" snapped Mrs. Beagle.
"Pretty doin's these!" chimed in Aunt Sonora.
"That _that_ thing!"--"that Longbow woman," continued Mrs. Bird.
"Starve!" added Mrs. Beagle.
"Yes, starve!" repeated Mrs. Bird.
"A child!" groaned Aunt Sonora.
"Yes, a child!" gasped Mrs. Bird.
"And to think!" said Mrs. Beagle.
"Yes, to think!" said Mrs. Bird.
"_Only_ to think!" repeated Aunt Sonora.
"That," continued Mrs. Beagle.
"Yes, _that_," said Aunt Sonora.
"What she was," said Mrs. Beagle.
"Only--jest--to--think," screamed Mrs. Bird.
"Nobody," continued Mrs. Beagle.
"Nobody at _all_!" snapped Mrs. Bird.
"But"--said Mrs. Beagle.
"But what?" inquired Mrs. Bird.
"_But--old--Poll--Graves!_" screamed the whole three together.
"Hadn't the second gown to her back," added Mrs. Bird.
"Foller'd sowing, too, for a livin'," hinted Mrs. Beagle.
"And glad enough to get it, too," sputtered Mrs. Bird.
"Couldn't-er worn Squire Longbow's old shoes, then," said Mrs. Beagle.
"And now she puts on more ker-ink-tums than the governor's darter," spit
out Mrs. Bird.
"Starve a child!" exclaimed another.
"Yes, starve a child!" chimed in all the rest, in a most furious tone of
malicious spite that almost raised the roof. When the storm had spent
itself on the head of Mrs. Swipes, who stood it with philosophy, for she
liked it, all hands "set in" to tell her of the barbarous cruelty of Mrs.
Longbow.
Mrs. Swipes replied, "that nothin' more could have been expected on
her--old Longbow might-er known she'd-er taken the very hide off on him,
and off all on 'em--if _he_ didn't know what Poll Graves was, then it was
_his_ fault; if he hadn't liv'd long-er enough in this community to find
_her_ out, then the old fool ought-er suffer--good 'nough for him. He tried
to get our Mary Jane Arabella, 'fore he went arter _her_--but I let him
know that _I_ was the mother of that gal. He found that Mrs. Swipes had a
word to say, and it took _me_ to send the old codger adrift--it jest did.
It's 'nough to make one's blood run cold to see the highty-tighty airs that
woman puts on. Last Sunday she had on all of old Mrs. dead and gone
Longbow's finery-finery--that _bun_nit, the very same that she bought at
Whistle and Sharp's store--price, twenty shillings and sixpence--bought it
not mor'n two weeks afore she died. That drab of her'n, you know; the dear
good woman never worn it mor'n onct or twict, 'tended Deacon Pettibone's
funeral with it, I remember--that very same _bun_nit, and she had it on;
and she had on, at the same time, old Mrs. Longbow's gown, and shawl too;
and she did _come_--_a_--sailing right inter church, jest as if she was
lord of the manor! I thought old Mrs. Longbow had rose from her grave, and
I shed tears on the spot. It made my blood run cold. Thinks I to myself,
old critter, if Mrs. Longbow should jest come back agin, she'd make _you_
scatter, she would--she'd tear them clothes off on you--she'd let you know
where your place was; she'd learn _you_ to dress up inter _her_ clothes.
You'd rue the day you ever tried that game with her. Starve a child? Why,
of course she will; anybody that don't care nothin' 'bout dead folkses
clothes don't care nothin' 'bout folkses children."
At this point, the whole pack made another dead set at Mrs. Longbow, with
the exception of Aunt Sonora, who sat rocking violently, and taking snuff.
It is impossible to repeat the jargon that made up the hurly-burly that
followed. All the troop were firing together, all kinds of shot, and
epithets, and sentences were violently broken up into fragments by each
other, and hurled in a mass at Mrs. Longbow's head with the hottest
vengeance.
It might have looked something like the following: "Nobody!" "Who cares!"
"I'll let her!" "Just to think!" "Starve!" "Yes, starve!" "A child!" "That
new bonnit!" "Twenty shillings!" "Sowed for a livin'!" "And sixpence!"
"Yes, and sixpence!" "Right in church!" "Hardly cold in!" "The poor child!"
"And gown, too!" "Her grave!" "Hardly cold in her grave!" "Marry!" "Was as
poor!" "Marry my Mary!" "As poor as Job's!" "Marry my Mary Jane Arabella!"
"Was as poor as Job's turkey!" "I can see!" "I only wish!" "I can see how
it!" "I only wish old Mrs. Longbow could!" "Goes!" "Rise from her!"
"Starve!" "Grave!" "I'll complain!" "I wonder!" "To the town!" "If she
thinks!" "Starve!" "I'll knuckle!" "A child!" "To her!" "Poll!" "No!"
"Old!" "Not as long as my--" "Poll!" "Name is--" "Graves!" "Bird!"
There was a rap at the door, and the uproar ceased, and the vixens were
magnetized as instantaneously and as completely as if they had all been
stricken with palsy, and their tongues fastened to the roofs of their
mouths.
Mrs. Swipes put on a smile, and courtesied to the door, opened it, and
there stood Mrs. Longbow!
"Good after_noon_, Mrs. Longbow. Well, I do declare!" exclaimed Mrs.
Swipes, putting on one of her blandest faces, "you have raaly got out at
last. It warn't no longer than this very morning that Swipes and I were
wondering what had become of you. Swipes said he know'd you must be sick,
but I told Swipes you had so many cares--we women folks _have_ so many
cares, Mrs. Longbow. And who do you think is here?--Mrs. Bird, and Mrs.
Beagle, and Aunt Sonora--and we were jest a-talkin' 'bout you--and we all
wonder'd how you did manage to get along so well in your family;" and after
Mrs. Swipes had chatted and bowed Mrs. Longbow through the hall, Mrs.
Longbow was introduced to the nest of hornets which had just been buzzing
so unconsciously about her ears.
"Why--Mrs. Longbow!" cracked Mrs. Bird's voice at the same time, jumping
from her chair with a convulsive jerk, and grasping her hand, and
imprinting a kiss upon her. "You have--done it--now--you have come out at
last. Goin' to call at our house, I s'pose. Let me see--it's one,
two--yes--three weeks since you've show'd your face, Mrs. Longbow--lookin'
as bright as a spring mornin', I see."
"All-er that," said Mrs. Beagle.
"But then you have had so much to do," continued Mrs. Bird; "the Squire's
house had got inter an awful muss while he was a wid'wer. Lavinny
didn't--know--how--to--do--but the people say that it shines like a pink
now--and how you _have_ spruc'd up the children--I didn't hardly know
Elvira Julia last Sunday. I thought her mother had come back agin."
"She looked _so_ happy!" exclaimed Mrs. Beagle.
"And the old Squire begins to hold up _his_ head agin, like _some_body,"
added Aunt Sonora.
"Nothin' like a _woman_ in a house," chimed in Mrs. Swipes.
"Nothin' like it," said Aunt Sonora.
"Everything goes to loose ends where there ain't no woman," said Mrs. Bird.
"Jest look at old Fluett's house," said Aunt Sonora; "'tis chaos come
agin--woman gone--everything spilt from garret to cellar."
"And jest so at Dobbins," added Mrs. Bird.
"I do raaly b'lieve," said Mrs. Beagle, "that if Longbow had put off
gettin' him a woman six months longer, he'd a brok't down."
"Jest what the old man himself said," added Mrs. Bird.
"And--then--to--think," drawled out Mrs. Swipes, "that he should have been
so fort'nit."
"Might-er tried a hundred times," said Mrs. Bird.
"And got bit," said Mrs. Swipes.
"Yes, and got bit," repeated Mrs. Bird. "There was a kind-er Providence in
it. There _cer_tainly was."
"Jest what Parson Bigelow said," added Aunt Sonora; "he said he could see
the hand-er Providence inter it, jest as plain as he wanted to."
"Strange world," said Mrs. Beagle.
"Full-er sorrow," said Mrs. Bird.
"Never know when it's comin'," added Aunt Sonora.
"The only way's to be ready for't, and do our duty," said Mrs. Swipes.
Thus the conversation ran on. Mrs. Longbow supposed herself looked upon as
a martyr by the crowd of "friends" among whom she had unconsciously fallen,
and felt almost crushed by the weight of sympathy which they had so
gratuitously thrust upon her; and finishing her call, returned to her
domestic labors with a lighter heart, and a satisfied conscience, while
those she left behind her, on her departure, took the advantage of her
absence to completely finish up the remainder of the woman's reputation.