NEW NEIGHBOURS.
THE summer and autumn passed quietly away with our friends; and October
saw a goodly supply of vegetables stowed away in John's cellar for
winter use. The garden had paid for itself many times over, not only in
solid comforts, but in pleasant and healthful amusement; while Joseph's
equally good piece of ground had produced nothing better than docks and
thistles.
Letty's flowers had done wonders; and her south window in the kitchen
was filled with hardy plants in pots, looking rather paler just now
in their transition from out-door to in-door life, but which might be
expected to produce an abundance of flowers towards the end of winter.
Agnes wondered how Letty could bear to have the sunshine blazing in all
day, showing every thing so plainly; but Letty loved sunshine, physical
as well as mental; and indeed, her housekeeping could bear the full
daylight better than that of her cousin.
November saw two important additions to the neighbourhood in Myrtle
Street. Mr. and Mrs. Van Horn moved into Number Four, and Agnes's first
baby was born. It proved a fine, bouncing little girl, black-eyed and
dark-skinned,—exactly the image of its very good-looking father. Agnes
had hoped for a boy, and that it would look like her; but she could not
allow her disappointment to embitter her against the little, helpless
being which drew its life from her. She even submitted without a murmur
to its being called Margaret,—after Joe's mother,—and only made a wry
face when he persisted in nicknaming it Peggy, and Madge, and Magpie,
and every thing else which could be twisted out of the name of Margaret.
Agnes recovered soon from her confinement, and, Joseph getting an
advance of wages about the same time, she hired a nice little English
girl to assist her in taking care of the little Madge, as the child
came finally to be called. She seemed more placid and contented, and
also much more serious and thoughtful, than she had ever done since her
marriage; and Letty believed that (as it often happens) the baby was
going to make a woman of its mother.
As for Joseph, his admiration of the little stranger was almost painful
to witness. The baby was never out of his arms while he was in the
house: he built endless castles in the air as to its future, and was
terrified at every one of its little ailments. He called Letty up
one cold, rainy morning at two o'clock to come and see it expire in
convulsions, and ran off a mile for Dr. Woodman before she could dress
herself,—somewhat to the disgust of the good doctor, who had been up
all the night before, and arrived to find Madge fast asleep in her
mother's arms,—the disease having readily yielded to three drops of
paregoric!
The other arrival made much more noise and stir in the neighbourhood.
Number Four was the only house in the street which made any pretensions
to gentility; and it was very genteel indeed. It had a tower, and a
bow-window, and a veranda, and a gabled porch, and dormer windows,
and every thing else which a house could have outside. And it had a
drawing-room, and a parlour, and a dining-room, and a sitting-room, and
a library, and every thing else which a house could have inside. And
it was painted a delicate peach-blossom colour; and it had a varnished
front door, and inside blinds, and various scollops and points and
apertures about the roof, and looked just fit to hang up in a tree with
a pair of white mice in it. So John said; but Joseph, whose imagination
was dazzled with all this show, ascribed this remark to envy, and
began to consider the possibility of converting his own dwelling into
something similar.
The whole neighbourhood was kept in a state of excitement, for some
time, by the arrival of Mrs. Van Horn's furniture. Some people admired
the splendour of the carved rosewood sofa, the marble tables, and
the pictures,—which seemed to be all gilt frames; and the excitement
reached its height when it was discovered that Mrs. Van Horn actually
had a piano! For Myrtle Street had hitherto been unblessed or unannoyed
by the presence of any musical instrument except Mr. De Witt's fiddle.
But when Mrs. Van Horn made her appearance, the wonder and admiration
were transferred from all other things to herself. It was during the
time of the first great expansion of skirts; and Mrs. Van Horn's
crinoline exceeded every thing that had heretofore been seen in Myrtle
Street. Her basque was the longest, her sleeves the richest, her bonnet
the most fashionable, that could be imagined. She was a pretty little
woman, with pleasant features, long fair curls, a great deal of colour,
and very lively manners. Her husband was a dark-whiskered, black-haired
man, who dressed as extensively in his way as his wife did in hers. He
wore a seal-ring on his finger and a heavy chain on his watch,—quite
a contrast to the hard-working men who daily went up and down Myrtle
Street with their dinner-pails and baskets.
Agnes was greatly taken with the new-comers, especially with Mrs.
Van Horn. She thought the squirrel cage they occupied every thing
that could be desired in the way of a mansion, and was really angry
with Letty for wondering where they would put all their clothes
and furniture, and, that being disposed of, where they would live
themselves. What Letty thought of the new-comers may be gathered from a
conversation she held with her husband the evening after she had been
with her cousin to call on them.
"Have you seen any thing of our new neighbours?" he asked, as he
composed himself in his favourite chair after supper.
"I have seen all I want to see," replied Letty, promptly.
It was seldom that she spoke so decidedly about any one; and John
looked up in surprise. Letty set up her last dishes, gave a final brush
to the stove-hearth, and sat down with her knitting on the other side
of the fire. John waited quietly, knowing that Letty would begin to
talk of her own accord by-and-by.
"So you didn't particularly like Mrs. Van Horn?"
[Illustration: _Opposite Neighbours._
"I have seen all I want to see."]
"No," replied Letty, "I did not; and I will tell you why. I went with
Agnes to call on her,—as was only civil, you know, and I dressed myself
all in my best, to do honour to my first call. Well, we got in, and
were taken into the parlour, which is very handsomely furnished,—only
so crowded that there is no room to turn round. Presently the lady
came sailing in, in a very gracious and polite way. She is really very
pretty;—I will say that for her.
"She was not backward to enter into conversation. She didn't know how
she should like Myrtle Street,—it was rather out of the way of her
acquaintances. Most of the people she visited lived in Clay Avenue and
Webster Park. She didn't seem to have any place to run into just when
she liked, as she did into Dalton's and Trescott's. You may imagine I
opened my eyes a little at this; but I said nothing, and she went on.
The Dalton girls, she said, were her most particular friends; they were
just as intimate as sisters; and Bessie Dalton said she didn't know
what they should do without her. As for Kate Trescott, she had cried
like a child; and Mrs. Trescott said, 'Really, Mrs. Van Horn, I don't
see but you will have to take Kate to board;' and truly she believed
Kate loved her better than her own mother. And so she ran on about all
sorts of fashionable people, calling them by their Christian names and
by nicknames,—a great deal more familiarly than I should speak of Mrs.
De Witt to a stranger."
"That was bad taste," said John, as Letty paused, rather out of breath.
"But I don't see that it could be called any thing worse: could it?"
"But, John, it isn't true. Haven't I opened the door at Mrs. Trescott's
for three years, ever since Davis went away? And shouldn't I be likely
to know it, if she had been so intimate there as she says? And I don't
believe it's any more true of the Daltons."
"She may have become intimate with them since you came away."
"Not she! Mrs. Trescott never has such intimacies with any one. It is
not her way. I never knew her to be on any but good terms with her
neighbours; but none of them were in the habit of running in, in that
unceremonious way,—not even the Miss Daltons, who were Miss Catherine's
most intimate friends,—and cousins beside.
"Then she told how she went out shopping with Kate Trescott and Bessie
Dalton, to buy the very dress she had on, and how Kate had said she
liked such a thing as that, because very few people fancied it: it was
not a thing that every servant-girl would be getting. (Miss Catherine
making such a speech as that!) Then she talked about the style of
housekeeping among these grand friends of hers, little thinking whom
she had for an auditor;—and certainly she told me some news. She said
the Trescotts kept two man-servants all the time; and four girls, and
that Bessie Dalton kept a carriage and footman of her own. I am sure I
may say that she does not tell the truth; and I believe that a person
who will lie about one thing will lie about another. Besides, she told
scandalous stories about other people that I don't believe she ever
spoke to in her life, as though the circumstances had occurred within
her own knowledge."
"How did Agnes like her?"
"They seemed very much taken with each other, I thought. Agnes, you
know, cares a great deal for dress and such matters. I foresee that
they are likely to become very intimate."
Letty's prophecy proved true. Agnes and Mrs. Van Horn were always
running backward and forward across the road, bareheaded, leaning over
each other's gate, to gossip confidentially about various matters, and
going shopping together. Mrs. Van Horn spent a great deal of money,
and never hesitated to use her credit when her purse failed; and
Letty found she was leading her cousin into expensive habits. Agnes
discovered that her last winter's shawl was not nearly warm enough, and
that she must have a new cloth cloak,—a circular cloak being, as every
one knows, warmer than a shawl. Her bonnet, too, was remodelled and
retrimmed with new and very expensive feathers and flowers; and then a
new dress became imperatively necessary.
Joe grumbled a little at these expenses; but he had a strong desire
that his wife should be genteel; and he was much flattered by her
intimacy with Mrs. Van Horn. So he was easily brought to see that she
must dress in such style that her new friends need not be ashamed of
her. Mr. Van Horn, too, was very affable, and now and then invited Joe
to smoke one of his fine cigars with him, and sometimes condescended to
borrow a dollar of him when they met at the market.
The little English girl found more and more work put upon her shoulders
every day; and Letty really pitied the patient creature. Her mother
lived in the neighbourhood; but Agnes seldom found that she could spare
Sally to run home even for a few minutes on Sunday, she had so much to
do. Letty saw very little of Agnes now; but she ventured to remonstrate
one day, when she saw Sally lifting a large kettle off the fire.
"You shouldn't let that child lift such heavy weights alone," said
she, when Sally left the room. "Such young girls are easily hurt by
overdoing their strength, and the injury may last for a lifetime."
"I don't think Sally hurts herself," said Agnes, carelessly. "She must
expect to work if she lives out at all. I suppose you used to do such
things when you lived at Mrs. Trescott's: didn't you?"
"Not at her age," replied Letty. "Mrs. Trescott was always very careful
about such matters. Sally is growing very fast, and—"
"Really, Letty, I don't think I need your advice in managing my
household," interrupted Agnes, warmly. "When I do, I will ask for it. I
don't want any one interfering in my family."
"I have no desire to interfere in any way," said Letty.
"Then don't do it! Mind your own affairs, and I will mind mine!" said
Agnes, tartly.
Letty left the room without speaking. She felt very much hurt. Agnes
had always been in the habit of coming to her in the most unceremonious
way whenever she needed assistance. Letty had made half her
baby-clothes for her, and had washed and dressed Madge every morning
till she was two months old.
Agnes came to her to borrow ever thing she wanted, and often to her
no little inconvenience; and Letty really thought she might venture a
word of advice without being considered as taking a liberty. She went
home fully determined never again to intrude herself on Agnes in any
such way. In the course of the same afternoon, Agnes came over with her
hands full of work.
"Just look here, Letty, how I have burned the front breadth of my plaid
silk! What in the world shall I do with it? Would you try to mend it,
or would you take it out altogether?"
"Really, Agnes," said Letty, "I could not venture to advise you, after
what you said to me this morning. I don't like to be told to mind my
own business."
"Nonsense, child!" said Agnes, assuming an air of superior wisdom.
"Don't be so touchy."
"I am not touchy, as you very well know," replied Letty, with spirit.
"If I had been, I should have quarrelled with you long ago. I gave you
a simple piece of advice about your girl, and in return you insulted
me. If John were to know what you said to me this morning, he would
never let me go into your house again."
"But, Letty, when I am willing to forgive and forget, why should not
you be willing also?"
"What had you to forgive?" asked Letty. "You must not think that you
are going to say just what you like to people, and nothing be said in
return. I am willing to advise you about your dress, if you wish it;
but you must make up your mind that, if we are to continue friends, you
must do your share. People who would have friends must show themselves
friendly."
Agnes protested that was what she wished,—that she was sorry she had
hurt Letty's feelings,—but no one ever minded her; and, besides, she
had so many troubles of her own, she added, with a sigh, that she
supposed they did make her irritable sometimes. She concluded by again
asking Letty's opinion about the dress.
"My first advice would be, not to wear silk dresses about the
kitchen-stove, and to wear an apron when you are about your work," said
Letty. "You will never keep any thing decent till you learn to do that."
Agnes came very near again telling Letty to mind her own business; but
she thought of the burned silk, and refrained.
"If I were you," continued Letty, "I should cut out this burned part,
match a piece on, and then turn the skirt round. By taking pains
enough, you can mend it so that it will never show."
"What a piece of work!" exclaimed Agnes. "Can't you take it and mend it
for me, Letty? You sew so much faster and better than I can; and I want
to go down street with Mrs. Van Horn."
"I have no time," replied Letty. "I have begun to cut out some shirts,
and I cannot leave them till they are finished; and I have my own
mending to do. Besides, I want to go and walk myself. Dr. Woodman was
here yesterday, and he says I stay in the house more than is good for
me, and that I ought to walk every day."
"Of course!" said Agnes, pettishly. "Any thing rather than help me!"
"That is unjust, Agnes, and you know it. How many days have I spent in
sewing for you in the course of last summer?"
"Dear me! You need not fire up again. You are growing so particular,
one cannot speak to you!"
Letty did not answer, but set about her own work in silence. Agnes
fidgeted a while, now taking up a book and reading a little, now
looking out of the window, and now gazing hopelessly at the unfortunate
dress. Finally, she took a pair of scissors from Letty's basket and
began slowly ripping off the skirt.
"I wonder why Mrs. Trescott did not call on Mrs. Van Horn when she was
here yesterday?" she said, presently.
"Mrs. Trescott does not know Mrs. Van Horn."
"Why, Letty, what do you mean? Mrs. Van Horn says that family are her
most intimate friends; she is always talking about them."
"I know that. I heard all she said the day we called there. I did not
believe it then, because I know it is not Mrs. Trescott's habit to
form such sudden and violent intimacies with any one. Still, I did not
wish to say any thing till I knew certainly. So, yesterday, when Mrs.
Trescott was here, I asked her if she was acquainted with Mrs. Van
Horn."
"Well," said Agnes, eagerly, "and what did she say?"
"She said she believed she had seen her," replied Letty, laughing.
"The people who rented the brown-stone house took boarders, and she
had heard Mrs. Van Horn mentioned as one of them. At first she thought
that was all she knew; but, when I described her, she said she thought
Mrs. Van Horn called one day to inquire about the rent of one of Mr.
Trescott's houses on the Avenue."
"Well, I declare!" ejaculated Agnes. "So all that was made up! Why,
she told me only last night that she had taken a long walk with Miss
Charlotte Dalton, and had gone there to dinner."
"Worse and worse!" said Letty, laughing, "Why, Agnes, Miss Dalton
has not walked farther than across the road to Mrs. Trescott's since
I knew her; and that is seven years this fall. She was hurt somehow
in the riding-school when she was quite a little girl, and has never
walked since. It is only at her best that she can go as far as Mrs.
Trescott's."
"Well, if ever! I thought there was something odd about her always
going out of church before the sermon."
"Yes; she cannot sit up long on a seat with a straight back. But you
would be surprised to see how much work she accomplishes. She has a
Sunday-school class,—only the girls always come to her at home—"
"But to think Mrs. Van Horn should have told such a story!" interrupted
Agnes. "What do you suppose she could be thinking of?"
"Not of telling the truth, certainly," said Letty. "But I suspect that
is the last thing she troubles her head about. You know now why I would
not say I liked her."
"After all, Letty, it was only a little bit of romancing," said Agnes,
after a pause. "It was not telling a lie, exactly."
"I don't know what you mean by romancing. It seems to me that when a
person says what is not true, with the intention of deceiving, that is
nothing less than a lie."
"Then you think the intention makes the lie?"
"Of course it does," said Letty. "If I tell Gatty a story about how
Ginger went to visit another cat, and what they said to each other, and
what a dog said to them, there is no lie in that. Gatty knows very well
that kittens and dogs cannot talk. But if I were tell her that some
great lady gave me Ginger,—intending thereby to show that I was on very
intimate terms with that great lady,—that would be a lie."
"Well, I must say, I wonder how you held your tongue that day," said
Agnes. "I should have spoken right out."
"What good would that have done?"
"I don't know that it would have done any good; but it would have
mortified her. Besides, it might have made her more careful another
time."
"True, it might have had that effect; though I think it doubtful. A
person who carries such a habit to Mrs. Van Horn's age is not easily
cured. But you must remember, Agnes, that I was not quite sure. I had
been away from Mrs. Trescott's almost a year, and I could not tell
what might have happened in that time; though, from what I knew of the
habits of the family, I thought the story very improbable."
"Well, Letty, I must say, it would be a good thing if every one in the
world were as careful in speaking about people as you are," said Agnes,
feelingly. "See, I have ripped all that, as you told me. What shall I
do now?"
"Put it away, and go to walk with me," said Letty, "and to-morrow I
will show you how to match the plaids."
"I don't see how I can; though truly I should like it, Letty. You see,
I promised to go shopping with Mrs. Van Horn, and she will expect me
and wait for me."
"Of course you must keep your engagement," said Letty. She longed to
add a caution against being led into extravagance by her companion's
example,—but refrained. She felt that such a caution might do harm
rather than good.
For a little while the intimacy between Agnes and her new friend
seemed to be cooling off; but it soon became warm again. There was
a fascination about Mrs. Van Horn's society which Agnes found it
impossible to resist. In truth, she was a skilful flatterer, and
exercised her talent even where there was nothing to be gained by
it, merely, as it appeared, "to keep her hand in." They soon came to
calling each other by their Christian names, to exchanging embraces and
kisses, and holding long, confidential conferences.
Agnes now seldom came into Number Ten, except when she had a favour
to ask; and both she and Joseph assumed a certain air of superiority,
which annoyed John and amused Letty exceedingly.
Shortly after the holidays, little Sally's mother took her home.
"I am sorry to do it, ma'am," she said Agnes; "but the work is
altogether too hard for the child. She grows pale and thin, and has a
pain in her side and shoulder all the time, and I think she is growing
crooked. I cannot well afford to keep her at home; but I can still less
afford to have her sick,—perhaps for life."
Agnes was very much annoyed, and had something to say about the
impertinence of the "lower classes." She did not find another girl
immediately, and was, consequently, obliged to be more at home.
At last she fell into the habit of carrying little Madge over to Number
Ten and leaving her with Letty, while she went down-town, or to a
concert or other evening entertainment.
Letty was fond of the baby; and, though it necessarily made her some
trouble, she did not complain; but after she had twice been kept up
till two o'clock in the morning, once while the parents were out on a
sleigh-ride, and again while they were at a party,—John rebelled.
"I am not going to have this any longer, Letty!" he said, decidedly,
next morning, when Letty's pale cheeks and untasted breakfast showed
the headache she would fain have concealed. "Agnes is as well as you,
and stronger; and there is no sense in your wearing yourself out in
doing her work."
"But, John—"
"But, Letty, I won't; and that is just all about it. If Agnes wished
you to take Madge now and then while she went to church, or out to take
the air, I should say nothing against it. Such things are all fair
and proper between friends and relations,—not to say neighbours; but
as to your holding and carrying that fractious baby till two o'clock,
that her mother may figure at a ball, where, in my opinion, she has no
business to be at all,—there is no sense nor reason in it. You need not
disturb yourself," he added, smiling. "I take all the responsibility.
Just say, when she asks you, that I have forbidden it."
And Letty did say so, the very next week, when Agnes wished to go to
a concert. And Agnes wondered that people could be so selfish, and
wondered what she should do, and wondered that Letty could say John
was not tyrannical when he laid his commands on her in that way, and
finally went over to tell her sorrows to Mrs. Van Horn. That lady
exclaimed and sympathized and pitied; but she never offered to let her
girl take care of Madge, as Agnes had hoped: so Agnes, for once, had to
stay at home.
The next week she found another girl, not so promising in appearance as
Sally, but stronger; and after that she felt herself at liberty to run
abroad as much as she pleased.
Letty often wondered how she dared to leave the child; but the time was
past when she could venture to remonstrate with her cousin.
One day, when Letty was very busy looking over her domestic affairs
and putting them in perfect order, Mrs. Van Horn came in. The little
parlour was occupied with various pieces of work; but Letty made
room for her visitor, and sat down to entertain her. Mrs. Van Horn
had something on her mind, and, after several hints and innuendoes,
delivered herself to this effect:—
She thought Mrs. Caswell ought to know what people said about her. She
had thought it her duty as a friend to come and tell her. Not that she
believed it, of course,—she had told everybody so,—but—and here she
stopped, and looked more mysterious than ever.
Letty was rather weak and nervous, and this sort of communication
agitated her considerably. Her colour changed, and her hands trembled,
as she begged Mrs. Van Horn to explain.
That lady, delighted to see the effect of her words, kept her auditor
in suspense some time longer, as she declared that she would not hurt
Mrs. Caswell's feelings for the world. It was very unpleasant for any
one in her situation; she was rather sorry she had said any thing; but
every one was talking—and here she made another pause.
Letty was now on the verge of tears; but she restrained herself, and
waited in silence for the mystery to be explained; and it came at last.
Mrs. Van Horn had actually heard it said that Mrs. Caswell, before her
marriage, was a servant—neither more nor less than a common servant—in
some family in the upper part of the city!
Letty could not restrain a laugh, which had, perhaps, something nervous
in it; and Mrs. Van Horn looked rather uneasy, but laughed in her turn.
"Of course I knew you would be amused: that is always the best way to
treat these things," said she. "I assure you I shall contradict the
story everywhere."
"Pray, don't," said Letty, partly resuming her gravity. "It would not
be at all worth your while."
"Oh, but I assure you it is no trouble; and, if it were, I do not mind
trouble where my friends are concerned."
"But, Mrs. Van Horn, there is another reason for not contradicting the
story:—it is quite true. I did live put for some years. I went to Mrs.
Trescott's when I was fourteen, and stayed there till I was married;
and I am quite sure no one could have a better home. Mrs. Trescott is
the kindest friend I have in the world."
It was now Mrs. Van Horn's turn to look blank; but, like a skilful
strategist, she determined to make the best of a very awkward position.
"Dear me! Who could have believed it? Not but that I always thought
there was something familiar in your face and manners. I dare say I
have seen you there; or perhaps it is only because you have caught
some of Mrs. Trescott's ways, as you naturally would, living there so
long. Poor woman! I am afraid she is not as happy in her family as one
could wish. Perhaps you can tell me about the matter. It was commonly
reported that Mr. and Mrs. Trescott had a grand quarrel, which was the
occasion of his going off to Europe so suddenly a year ago. It was
said that he objected to her spending so much on her poor relations,
and declared that he would not be burdened with the support of the
whole Dalton tribe: they might take care of themselves. I believe,
too, she objected to his running after mediums so much. I have heard,
on the best authority, that he is really a spiritualist, and goes to
a clairvoyant for advice as to all his business matters. I understand
that when his nephews want to get money out of him, they go and bribe
this woman; and Mr. Trescott does just what she tells him."
Letty indignantly denied the truth of all these stories. She wondered
how such scandals grew up.
Mrs. Van Horn wondered too, and related several more of the same sort,
just to show what people would say. She then asked if Letty would be so
very kind as to give her a glass of water. Her sharp eyes had caught
sight of something which she wished to examine a little more closely.
Letty was not gone quite so long as she was expected to be, and
returned to find her visitor closely examining the marks of a pile
of rather fine handkerchiefs,—a part of Maria's wardrobe which Mrs.
Trescott had given her.
Mrs. Van Horn looked confused at first, but soon recovered herself;
while Letty coloured at the impertinence,—a circumstance which Mrs. Van
Horn did not fail to observe.
"What beautiful marking!" said she, coolly holding the handkerchief to
the light. "I never saw any thing nicer!"
"It is very neat," said Letty; "but here are some which are more
curious still:" and she showed her one of the fine towels before
mentioned, and marked with the name of Anastasia Burchell in most
elaborate cross-stitch. "One does not often see any thing like that
now-a-days."
"No, indeed! Nor such superb damask, either!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Horn,
with enthusiasm. "I declare, they are the handsomest towels I ever saw!
And such an immense size! How beautifully they are done up! They look
like new!"
"They have never been used since I had them," said Letty, glad to
divert the woman's attention to something which was not slander.
"Here are some table-cloths of the same sort." And she displayed her
treasures to the admiring eyes of Mrs. Van Horn, who observed every
thing closely and went away with her head full of a new idea.
"It is a likely story that any one ever gave her those things!" she
said to herself. "People don't make such presents to kitchen-girls. I
dare say she knew how to help herself. After all, she did not deny, in
so many words, that Trescott and his wife quarrelled. I dare say it is
true. People that pretend to such wonderful goodness are just the ones
to be up to all sorts of mischief."