RESTITUTION.
"WELL, Letty, I have come to make you a farewell call," said Agnes, as
she entered. "I don't suppose either you or John will ever have any
thing to do with such wicked people as we are."
"How so?" asked Letty.
"Oh, Joe has concluded to go into business with Mr. Van Horn, and, of
course, you will never associate with wicked liquor-dealers. They have
taken a store on Gay Street,—a splendid place. All the fittings of the
bar are of cut glass and silver."
"I thought the business was to be wholesale," said Letty.
"Wholesale and retail," replied Agnes, arranging her veil. "Mr. Van
Horn makes the purchases, and Joe sells,—or superintends the sales,
at least. I don't suppose he will have very much to do with them
otherwise. I am so glad to get rid of that horrid chemical business,
which I never did like. I should think you would try to make John go
into some mercantile business, it is so much more genteel than a trade."
[Illustration: _Opposite Neighbours._
"Wholesale and retail," replied Agnes, arranging her veil.]
"Oh, I am very well content," said Letty, smiling. "We are well off as
we are, and making money. John understands and likes his trade, and it
is growing better every day."
"To be sure, he is getting into business as a builder,—which is rather
better," remarked Agnes. "But you never had much regard to the opinions
of the world,—not half enough, in my judgment."
"I was not brought up in that way."
"No: to be sure, you never had any great chance. You never were in
society at all."
"Don't you call Mrs. Trescott and the Miss Daltons pretty good
society?" asked Letty, laughing in spite of herself. "I do not think
you will find much better in this town. That is one advantage of living
out as I did,—associating constantly with superior people. But we won't
mind about my social advantages, Agnes: I am very well satisfied with
them, and so is John; and, that being the case, I don't know that any
others need to trouble themselves much about the matter. Well, Harry,"
she added, as a pale little boy, with a crutch under his arm and a card
of spelling-lessons in his hand, opened the door, and stood hesitating
whether to come in. "Have you come to say your lesson?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied the little fellow coming forward to Letty's side
and leaning upon her lap. He was a pretty child, some six or seven
years of age, but pale and thin, and with one leg shrunken and twisted
so as not to touch the floor.
"Who in the world is that?" asked Agnes.
"This is Harry Mercer," said Letty, "the son of our next door
neighbour. His mother happened to say to me, some days ago, that she
regretted very much she had no time to hear his lessons, and dared not
send him to school. I told her she might send him to me for an hour in
the morning, and I would see what I could do for him. I have a great
deal of time on my hands now," she added, rather sadly.
"Well, I declare, you do beat all for getting acquainted with the
neighbours!" said Agnes. "Why, I never even knew who lived there. I
don't visit a single family in the street, except Mrs. Van Horn; and I
don't mean to, either."
"How long is it since you made that determination?" asked Letty. "When
you first came here, you were glad enough to have the neighbours call
upon you."
"Well, but there have been a great many changes since then,—changes in
us and in everybody," said Agnes. "I can't make neighbours of people,
and take an interest in them, merely because I happen to live alongside
of them."
"I think the simple fact that I live alongside of them is a tolerably
strong indication of Providence that I ought to take an interest in
them," replied Letty. "According to the Saviour's definition, any one
to whom I can do good is my neighbour."
"Oh, if you begin to talk in that style, I have done," said Agnes, to
whom all religious conversation was cant. "I am no match for you there.
And I am sure I don't care if you choose to put yourself on such terms
with every sort of people: it is no concern of mine. It is a queer
taste: that's all. Only, I should not think you would like to have such
a melancholy little object as that about you. If I were his mother, I
should want to hide him away where nobody could see him. I should feel
so ashamed of him, I fear, I should wish he was dead, every hour in the
day."
"Oh, Agnes! Don't say so!" exclaimed Letty, shocked by this thoughtless
speech, as she remembered Madge. "I am sure you would never love Madge
the less if she were to turn out helpless and deformed?"
"My mother loves me just as much as if I wasn't lame," said the little
fellow, looking up with a flush on his pale face; "and so does Willy,
and so do you: don't you, Mrs. Caswell?"
"To be sure I do," replied Letty. "I love you all the better."
"Who would have thought of his taking notice?" said Agnes,—rather
ashamed.
"He notices every thing," replied Letty. "He is very bright, though
he has had but little teaching. It is hard upon his mother to be so
much occupied. She has to give all her time to her shop, and she does
not like to have Harry with her, for fear of his taking cold: so he is
alone a good deal,—more than is good for him."
"I like to live here," said Harry. "You are very good to me. When we
lived over the store, we didn't know any one, hardly, and there was the
no place for me to play out-of-doors, only in the street."
"When summer comes, you shall have a little garden, and some seeds to
plant in it," said Letty. "That will be nice: won't it?"
"Well, I leave you to your missionary labours," said Agnes, rising.
"Come and see us when you have time; though, as we don't want any
particular good done to us, I suppose you don't consider us as
neighbours. You might do some good, by the way, if you could persuade
Madge to get on her feet again. She seems to think because she has lain
in bed while she was sick, she can always lie there; and, all I can do,
I cannot persuade her to sit up or try to walk."
"I do not think she can sit up or walk, Agnes," said Letty. "If I were
you, I would not urge her over-much. Her back is weak from the fever;
and I am afraid it will be a very long time before she will walk again."
"You don't think there is any thing really the matter?" said Agnes,
sitting down again. "I thought it was only because she had fallen into
the habit of lying in bed. Oh, what would become of me if Madge should
turn out a cripple!"
"We will hope for the best," said Letty, kindly; "but I fear you have a
sad time before you. I thought you knew what Dr. Woodman's opinion was."
"He did say something about her not walking; but I did not pay much
attention to him," replied Agnes. "He is always croaking and whining. I
dare say it is all his fault," she continued, finding relief, as usual,
in blaming somebody else. "He is too full of his religion to attend
to his patients. He is just what Celia Van Horn called him,—a smooth,
psalm-singing hypocrite."
"He cannot sing a note to save his life," said Letty, amused in spite
of Agnes's provoking words; "and I am sure no one ever accused him of
smoothness before. I think he has been very attentive to Madge; and you
know he is universally allowed to be at the head of his profession in
the city. I hardly think—"
"Well, I shouldn't think you would be so ready to defend him, after he
has been the death of your little boy," interrupted Agnes.
Letty answered, calmly, "I do not think, Dr. Woodman is answerable for
my boy's death. Every thing was done for him that could be done; but
the case was a bad one, and Alick was naturally delicate: I had very
little hope of his living, from the first."
"I am sure you cannot have much feeling about it, or you would not
speak of him in that quiet, indifferent manner," said Agnes. "But I
suppose you think it is the will of the Lord," she added, in a tone of
affected solemnity; "and that makes it all right."
"I do," replied Letty, firmly. "It is the only comfort I have. If I
did not believe that this trial was sent to me by One who loves me and
my child, and who cannot do wrong, I should lose my senses. If I could
blame myself in any way—"
"Oh, of course you can't! You never were to blame in all your life!"
"In this case I certainly was not," said Letty. "I have the comfort of
thinking that no child ever was better cared for than my Alick."
"He was a great deal too well cared for, in my opinion," said Agnes.
"I dare say he might have lived if he had not been so cosseted and
coddled."
"Come and read, Harry," said Letty to the little boy, who was quite
absorbed in looking at the pictures in a new magazine. "Mother will be
home to dinner; and then she will want her boy. Now, I hope you can
spell every word this time, so we can go on to a new lesson to-morrow."
Agnes was quite offended by this evident design of Letty to cut off her
further speech, which grew more and more violent.
"Never mind the lady, Harry: she is not talking to you," said Letty,
as Harry looked up in amazement. "Now try that word once more. That is
it. Now we will go to the next lesson," continued Letty, determined not
to answer Agnes, since she well knew that, ii she trusted herself to
reply, she should say too much. "There: that will do. Now you may go
home; and be sure you ask mother to send the wool for the afghan, that
I may begin it this afternoon."
"Oh, she has sent it!" exclaimed Harry. "Willy brought it down, and
asked me to carry it over; but I forgot. I will run and fetch it this
very minute."
And away he limped; while Letty went into her bedroom, put on a clean
white linen apron and washed her hands.
"I dare say you let Madge run out and get cold that day she was here,"
said Agnes, who seemed bent on provoking Letty. "I dare say you did not
take the least care of her; and now she is ruined for life. You could
coddle your own boy enough; but you could not spare any care for my
poor child. Do you mean to answer me, Letty Caswell? Or don't you?"
Letty was silent. She did not mean to answer.
Agnes went on, growing more and more violent; till Letty was very glad
to hear Harry's crutch on the walk outside, hoping that what he brought
would make a diversion; and so it proved.
"Here is the worsted," said Harry, opening the door and bringing in a
great basket piled up with gay-coloured wool. "Shall I hold the skeins,
Mrs. Caswell? I always hold mother's for her."
"Yes, if you like; but I shall not wind them all at once."
Now, afghans were new things in those days. Agnes had heard of them as
something wonderfully elegant and fashionable, but she had never seen
one; and the appearance of the wool excited a violent conflict in her
mind. She wanted to find out what Letty was going to do; but she did
not know how to do it consistently with her dignity.
Letty sat winding her balls as composedly as if nothing had been said
by her cousin.
At length Agnes broke the silence.
"What very pretty work that is!" she exclaimed,—curiosity getting the
upper hand at the sight of an afghan-needle, then a rare novelty.
"Where did you learn it?"
"Mrs. Mercer taught me," replied Letty, "I am doing this for her. She
has orders for two; and she cannot find time for much work in the shop.
It is, as you say, very pretty work, and does not try my eyes, which
have been rather weak lately."
"You don't mean to say you are doing it for the shop?" exclaimed Agnes.
"I thought to be sure it was for yourself. Why, Letty Caswell!"
"Thank you: we are not quite as rich as all that," said Letty, smiling.
"When I can afford to pay ten dollars for worsted, I will tell you."
"Well, if you are not the queerest person! I do hope you won't let
every one know that you work for the shop. I should be mortified to
death."
"I shall not publish it in the papers," replied Letty; "but, if any one
asks me, I shall be apt to tell the truth. Why not?"
"If you don't see the reason yourself, there is no use in talking about
it. Pray, how does John like your employing yourself in this manner?"
"Oh, he does not object. He lets me have my own way in most things, you
know,—though he does set up once in a while, as he did about my having
Jane to work."
"Yes, I know," replied Agnes, with an ostentatious sigh. "You are a
happy woman, Letty: you ought to be very thankful."
"I am, I hope," said Letty. "God has been very good to me," she added,
with tears in her eyes. "He has left me far more than he has taken
away."
"Oh, yes: it is very easy to say so as long as you have every thing in
your own way. Wait till you are tried as I am, and then see. But, I
declare, I never saw any thing so pretty! How do you put it together?
I mean to buy some worsted and begin one this very afternoon. You will
show me about it: won't you?"
"Certainly," said Letty, suppressing a smile. "And, Agnes, suppose you
bring Madge over with you."
"Mary can bring her over, I suppose. I should not like to be seen
carrying her myself."
Letty accompanied her cousin to the door, and, to her surprise, saw
John.
"What in the world brings you home in the middle of the day? You will
get no dinner: I can tell you that."
"Never mind," said John, smiling. "Good news will do for dinner.
Beckman will pay off all the creditors of the 'Penny Savings-Bank.' No
one will lose a cent by him, after all."
"That is good news indeed," replied Letty. "How glad I am!—Not only for
the money, but for the sake of Mr. Beckman himself. The poor man will
be able to hold up his head again."
"Well, I declare! So you have got it all back," said Agnes. "What luck
some people do have! But how came Beckman to pay?"
"Because he had a large legacy, and thought it right, I suppose, to
pay his debts," replied John. "You see, Mr. Trescott was correct in
saying that Beckman did not mean to be dishonest: he was only foolish
in undertaking a business which he did not understand."
"Well," said Agnes, "I am glad you have your legacy back, I am sure. I
only hope you will keep your money in your own hands this time, and not
be misled by designing people, as you were before. Good-by, Letty. I
shall be over about four."
"What has she been about?" asked John, when Agnes was out of hearing.
"Oh, never mind. Tell me when you heard all this good news."
"Mr. Street called me into his office and told me just now. He says
all the claimants will be satisfied to the very last penny. Some of
Beckman's friends say it would be a great deal better for him to use
the money in setting himself up again in business, and that by that
means he could pay off his indebtedness by degrees without such a
sacrifice to himself; but he would not listen to them for a moment. He
put the whole into Mr. Street's hands, that he might have it out of his
own power."
In the afternoon Agnes came over, punctually, with her balls and skeins
of worsted, and was soon at work on her afghan, as pleasant and cordial
as possible. Like some other passionate people, she never remembered a
word that she had said, after her passion was over, and wondered very
much that any one else could.
Letty was not disposed to remember it, either. She knew her cousin of
old; and moreover, Letty had lately found a well of peace springing
up in her own heart, independent of outward circumstances,—a fountain
whose clear waters no storms could disturb. God kept her mind in
perfect peace, because it was stayed on Him. She was conscious that
this calm light might not always be vouchsafed to her; but that did not
hinder her from rejoicing in the Bridegroom's presence so long as the
Bridegroom was with her.
Mary's stout arms carried Madge across the street and deposited her
upon Letty's sofa. It was curious and touching to see how the strong,
rough girl, who used to quarrel with and tease her from morning till
night, had softened towards the child in her helpless condition. She
was never weary of walking with Madge, or of cooking nice little things
for her; and she would have devoted her whole time to her, if Agnes had
permitted it.
"Joe told me to say he would come over to tea, Letty, if he will not be
in your way. He wants to talk with John."
"Perhaps your mother would come too."
"Oh, she is busy," said Agnes, carelessly. "She could not spend the
time."
"Sure, Mrs. Emerson," said Mary, "I might finish the quinces and let
the old lady come over."
"You will do nothing of the kind: you have all your own work to do,"
returned Agnes. "It is so hard to make her know her place," said Agnes,
as Mary went out. "That is the great trouble with servants in our
country."
"You should be your own servant, as I am, and then you would be sure
not to have any trouble in that way," said Letty.
"Why, don't you mean to keep Jane?"
"Oh, no! She only came to stay while I was sick. John insists on my
having her to wash and iron, and I have no objection to that; but as to
any thing else I have to do, Jane is more plague than profit. I am of
the Widow Scudder's opinion about girls: I want them to stand out of my
way and let me get done."
It turned out that Joe's business was to try and borrow the money which
John was soon to receive from Mr. Beckman. He proposed to secure it by
a mortgage on a house of Mr. Van Horn's, and by some means or other to
pay eight per cent. interest.
John listened with so much attention that Joe made sure of his object;
and he was quite taken aback when John said, quietly,—
"That would be usury, Joe."
"Well, what if it is? I don't suppose you will pretend to say that
there is any morality concerned in taking one rate of interest more
than another. I have heard you say myself that you could see no more
sense in a law regulating the hire of money than in one to regulate the
price of horses."
"I do not," replied John. "But, while there is such a law, whoever
lends money on more than legal interest runs the chance of losing the
whole. Besides, I don't like money transactions between relations; and,
more than all, I would never lend money to anybody to put into the
liquor business."
"Pshaw! Why need you know what the money is used for? I suppose the
long and the short of it is that you want to put the money into your
own business."
"Not at all. I have no intention of putting it into any business. I
mean to salt it down, as they say,—invest it in some good, safe stock,
and let it alone. There is something pleasant in the idea of having a
sum laid aside out of the risk of business—a kind of nest-egg."
"But, Caswell, you don't consider the security. That fine house and lot
on a good street. Why, it rents for two hundred and fifty dollars a
year."
"And quite free from incumbrance?"
"Oh, yes;—that is—well, you can hardly call it an incumbrance. The
builder has some claim on it, I believe."
"He has a mortgage on it," said John. "I know; for he wanted to sell it
to me, and I would not take it."
"The house is worth three times the amount of the mortgage."
"Possibly; but I don't think so."
"Well, what security will you take, then?" asked Joe, evidently
disappointed and vexed, but not willing to give up the point.
"There is no use in talking, Joe. You know what my opinion of the whole
business was from the beginning."
"Oh, very well," said Joe, stiffly. "Take your own way. I am sure I did
not think I was asking such a very great favour in offering to borrow
a paltry sum on good security. No doubt it will be easy to find it
somewhere else. Every one is not so strait-laced. I shall not be likely
to trouble you again very soon. Come, Agnes; it is time we were at
home. What on earth did you bring that child out for?"
"Didn't you say yourself that it would be a good thing for her?"
replied Agnes.
"What ails Joe?" asked Letty, when they had taken their leave.
"He is vexed because I won't lend him this money to invest in his
business. I am sorry he is angry; but I cannot help it. I dare say he
will forget it before long, and be just as pleasant as ever."