FURTHER CHANGES.
FROM this time forward, a coolness grew up between the two families in
Myrtle Street.
Joe was very much vexed about the money. Still, he was naturally
placable, and, if left to himself, would, no doubt, soon have forgotten
his annoyance; but there was a skilful hand at the bellows, keeping up
the fire of anger in his mind.
Mr. Van Horn was jealous of John Caswell. John was the Mordecai sitting
in the gate of Myrtle Street, who had always refused to bow down to
his greatness. Moreover, he had reasons of his own for disliking to
have his affairs observed by any one so quick-sighted as the grave,
slow-spoken carpenter. He knew that Joe had been in the habit of
telling his cousin all about his business affairs; and he made up his
mind that, under present circumstances, such openness would not be
desirable. He therefore set himself to work, now by insinuations, now
by sarcasm, and now by open abuse, to poison the mind of Joe and his
wife against their relations across the road.
In this work he had an efficient coadjutor in his wife, to whom
mischief-making was as her daily bread, and who, under an appearance of
the greatest simplicity, and even silliness, concealed as much cunning
as her grave and artful husband.
Agnes soon became distant and cold to her cousins. She ceased to run
into Number Nine a dozen times a day, to borrow something, to ask help
about her work, or to look at Letty's new magazine. If Letty called at
Number Ten, she was received with the most chilling ceremony, or with
abundant hints about people minding their own business and keeping
their own place. For some time Letty persisted in going to see her
cousin, in spite of this treatment; but the manner of both Joe and
Agnes at last became so offensive that she had nothing to do but to
stay away. Even Madge was no longer allowed to visit her cousin and
thus the poor child was deprived of her greatest solace. Letty grieved
deeply over the estrangement, and tried in every way to remedy it; but
in vain. The more she tried, the worse the matter grew; and she was at
last fain to let things take their course, hoping that time would bring
Agnes to her senses.
But Letty regretted many things in her cousins' ways more than their
conduct to herself. Living opposite, as she did, she could not help
seeing the increased expenses of the family, the growing extravagance
of Agnes's dress, the hired carriages, the late ball and theatre
goings, the card and supper parties. She mourned, too, over the change
in Joe's appearance. He had always been rather a sober and steady man,
even in his bachelor days, and since his marriage he had become still
more so; but Letty could not but notice how red his face was becoming,
and how loudly he sometimes talked when he came home late in the
evening.
The Alhambra, as he called his place of business, began to be noted for
its good liquors and cigars, and the excellence of the free lunches it
set forth on festival-days. It had a great run of custom, and people
began to whisper that the sale of liquors was not the most profitable
business carried on there; that back of the grand billiard-saloon on
the first floor, the windows of which blazed with light at the latest
hours, there was another apartment, the windows of which did not blaze
with light,—which had, in fact, no windows at all, and where the
visitors pursued these amusements with closed doors and were waited
upon by Mr. Van Horn himself.
Meantime, Mrs. Van Horn Was getting into society, as she called it,
very rapidly. Mrs. Van Horn's acquaintances were, of course, Agnes's:
they belonged mostly to what was called "the fast set,"—people who made
many expensive parties, played cards for money, and prided themselves
on doing startling things.
Agnes was very good-looking, and somewhat elegant in her appearance,
and her manners were rather above than below those of most of the
people whom she met in this set: nevertheless, she was subject to many
mortifications. She fancied that every one knew she had once been a
shop-girl,—and, indeed, Mrs. Van Horn kindly took care that every one
should know it,—and she was always thinking that people threw out hints
about her former way of life. Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Lamb, the principal
personages of her "set," sometimes patronized and sometimes snubbed her.
And, finally, she was aware that there existed in T— a much finer
"set" than her own, to which she and Mrs. Van Horn had no more chance
of access than they had of being presented to the man in the moon:—a
quiet set, who did not dress extravagantly, nor drive fast horses, nor
give many large parties, but who interested themselves in poor people,
who managed the Orphans Asylum and the Old Ladies' Home, and who
constituted the Club,—the Book Club,—strictly limited as to numbers,
and on which many people cast longing eyes who had never read through a
book in their lives. Why, it would be hard to say, except that it seems
to be human nature for people to desire what they cannot have, simply
because it is unattainable.
What made Agnes's exclusion the harder was, that Letty seemed to be
creeping into this very set, and that by no effort of her own, but
simply, as it were, by the force of mutual attraction. Letty's natural
disposition led her to seek comfort in her own sorrows by trying to
relieve those of other people; and after the death of her little Alick
she accepted the post of district visitor of the Charitable Society.
Her coadjutor in the work was no other than Mrs. Mark Campion, wife of
the only author of whom the town of T— could boast, and a person of
great consideration on her own account.
By this means, Letty was naturally brought into the society of the
other visitors; and one morning Agnes, looking out of her window: was
greatly amazed to see Mrs. Campion coming out of Letty's house in
company with Mrs. Street,—the Mrs. Street, whom "not to know argued
one's self unknown," but whom Agnes and Mrs. Van Horn had hitherto
beheld at an awful distance. Agnes had not been inside her cousin's
door for three months, and it cost her a little sacrifice of dignity to
run over now; but curiosity proved too strong for pride, and she went.
Letty received her cousin just as if they had met the day before; but
Agnes fancied that she could trace suppressed amusement in her cousin's
cordial manner. Letty was amused, for she knew exactly what had brought
Agnes round; but she chatted on easily about the garden, Madge, and the
last novelty in worsted-work. At last Agnes had to come to the point
herself.
"You had some company this morning?"
"Yes," replied Letty.
"I did not know you were acquainted with Mrs. Street."
"Oh, yes: I have known her all my life. She was very intimate with Mrs.
Trescott."
"I suppose she came to inquire for a girl, or some such thing?" said
Agnes.
"No: she is not at housekeeping, and she keeps the same old lady's
maid she has had these twenty years. Good old Casey! She taught me a
deal of pretty work when I was a little girl; and when I was married
she gave me no end of good advice, besides a wonderful needle-book and
pincushion. Did I ever show them to you?"
Agnes could have boxed her cousin's ears with a good will; but she put
a strong constraint on herself, and said,—
"Now, Letty, don't be provoking. What do I care about old Casey? I want
to know what brought Mrs. Street here; for of course she did not come
to make a call."
"Why of course?"
"Oh, because she never would call on any one who lived in Myrtle
Street. I tell Joe every day that we shall never have any society as
long as we live down here out of the world."
"Now, I think Myrtle Street a very nice place," said Letty. "It is so
open and airy, and the lots are so large. I would not change our garden
for the grandest place on the Avenue."
"Sour grapes, Letty!"
"May-be so. It is at least a good thing to think one's own grapes
sweeter than any other."
"But come, now, tell me: what did Mrs. Street come for?"
"They are about to add a children's department to the Home; and,
knowing that I am fond of children, she and Mrs. Trescott put their
heads together and invited me to take a share with them in the
oversight of it."
"Well, I declare!—To be with Mrs. Street and Mrs. Townsend and all that
set of grand people, meeting them at committees and every thing!"
"Yes; I suppose so, if I accept. I told Mrs. Street I must consult my
husband before I gave her a positive answer. If I decide to do it, I am
to meet all the ladies at Mrs. Townsend's to-morrow afternoon, to talk
over matters."
"If you accept! It's not very likely you will refuse, I guess."
"I do not think I shall refuse if John has no objection," replied
Letty, quietly. "It is a kind of work that I like,—even better than
knitting double wool," she added, smiling; "and, then, one makes
pleasant acquaintances."
"Oh, there is no danger of his refusing. He never objects to what you
wish to do, just because you do wish it. There is the difference in
people. What are you making now?"
"A scarf," replied Letty, displaying her work. "Don't you want the
pattern? It is quite new, and very pretty."
"I should like it of all things," said Agnes, examining the scarf,
"but, the truth is, I have such a bill at Mrs. Mercer's now, that I
don't dare to go there. I am in terror every day lest she should send
in the bill to Joe. You need not look so shocked," she added, with an
affected laugh: "I dare say you have your own little private accounts
that you don't tell your husband of."
"Never! Never!" said Letty, warmly. "I should not dare to look him in
the face if I did."
"Well, well: people are different, as I said; and so you would find out
if you had Joe to manage. Come in and see me, Letty: you never come
near me now-a-days."
"Because I thought you did not want me," said Letty, frankly. "I kept
on going till you gave me clearly to understand that my room was better
than my company."
"Nonsense! You are always taking offence," said Agnes, in a superior
tone. "Of course, with all my engagements, and moving in such very
different circles as we do, I cannot run in every day, as I used to
when things were different: you ought not to expect it."
"I don't," said Letty, dryly; "but, Agnes, you might let Madge be
brought over and see me now and then: she is not old enough to be
injured by our inferior associations, you know; and I should really be
glad to have her; I am sure a change would be better for her than lying
all the time in that dull back room."
"Yes, of course she can come, if you want to be plagued with her," said
Agnes. "I don't know what I am to do with the child: she's becoming a
great care; she just wants me or some one devoted to her every minute,
reading to her or playing with her; and it is very inconvenient."
"She has so few resources,—poor thing!" said Letty. "It is not as if
she could run about and amuse herself like other children, you know."
"I am sure she has resources enough, if that is all," said Agnes. "Joe
never comes in without bringing her something, and she is never out of
his arms while he is in the house; and mother is just as bad. As sure
as I want her to do any thing, the excuse is that she cannot leave
Madge. For my part, I don't believe in having all the well people in
the house put out of the way for the sake of one sick one."
"Mrs. Trescott used always to say that well people could wait,"
remarked Letty. "But, if you send her over here, she will be out of
every one's way for a while, at least. Mary can bring her over, and
John will take her home when he comes to tea."
"Well, I don't mind:—only be careful of her, and don't let her take
cold, as you did before;" for Agnes always kept up the fiction that it
was Letty's neglect which had caused Madge's ill health, and Letty had
become so used to the accusation that she never thought of replying to
it.
Agnes departed at last, going at once to Mrs. Van Horn to tell her news
and express her amazement.
Mrs. Van Horn wondered too, and finally decided that the affair
must somehow grow out of the fact that Mr. Caswell had the contract
for building the new wing of the Home. She expressed a good deal of
astonishment that Agnes should have gone to see Letty, after the way
she had been treated and the remarks Mrs. Caswell had made. It was no
part of her plan to have Agnes renew her former intimacy; and she used
so well her ordinary weapons of insinuation and falsehood that, when
Letty returned her cousin's visit, she found Agnes frozen up stiffer
than ever.
The quarrel did not, however, extend to Madge. Agnes found it very
convenient to get rid of the child for two or three afternoons in the
week, that Mrs. Train might be at liberty to help Mary: consequently,
Madge often enjoyed the change of a visit to Cousin Letty, where she
had Gatty to amuse her and where she could experience, the marvellous
and unaccustomed pleasure of behaving herself well and doing what
she was bidden. She was still quite helpless so far as walking
was concerned, though she could sit up a little while if properly
supported; but she was becoming quite deformed. She was uncommonly
bright and thoughtful, though terribly spoiled, and as ignorant as a
little New Zealander of any thing she ought to have known. She was
never satisfied in the matter of reading aloud, and really taxed her
friends severely.
Presently, Letty represented to her that, if she would only learn to
read, she would be quite independent in that respect and could amuse
herself when she liked. Madge seized on the idea with enthusiasm, and
begged Cousin Letty to teach her. She learned surprisingly fast, and
was soon able to read an easy book for herself. She improved in other
ways,—learned to put some restraint on herself and to help herself more
easily. Letty thought she suffered from lack of exercise; and so she
often laid her on the floor instead of on the sofa, and encouraged her
to roll about as much as possible. Madge enjoyed these changes; and
Letty was even not without hopes that the child might recover in some
degree the use of her limbs.
In the course of the next year, however, Agnes accomplished her
long-cherished purpose of removing from Myrtle Street. Number Ten was
sold, and Joe bought a fine new house quite at the other end of the
town, where a fashionable district was rapidly filling up. Joe was,
apparently, growing rich very fast. He spent money freely, and assumed
all the airs of a man of wealth and consequence. He really seemed
to be touched with Letty's kindness to his unfortunate child, as he
called her,—thanked her in the most condescending manner when he went
away, and made her a present of a very expensive and really valuable
book,—though John was a little inclined to be vexed with Letty for
accepting it.
"But, John, where was the use of making a fuss?" said Letty. "As to any
obligation, Madge's board for the last year would come to many times
the price of the book, not to speak of any thing else; and I wish to
keep on good terms with them for the sake of the poor child. As to
Joe's airs, they are simply amusing. I could hardly help laughing all
the time he was here."
"I suppose that is the best way of looking at the matter," said John.
"I cannot conceive how it is that they go on; though I suppose there is
no doubt that they make a great deal of money."
"Don't you regret now that you did not put our legacy into the
concern?" asked Letty, mischievously. "Just think! You might have been
quite a rich man by this time, and Joe would have introduced you into
society!"
"Thank you," said John: "I don't think Joe's circle of society would
suit me at all. I am afraid some of it is of a kind that will lead him
into a deal of trouble, some day or other. I see him in company with
men whom I know to be regular gamblers; and it is said—I don't know how
truly—that Van Horn has a resort of that kind, where a great deal of
his money is made."
"Surely," said Letty, "Joe would never be engaged in such a business as
that?"
"I am not so clear," replied her husband. "Joe has good impulses
enough, but he has no principle,—nothing to keep him from being led
away by any one who chooses to take the trouble. Van Horn flatters him
and makes him think that he is going to be a great man directly. I fear
he will be his utter destruction before all is done."
They had scarcely finished this dialogue, when Aunt Train came in,
looking pale and weary.
"I am tired," said Mrs. Train, with emphasis, as she dropped into
Letty's easy-chair. "I am worked off my feet, and just ready to drop,
with all this fuss of moving, and the rest; but I thought I could not
go away without coming to see you once more, Letty."
"You know it is no fault of mine that we have not seen more of each
other," said Letty, gently.
"I know; I know," replied Mrs. Train, hastily. "I have no fault to find
with either you or John. You have always been kind and respectful to
me, Letty,—always: I will say that for you. How nice and pleasant you
look here!" said Mrs. Train, glancing around. "Your wife has that trait
of a good housekeeper, John. She knows how to make every part of her
house pleasant and inviting. She does not have one grand parlour for
company, and the living-rooms anyhow and every-how."
"I never have any but living-rooms," said Letty, smiling. "I never want
a house larger than I can use. How do you like the one where you are
going?"
"All show and outside," replied Mrs. Train. "It is handsome, too,—very
handsome. But I do think it rather hard upon my old bones to have to
mount up to the third story to sleep, or else up with a little hole of
a room in the basement. I am not used to stairs, and they are very hard
upon me. The fact is, the house is not nearly so convenient as the one
we are in, especially with a helpless child like Madge to take care of;
but, then, Joe and Agnes think the situation makes up for every thing;
and perhaps it does."
"I don't myself see the great advantages of the situation," said John,
dryly. "The land is, a great deal of it, made by filling in, and the
lots are very small. The houses have no gardens, and they are all
up-stairs and down-stairs."
"Yes; but, then, we never do any thing with a garden. If we had forty
acres, we should only raise just so many more weeds. Joe says a garden
does not pay."
"Mine pays, I can assure you," said John. "Think of all the fruit we
have had this year,—strawberries and raspberries and grapes more than
we could use, and almost all the summer vegetables we have needed.
Joe's garden is as good as mine if he would work it as I do."
"Why, aunt, you used to be fond of a garden," said Letty. "I remember
what a nice one you always had at the old North Street house."
"I used to have a good many things in the old North Street house that
I shall never have again," said Mrs. Train, rather bitterly. "Take my
advice, Letty, and keep your own roof over your head as long as you
can. There is no great comfort in living in other people's houses."
"So I think," said Letty.
"I used to think I worked hard at home; and so I did," continued Mrs.
Train; "but, at any rate, I had the comfort of what I did. I had my own
way, and nobody interfered with me. But now I work like a slave from
morning till night, doing what no one else wants to do, and, after all,
I get no thanks for it. I brought Agnes up like a lady," she continued,
wiping her eyes: "I never let her put her hands to a bit of hard work.
I laboured day and night that she might have advantages,—that she
might go to school and dress and appear like a lady; and what is the
consequence? She looks down upon her old mother, and wants to keep her
out of sight. She grudges me decent clothes,—though she has the use of
all my little income, and expects me to do all the work that Mary can't
or won't do."
"You know I always disliked the idea of your putting your property out
of your own hands," said John.
"I know," said Mrs. Train. "You were right; and I was an old fool,—that
is all."
"But, aunt, if you are so uncomfortable, why not take lodgings of your
own?" asked Letty. "Mrs. Mercer, next door, has a nice, large front
room and bedroom which she would like to rent. She is a very good
woman, and there would be no children to annoy you, except poor little
Harry, who is no trouble to any one. Then you would be near us; and we
could see that you were comfortable. John would attend to your coal,
and all that, and I would help you a great deal."
Mrs. Train shook her head. "It wouldn't do, Letty. Thank you all the
same; but it would not do. You see, I cannot work at fine sewing as
I used to, and my little income is not enough to support me without
my house. And, besides, there is poor Madge. What would become of her
without granny?"
"True," replied Letty. "She could hardly spare you, I suppose."
"No, no," said Mrs. Train. "There is no help for it now. I have made my
bed, and I must lie in it: that is all. I don't like to ask you to come
and see me, Letty, after all that has passed; but I shall always think
of you kindly. Good-by; and God bless you!"
"Poor aunt!" said Letty, as she closed the door. "I do wish she could
be made more comfortable."
"I don't see how it can be done at present," replied John. "If it were
not for Madge, we might ask her here; but what would become of the
child?"
"My stepmother used to say, long ago, that aunt was laying up trouble
for herself by the way she brought up Agnes," said Letty. "She said
what I believe to be true,—that spoiled children never are grateful
to those who spoil them. I have more than once seen aunt hanging out
clothes or sifting ashes on a freezing day, while Agnes was hanging
over the fire with a story-book or some nonsensical piece of embroidery.
"Mother was always indulgent enough to me in the way of giving me
playthings and time to play with them; but then she would always make
me help her, ever since I can remember,—even when my help must have
been much more a plague than a profit. I cannot remember when I had
not certain duties to perform every day. I used to think myself hardly
used,—quite a little martyr; but I am thankful to her now for all she
did. I am very, very sorry for Aunt Train."