A TUMULT IN THE HOUSEHOLD—SIGNING THE MORTGAGE.
Another house in Norwich was the scene of trouble that day. The Arnold
Mansion, so full of life and bustle when we first saw it, was greatly
changed since the master had forsaken his old, negligent ways.
Notwithstanding those unworthy habits, he had kept from impairing his
property to any great extent; and there was always enough and to spare
for his family and the guests that came beneath his roof. But now this
plenty had, by degrees, diminished, till strict parsimony reigned on the
farm, a state of things which neither Mrs. Arnold nor Hannah could
understand. As for Hagar, the rebellion of her spirit broke out
furiously; and she never set a dish upon the table, or kneaded a scant
baking of bread, without muttering her discontent.
Mrs. Arnold, singular to say, had, like her neighbor at the falls, been
quite overlooked when the committees were formed to carry out the
minister’s spinning-bee. Why was this? the gentle woman questioned in
her mind. Why should she meet with neglect now, when her husband had
returned to his Christian duties, which had never been visited on her
during his moral debasement? Had she committed some fault that her
sisters passed her by so unkindly? or, was she getting old, and did this
seeming slight spring from a wish to spare her the anxiety and fatigue
of active co-operation?
The gentle woman asked these questions over and over to herself, and at
last mentioned them to Hannah, who, in her sweet way, gave the most
pleasant construction to what seemed, even to her unsuspicious nature,
strange, to say the least.
“It is because you haven’t been very well lately, mother,” said the
young girl, striving to believe her own words. “You know there was a
general invitation given out to all the members.”
“Yes, but was that ever done before when any responsibility was to be
taken, Hannah? I must have offended some of the sisters, or perhaps the
minister himself.”
“Offended them! You, dear mother! That is impossible.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think no one ever was so careless about other
people’s feelings as I am. Only yesterday I forgot to have biscuit baked
for Hagar and the men folks, and they’re always used to it.”
“But, mother, we had none on the table for ourselves. How could you?”
“Well, Hannah, that’s true; but the hands work so hard. Of course we can
get along without nice things better than they. I really think Hagar
felt the want of it.”
“No, marm. Hagar didn’t feel de want of dem ’ere biskit, nor nothin’
else, let me tell you!” cried the sable handmaid, pushing open the door
which stood ajar. “She jest wants ter keep up de ’spectability ob de
family, and dat’s all ’bout it. Bran bread’s good ’nuff for her and dem
’ere he cullered pussons as belong ter de house. She’d jest like to
catch one on ’em complainin’; but dere isn’t no reason, as she can see
on, why tings can’t be as dey used ter was, when an oben full of bread,
and biskit, and ginger-cake, ter say nothin’ ob baked beans and Injin
puddin’, was put in tree times a week. De family isn’t no smaller, as
she eber heerd; and as for de farm, it’s jist bringing in as much agin
as it eber did, only ebery arthly ting is sold off afore it has a chance
to git ripe. Missus Arnold, if you’ll jist gib any ’spectable reason for
dese carryings on I’ll guv up; but, till den, don’t nedir ob you ’spect
ter see a smilin’ countenance ’bout de kitchen; for dere’s one pusson in
dem premises dat can’t stand it, and won’t.”
Poor Mrs. Arnold was taken quite aback by this harangue. Hagar had
expressed her discontent in muttered words and black looks often enough,
but never before had she given it the force of her peculiar eloquence.
The worst of it was, the gentle woman, had she wished it, could have
given no good reason for her husband’s parsimony, and to lay any blame
on him was beyond her nature. It was all very strange, but surely the
head of a house had a right to dispose of his own property unquestioned.
As these thoughts ran through her mind, the mistress stood embarrassed
and blushing before her handmaiden. At last she said, with gentle
decision,
“It is Mr. Arnold’s will that we should live more saving, Hagar. That is
enough for me.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Hagar, sniffing the air till her broad nostrils
vibrated with the disdain that swelled them. “If eber dis ’ere pusson
should condescend ter unite herself wid a man ob de opposite sect, she’d
jist like ter see him scrimpin’ and savin’ ’bout her cookin’. Meachin
business, mighty meachin business, Miss Arnold!”
Hannah Arnold laughed a little in spite of her annoyance.
“Well, Hagar,” she said, quite cheerfully; “of course father knows best.
With a cook like you a little is quite sufficient. He trusts more to
your skill than ever, that’s all.”
Hagar bridled, and the inflation of her nostrils subsided with a gradual
collapse.
“Now I know just what yer a-tinking ’bout, Hannah. It’s dem eggs as I
beat up wid greens, and fried in a thick cake for dat French beau of
yourn. He thought I couldn’t do it, but catch dis chile not
understandin’ any ting she’s eber seen done; dat harnsome gal wid de
feathers, cum inter de kitchen to cook an—an—an—omnibus.”
“Omelet,” suggested Hannah, all in a glow of roses.
“Yes, an onionete for our Ben. I kep’ a sharp lookout, and ’membered
ebery ting dat she put in, greens and all,—dat’s how it was ’complished.
Lord a massy, didn’t he ’joy dat breakfast all ’lone wid you in de
spare-room?”
Out came the roses over Hannah’s face all in full bloom again. Mrs.
Arnold, too, felt the shadow of a blush pass over her cheek, from
sympathy with the sweet confusion into which her child was thrown.
“Hagar,” she said, smiling softly, “I’m afraid there’s something on fire
in the kitchen. Hadn’t you better go see?”
“More likely dere’s someting a-fire here,” said Hagar, casting a
sidelong glance at Hannah’s burning face; “but I didn’t mean ter
decompose nobody, ’cause dem as has been troo de mill know how de stones
grind. If der is any ting unpleasant for a ’septible pusson, it is ter
feel yerself a-blushing when yer can’t help it. I know ov a gemman as
says, he wouldn’t make de fair sect blush for nothin’; when a pusson I
could mention, but won’t, was a-feelin’ as if a fire was blazing out in
her cheeks all de time.”
“But I’m sure there’s something going wrong in the kitchen, Hagar,” said
Hannah, laughing in spite of herself.
“No doubt, miss,—no doubt; but I’ve got someting more ’portant to ’tend
to jest now. What ’bout de cooking for dis minister’s bee? Not a word’s
been said or done ’bout dat yet.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Arnold, with embarrassment. “Perhaps we shan’t
go.”
“Shan’t go, Miss Arnold! Am dis family going to ’struction, or am it
not, dat’s what I want ter find out afore I step out ob dese tracks?”
“Well, Hagar, I can’t tell just yet. Mr. Arnold will be home soon, and
I’ll speak to him about it. Perhaps we shall go after all. The sisters
might think us offended, Hannah. Oh, there he comes! Run into the
kitchen, Hagar. I will come to you in a little while, and then, perhaps,
we shall be busy enough.”
Hagar would probably have kept her ground, but she was deserted on the
instant, as Mrs. Arnold and Hannah went to the front-door, waiting there
for Mr. Arnold to dismount and come in.
A stranger was with Arnold,—or rather a person who came unexpectedly. It
was Dr. Blake, riding his chestnut horse, but without the professional
saddle-bags.
The two men dismounted and came in together, talking earnestly as they
approached the door.
“Think of it well, my friend,” the doctor was saying, as he came up the
yard. “It is an easy thing to saddle a farm with things of this kind;
but not one man in ten ever gets his property clear again.”
“I know,” said Arnold, firmly. “But there is no choice. _I must have the
money!_”
Mrs. Arnold heard this, and for a moment her heart beat fast; but she
looked in her husband’s face and grew calm again. There was something
firm, almost grand in the expression, that gave her confidence. He had
not looked so noble since the days of his youth.
“But stop a moment; your wife may not like it; I can do nothing against
her consent,” said the doctor, who had not yet seen Mrs. Arnold and
Hannah.
“There she is. Ask her if she can trust her husband now.”
Mrs. Arnold stepped forward, smiling.
“What is it you want, husband?”
“He wants you to sign a mortgage on this place,” said the doctor,
bluntly; “one that he must work like a slave to pay off; and which will
leave you a poor widow if he fails to do it, for it would ruin me to
lose so much money.”
“Is it necessary?” questioned the wife, looking into her husband’s face
with her tender eyes. “Is it best, husband?”
“It is right, my poor wife. I can never breathe freely till it is done.”
“Come in,” she said, still smiling. “There is a pen and ink in the
out-room. Come, doctor, tell me where to put my name. Hannah, do you
know what we are doing?”
“Yes, mother!”
“Well, come look on. It may leave us poor, daughter, but your father
says it is right. Shall I sign here, Dr. Blake?”
The doctor placed his finger on the spot she was to sign, and she placed
her name more boldly than it had ever been written before.
“No,” said the doctor, taking up the mortgage, “nothing can make you a
poor man, Arnold, while these two women live. Nothing!”