A CHAPTER OF SHREDS AND PATCHES.
Monday morning found the young people at the Sanford cottage in rather
indifferent spirits. When the sun, after having fought his way through
clouds to do so, awoke Patty, the sound which his beams evoked from her
lips was not, like that of Memnon, a note of joy, but a sigh. Flossy
announced at breakfast a severe attack of her dyspepsia, caused, she
declared, by the sermon to which she had listened at Samoset.
"It was a dreadfully hard sermon," she said, "and had more heads than a
hydra. I'm not used to such things, and it's no wonder it made me ill."
"I didn't hear it," Will remarked; "but it has given me a headache all
the same. It must be because I have so many ideas. I shall lose my wits
with the pain some day, I've no doubt."
"If you do," Floss retorted, "you can advertise for them as of no use
but to the owner, like private papers."
"What nonsense you two talk!" grandmother Sanford said mildly. "Dost
thee think, William, that friend Putnam has secured my pension yet?"
"I will try to find out to-day, grandmother, after I've driven mother
over to call on the young and lovely bride, Mrs. Bathalina Peter
Clemens Mixon."
From the time of the sudden and romantic departure of Bathalina,
the life of Mrs. Sanford had been made a burden by the trial of new
servants. She utterly refused to have anybody about her who was Irish;
yet the servants she had tried had proved alike a weariness to the
flesh and a vexation to the spirit. They were principally farmers'
daughters, who "never thought o' livin' out, but would stop a spell,
jes' to 'commodate." In Montfield everybody knew his neighbor's
affairs; and the friends of the family had been sending in a continuous
stream of candidates, or messages respecting girls they thought might
be available, or concerning people who might know of girls to hire, or
have heard of somebody who did. Even Mrs. Brown at length became aware
of the vacancy in the Sanfords' kitchen, and sent over a girl whom she
recommended as being all that the most exacting could desire. It proved
to be the same amiable domestic who had dealt such destruction among
Mrs. Brown's hairpins; and for various reasons her first morning at the
doctor's cottage was also her last.
"What could you expect," Mrs. Sanford said, "of a girl Mrs. Brown
recommended? She's no kind of a housekeeper. She'd be sure to have
a pig killed on the wane of the moon. And she's like one of her own
doughnuts: she's no sort or kind of life nor sconce, but tough as
leather to bite, if you are ever hungry enough to want to eat one.
I declare I am worn almost to a shadow with trying girls, and not
getting one fit to live with."
But at last a ray of light had shone through the clouds. Bathalina
Mixon had sent word that her experience of wedded bliss was not,
on the whole, satisfactory, and that she was willing to return and
be forgiven. So Mrs. Sanford and Will were going to treat with the
repentant bride, and if possible arrange for her return.
"She ain't more than half-witted," Mrs. Sanford said; "but I've
concluded that's an advantage; and she knows the ways of the house, and
is afraid of the doctor."
Few couples were ever more ill-assorted than Dr. Sanford and his
wife; but the husband bore with admirable patience the follies which
experience had taught him it was idle to hope to eradicate. His keen
sense of humor aided him in this forbearance, and a remark of his
wife's more than usually grotesque, had no other visible effect upon
him than to provoke a quiet smile about the corners of his lips.
The doctor was unspeakably fond of his children, and in them found
something of the companionship denied him with his wife. Will was to
succeed his father in his practice, and was already studying with that
in view. For Patty her father could not bear to plan a future, since he
could not endure the thought of separation. Her wooers had made little
impression upon him, but he frowned decidedly upon Clarence Toxteth.
"I do not like the breed," he said to his wife. "The Toxteth blood
doesn't seem to have any brain-making power in it."
"I think anybody must have brains to get money," Mrs. Sanford answered.
"They've got that, at any rate, and only one son for it to go to."
"One son of that kind," her husband returned grimly, "is a great
plenty."
Towards Mr. Putnam the doctor's attitude was not hostile, but rather
that of one who reserved his opinion. He postponed in his mind the
consideration of these things, as if by so doing he could delay the
inevitable, and retain his favorite child the longer in the home-nest.
But all this has no very intimate connection with the visit which Mrs.
Sanford and her son had set out to pay to Mrs. Mixon. They found her
in a dilapidated building in the outskirts of Samoset, which had been
built as a tenement for the hands in a cotton-mill now burned. Hither
Peter had conveyed his bride, when, flushed with eager love, she flew
to his arms from the funeral of her cousin's child; and for a week he
had treated her with the utmost consideration, having an eye to her
money.
"The shekels naturally belong in the husband's hands," he said, "and
you'd better let me take care of them. These banks are slippery things,
and I've no confidence in those Samoset fellers anyway. I'll get it,
and you can call on me for cash when you want it."
Whether her call would be answered was a question the foolish wife
unfortunately forgot to consider; and into the rascal's pocket went
the savings which Dr. Sanford had taken pains to have Bathalina lay
by. Mixon's tenderness decreased in the same proportion as his bride's
funds; and, when once he had obtained them all, the amiable Peter was
amiable no longer. He began a course of reckless abuse, developing
an imaginative ingenuity in the invention of curses and opprobrious
epithets, which was wonderful to hear.
"I bore livin' with him as long as I could," Bathalina afterward
confided to aunty Jeff; "but one day it was borne in upon me that I was
unequally yoked with unbelievers, and I made up my mind, that, as it
wasn't much of a marriage anyway, I wouldn't have no more to do with
him. So I told him if he'd go over to Montfield, and ask Mis' Sanford
would she take me back, I'd get out of his way, and he might marry
'Mandy West for what I cared."
The arrangements for Bathalina's return were easily concluded, and Mrs.
Sanford and Will set out towards home once more. They drove rapidly,
as the clouds were every moment becoming more threatening. Fate,
however, had her purposes in their going, and interposed by breaking
beneath the wheels of their carriage a decayed culvert. The buggy was
overturned, mother and son being suddenly and unceremoniously tumbled
in an undignified heap into the carriage-top. The horse stopped of his
own will in spite of the alarming outcry of Mrs. Sanford, who moaned
and shrieked, and wailed and lamented, while her son fished her from
the wreck.
"'What can wringing of the hands do,
That which is ordained, to alter?'"
he remarked coolly.
"Will," his mother exclaimed, "do stop quoting things till we see if we
are alive!"
A consultation ensued, if so it could be called where the lady refused
to consult. Mrs. Sanford was far too plump to walk, and could hardly be
expected to mount, and ride on horseback. There seemed no alternative
but for her to remain where she was while her son went to the nearest
farmhouse, a mile away, for a carriage.
When Will returned from his search, which was somewhat prolonged by the
necessity of going to several places, his mother had disappeared. The
cushions were piled up in the broken carriage; so he concluded that the
lady's taking-off had not been violent, and followed the homeward road
himself.
His way lay by Mullen House, the home of Ease Apthorpe and her aunt,
Miss Tabitha Mullen. The mansion stood at some distance from the
street, a stone wall surrounding the grounds. The principal entrance
was an imposing gateway, whose iron gates were religiously closed at
night, but stood open by day. As Sanford rode near, his eyes were
greeted by a strange spectacle. In the gateway he saw Peter Mixon
defending the passage against an angry woman, who, half crazed with
drink or drugs, was loudly insisting upon entering. The woman's dark
hair fell in tangled masses over her shoulders, and her handsome throat
was bared by the neglect of her dress.
"I tell you I will go in!" she screamed, just as Will rode within
hearing. "I will go in and claim my own, in spite of them! Get out of
my way, or I'll kill you!"
She looked equal to the execution of her threat as she ended with a
terrible oath, her eyes flashing, her bosom heaving, and her hands
clinched. Mixon made some reply inaudible to young Sanford, evidently
intended to soothe or cow the woman; but liquor had carried her beyond
restraint.
"Putnam!" she vociferated scornfully. "What do I care for him! I'll cut
his throat too, if I get hold of him! Get out of my way, or"--
At this instant the sound of Sanford's horse's feet attracted her
attention, and she turned towards him. Mixon took advantage of the
diversion to seize her by the arm, and hurry her away.
"Come along!" he said, with every appearance of confusion. "Don't you
see who is coming?"
The woman stared, evidently not comprehending in the least who the
new-comer was; but she allowed herself to be led away, swearing and
threatening as she went.
Will at this moment recognized the woman as the one whom he had met
driving towards Samoset with Tom Putnam.