MRS. SMITHERS.
Peter Mixon's unlucky and disreputable head had been pretty severely
battered by his accident; and for several days he remained, as his wife
lucidly said, "unsensible." This delirium had passed away, but Dr.
Sanford had little hope of the patient's recovery. Bathalina hung over
her husband's bed in an agony of late and needless remorse, lamenting
that her "sinful pride" had come to this; although the connection was
by no means apparent. She sang "Death-bed Reflections" so constantly,
that at last Will Sanford threatened her with instant death if he heard
another syllable of that doleful hymn. She labored with Peter in regard
to his spiritual condition, continually begging him to let her read
aloud from the Scriptures.
"You told me you was a Methodist," she said reproachfully; "but either
you lied, or you're fallen from grace. You'd better let me read a
chapter: it may arouse your conscience."
"Read, then, if you want to," he said one day, too feeble to resist.
"Where shall I read?" she asked delightedly, giving her Bible a
preparatory scrub with her apron.
"Oh!" he answered weakly, "read about David and Goliath: that's as
lively a chapter as any I know of."
"Peter Mixon!" cried Bathalina, "don't be blasphemous on your
death-bed! But it is a just reward for my sinful pride that I should be
the widow of an unbeliever."
Both Patty and Flossy were frequent in their visits to the sick man.
He seemed grateful, in his rough way, for their kindness, and would
brighten up as they entered the chamber. Particularly he seemed pleased
to have Patty about him, and would take from her hand the medicine
which no persuasions of his wife could induce him to swallow.
"He takes to you wonderful," Bathalina said: "I don't think he's so bad
at heart."
"I noticed the other day," Mrs. Sanford remarked, overhearing her,
"that he has a mole on the left side of his chin, and that's a sure
sign of goodness. Not so good as on the right side; but I don't doubt
he's right-hearted in the main."
Patty occupied herself more with the invalid, because of her mental
uneasiness. There is no refuge for unhappiness but labor. Hazard Breck
had returned to college; and, before leaving, he called to bid her
good-by.
"I perhaps ought not to speak of it," he said hesitatingly, as he rose
to go; "but you look very unhappy nowadays, Patty."
"Do I? It must be your fancy. I don't have a mournful thought from one
year's end to another. Sentimentalizing isn't in my line."
"I fear it is in mine," he said. "The summer has been a very
bitter-sweet one to me. I am glad it is done."
"It is you who are sad," she said, bravely smiling. "You look at me
through colored glasses. I am gay as a lark."
"I wish I believed it," he returned.
The pain of a boy's first love, although less fleeting than the bliss,
is fortunately also transient. His love and regret were very real to
Hazard. He was conscious that Patty did not love him; but he believed
that his boyish passion would be eternal, and life for him henceforth
only desolation. That we shall some day smile at a fancy makes the
present pain none the less poignant.
"You will come back at Christmas, won't you?" Patty said, wishing to
divert the conversation.
"No, I think not; but, if I do, I hope you won't look as solemn as you
do now."
"Solemn? Nonsense! I'm as merry as a cricket. Where is your brother
to-day?"
"He rode over to Samoset with uncle Tom this morning. They won't be
back till evening."
After her caller had gone, Patty turned back into the parlor, and
looked at her face in the glass.
"I do look like Death's second wife," she soliloquized. "If I could
only have a tremendous cry, and get over it, I might feel better,
I suppose; but I can't: so there's an end of it. I'll go and see
that wretched old Peter instead. I think I shall eventually go as a
missionary, and nurse sick cannibals until they get well enough to
cook and eat me. Heigh-ho! What a wretched old Peter it is, to be
sure! At least I'm thankful to him for giving me something to do. Poor
Hazard, I wish I were half as good as he is! Patty Sanford, you are a
fool! Go and see that dilapidated Mixon this minute!"
Her shortest way to the house of Mrs. Brown was through the Putnam
fields; and to-day, being sure that the lawyer was absent, she started
in this direction. Meanwhile a whimsical fate had conducted to the
Castle in Air another woman. This visitor came slowly over the brown
fields, passing along the bank of the brook, stopping now and then
to bite into a rose-hip, or chew the bark from some tender twig. It
was Mrs. Smithers, the woman who had summoned Putnam to Samoset, and
who had lately come to live in the stone cottage. This woman, who
among people had a restless, constrained manner, here moved with a
free, elastic step and bearing. Her childhood had been passed in
the neighborhood of Montfield; and Hannah Clemens had grown up as
lovely as a wild rose. Her sister Bathalina seemed to have absorbed
all the ugliness of the family, and to have gone on her half-witted
way honestly and contentedly, leaving to the elder her fatal dowry
of beauty, wit, and unhappiness. In an evil day Mr. Mullen saw the
beautiful, ambitious girl; and to his wealth she yielded only too
readily. Never loving him, she had yet the art to fascinate him, until,
after the death of his wife, he had been ready to marry her. Her own
infatuation for a new lover, the father of the Breck boys, had made
her refuse the hand of Mr. Mullen. Outliving both her lovers, who died
nearly at the same time, Mrs. Smithers, as, with a slight concession
to morality, she called herself, wandered about the country, seldom
content to remain for long in one place. Her natural restlessness
was increased by her habitual use of opium; and a habit of morose
sullenness had grown upon her. Shunned by all her kindred, it was
perhaps strange that she should have chosen to return to her native
village. She went out chiefly at night; and, having discovered that
from the Castle in Air could be seen the tower of Mullen House, often
came on moonlight evenings to view the mansion she steadily persisted
in calling her own. To-day, having seen Putnam drive away, she ventured
to come by daylight; and she descended the ladders just as Patty had
crossed the bridge on her way to Mrs. Brown's. The latter walked on
composedly, until, at the foot of the elm, Mrs. Smithers blocked her
path.
"Well," Mrs. Smithers said, after examining the face of the other a
moment in silence, "what do you want? You'll know me another time, I
hope."
"Will you let me pass, please," Patty replied coldly.
"So! No: I won't let you pass till I'm ready. I'd like to look at you a
while. I've seen you before."
She placed her arms akimbo as she spoke, and stared at Patty, who stood
quiet.
"So!" she said at last. "What are you on these premises for? What do
you want? Are you after your rights too?"
There was no further motive in the woman's actions at the moment than
a wild desire to vent her rage upon any one who offered. As Patty
changed color, however, a sudden devilish inspiration darted like the
whisper of an evil spirit through Mrs. Smithers's opiumized brain.
Completely ignorant of the relations between Patty and Putnam, she
understood that her words had been misconceived. By chance she had
hit between the joints of the harness. Patty had refused to listen to
the insinuations of her mother and Mrs. Brown, who coupled what was
known of the character of the new tenant of the stone cottage and her
mysterious relations with the lawyer, much to the discredit of that
gentleman. Now this woman seemed herself to confirm the slander; and it
was no wonder that Patty grew pale.
"So!" Mrs. Smithers said again, seizing the chance to calumniate the
man she hated none the less because he had remained unmoved by her
fascinations. "So! We know what we know of Tom Putnam. Humph!"
"Will you stand out of my way?" Patty said.
This calmness enraged the woman before her as no violence could have
done. She caught Patty forcibly by the wrists.
"So!" she screamed. "You'll hear nothing! I've seen them has held their
heads as high as you, and been brought low enough, after all. Do you
think, miss, I'm to be ordered out of your way like a dog, when, if I
had my rights, there's nobody in this d----d town'd dare queen it over
me! So! I'll"--
But Patty wrenched herself free, and ran swiftly towards the street.
The other did not follow, but stood cursing, until a turn hid the girl
from her sight.