A VISIT TO THE VICTIM.
It was not until Quincy had reached the Pettengill house and helped
Uncle Ike get his things in order, that he finally decided to accept
Uncle Ike's offer. If he went to Eastborough Centre to live at the
hotel, he knew Strout would consider he had won a victory. He had
thought of going to Mr. and Mrs. Putnam about a room and board, but then
he remembered Lindy, and said to himself that Miss Putnam was a pretty
girl and it would be the same old story over again. Then he thought,
"There won't be any danger here with a blind girl and Mandy Skinner, and
if Uncle Ike can arrange matters it will be the best thing I can do."
And so he drove up to Deacon Mason's with Cobb's twins, saw Mrs. Mason,
went upstairs and packed his trunk quickly, and the Cobb boys drove away
with it to his new, though perhaps only temporary, lodgings.
When Quincy went downstairs, Mrs. Mason was in the parlor, and she
beckoned to him to come in. He entered and closed the door.
"I want to speak to you a few minutes," said she, "and I want to tell
you first I don't blame you a bit. I know you told 'Zeke Pettengill that
the tip-over was all your carelessness, but Huldy says it ain't so. She
said she was driving, though you didn't want her to, and the accident
was all her fault. Now, I believe my daughter tells the truth, and the
Deacon thinks so too."
"Well, Mrs. Mason," said Quincy, "what your daughter says is partly
true, but I am still to blame for allowing her to drive a horse with
which she was not acquainted."
"That warn't the trouble, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Mason. "Huldy told me
the whole truth. You said something to her about going away. She had
heard what the village gossips were saying. Huldy's got a high temper
and she was so mad that she got flustrated, and that's what caused all
the trouble. I like you, Mr. Sawyer, and Huldy likes you. She says you
have allus been a perfect gentleman, and the Deacon now is awful sorry
you are going, but I hope you will come and see us often while you stay
at Mason's Corner."
"I certainly shall, Mrs. Mason," replied Quincy. "How is Miss Mason?"
"Oh, she is fust rate," said the Deacon's wife. "That doctor from the
city fixed her arm all up in what he called a jacket, and that nurse
that you sent just seems to know what Huldy wants before she can ask for
it I hear them nurses are awful expensive, and I don't think she better
stay but a day or two longer."
"She can't leave till the surgeon comes from Boston and says she can
go," he remarked, thinking this was the easiest way to get out of it.
"May I see Miss Mason?" he added.
"Certainly," replied Mrs. Mason. "She is in the front chamber. We moved
her in there 'cause there is a fireplace in the room and the nurse
objected to the wood stove that Huldy had in her room. She said it was
either too hot or too cold, and that Huldy must have an even
temperature."
As Quincy entered the room Huldy looked up and a faint smile lighted her
face. Her usually rosy cheeks showed only a faint touch of pink. The
helpless left arm, in its plaster of paris jacket, rested on the outside
of the white quilt, the fingers on her little hand projecting beyond the
covering.
Quincy advanced to the bedside and took a vacant chair. The nurse was
sitting by the window. She glanced up at him and at Mrs. Mason, who
followed close behind him, but continued the reading of her book.
Quincy said lightly, as he reached over and took the right hand and gave
it a little shake, "You're not shaking hands with the left, Miss Mason."
"No," said Huldy, "I wish I could shake it, but nurse says it will have
to stay on for two or three weeks, and it is so heavy, Mr. Sawyer."
Mrs. Mason went to the nurse and whispered to her, "Don't let him stay
too long." The nurse nodded and Mrs. Mason left the room.
Quincy said in a low tone, as he sat in the chair by the bedside, "Miss
Mason, I can't express my sorrow for this unfortunate occurrence. Your
mother says you have told her it was your fault. But I insisted it was
my fault in allowing you to drive a strange horse."
Huldy smiled. "It wasn't the horse, Mr. Sawyer," she said, and quickly
changing the subject asked, "Where are you going to board now?".
"Old Uncle Ike Pettengill has taken pity on me," replied Quincy,
thinking he would not say anything about going to Ezekiel Pettengill's
house.
"But," said Huldy, "Zekiel called here this morning before he went to
Boston for his sister and told me that Uncle Ike was coming to live with
him. Didn't I hear them take your trunk away a little while ago?"
Quincy saw it was useless to prevaricate, so he said, "My trunk was
taken to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill's house."
"I hope you and 'Zekiel will be good friends," said Huldy, with a grave
look on her face.
"I trust we may become so," remarked Quincy. "I am afraid we are not
now, and I am still more afraid it is my fault that we are not on the
best of terms."
Huldy turned her face towards him, a red flush coloring her cheeks and
brow. "No," she said, with vehemence, "it was my fault, and you know it,
Mr. Sawyer. How you must hate me for having caused you so much trouble."
She gave a convulsive sob and burst into a flood of tears.
Quincy was on the point of assuring Huldy that he could never hate her
and that they would always be good friends, but he had no opportunity to
frame the words.
As Huldy sobbed and began to cry, the nurse jumped to her feet, dropped
her book on the floor, and came quickly to the bedside. She said
nothing, but the look upon her face convinced Quincy that he must wait
for a more auspicious moment to declare his friendly sentiment. So with
a "Good-by, Miss Mason, I'll call again soon," he quitted the apartment
and left the victim to the ministrations of the nurse.