A QUIET EVENING.
After the somewhat exciting termination of his interview with Miss
Mason, Quincy left the house quickly and walked down to Ezekiel
Pettengill's. Uncle Ike was there and he told Mandy to show Mr. Sawyer
to his room, which proved to be the big front one upstairs.
When he was alone, Quincy sank into the capacious rocking chair and fell
to thinking. His mind went back to his parting with Miss Mason. She had
said that it wasn't the horse, so it must have been what he said to her.
Was she angry because he had decided to go in order to stop village
gossip, or had she really cared for him? Well, it was over now. He would
never know what her real feelings were, and after all it was best for
him not to know. He would drop the whole matter where it was. Then he
began to think about his present position. Here he was located in the
house of the man who would naturally be considered the last one to
desire his company.
Uncle Ike had told him that he would make it all right. If he failed in
this and Ezekiel objected to his remaining he could move again. He was
determined not to leave Mason's Corner till he got ready, and he felt
sure he would not be ready to go until he had squared accounts with
Strout.
Presently he heard the sound of wheels. The Pettengill house faced the
south and Eastborough Centre lay west of Mason's Corner, so he could not
see the team when it arrived, as it drove up to the back door, but he
knew that Ezekiel had arrived with his sister. Uncle Ike and Cobb's
twins went down stairs quickly; there was a jumble of voices, and then
the party entered the house. A short time after he heard persons moving
in the room adjoining his, and guessed that Ezekiel's sister was to
occupy it.
Then he fell to imagining the conversation that was doubtless going on
between Uncle Ike and his nephew. Quincy was not naturally nervous, but
he did not like suspense; almost unconsciously he arose and walked back
and forth across the room several times. Then it occurred to him that
probably the uncle and nephew were having their conversation in the
parlor, which was right under him, and he curbed his impatience and
threw himself into the armchair, which stood near the open fireplace.
As he did so there came a sharp rap at the door. In response to the
quick uttered "Come in," the door opened and Uncle Ike entered. He came
forward, took a seat in the rocking chair near Quincy and passed him two
letters.
Quincy looked up inquiringly. He had had his mail sent to Eastborough
Centre, where he had hired a box. At the Mason's Corner post office the
letters were stuck upon a rack, where every one could see them, and
Quincy did not care to have the loungers at Hill's grocery inspecting
his correspondence.
Uncle Ike saw the look and understood it. Then he said, "'Zekiel brought
these over from Eastborough Centre. He didn't want to, but the
postmaster said one of them was marked 'In haste,' and he had been over
to the hotel and found that you had gone to Mason's Corner, and probably
wouldn't be back to-day, and so he thought 'Zekiel better bring it
over."
"It was very kind of Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy, "and I wish you would
thank him for me."
In the meantime he had glanced at his letters. One bore, printed in the
corner, the names, Sawyer, Crowninshield, & Lawrence, Counsellors at
Law, Court Street, Boston, Mass. That was from his father. The other was
directed in a feminine hand and bore the postmark, Mason's Corner, Mass.
He could not imagine from whom it could be.
"I have had a talk with 'Zekiel," said Uncle Ike, "and the whole matter
is satisfactorily arranged; he is a fair-minded young fellow and he
don't believe you have done anything with the intention of injuring him.
What did you pay up to Deacon Mason's?"
"Five dollars a week," replied Quincy.
"Well, it will be the same here," said Uncle Ike. "You can stay as long
as you like. 'Zeke wouldn't charge you anything, but I said no, you have
got to look out for your sister, and Mr. Sawyer can afford to pay."
Quincy broke in, "And I wouldn't stay unless I did pay. I am able and
willing to pay more, if he will take it."
"Not a cent more," said Uncle Ike. "He will give you your money's worth,
and then one won't owe the other anything. When you come down to supper
I'll introduce you, just as if you had never seen each other, and you
can both take a fresh start."
Uncle Ike arose. "By the time you have read your letters supper will be
ready, and I want to go in and have a talk with Alice. She is my only
niece, Mr. Sawyer, and I think she is the finest girl in Massachusetts,
and, as far as I know, there ain't any better one in the whole world;"
and Uncle Ike went out, closing the door behind him.
Quincy resumed his seat by the window. The light had faded considerably,
but he could still see to read. Naturally enough he first opened the
letter bearing the feminine handwriting. He looked at the signature
first of all and read "Lucinda Putnam." "What can she have to write to
me about?" he thought. He read the letter:
Mason's Corner, January 22, 186--
My dear Mr. Sawyer:--I regret very much that I was absent when you
called, but am glad to learn from mother that you had a pleasant visit.
Although you are from the city I am sure you would blush if you could
hear the nice things mother said about you. I am conceited enough to
think that you will find time to call on us again soon, for I wish to
consult you regarding an important business matter. I am going to Boston
next Monday in relation to this business and if you could make it
convenient to call before then it would be greatly appreciated by
Yours very truly,
LUCINDA PUTNAM.
Quincy reflected. "What is she up to? Some legal business, I suppose.
Well, I am not practising law now; I shall have to refer her to--"
He took up the other letter and read, "Sawyer, Crowninshield, &
Lawrence."
His father's letter read as follows:
Boston, January 21, 186--
My dear Son:--Yours at hand, and inquiries carefully noted. I had a
brother, James Edward Sawyer; he was five years older than I and must be
about sixty. Father wished him to study law, but he wouldn't study
anything. When father died he got his share of the money, about $50,000,
but he squandered the most of it in high living. The next we heard of
him he had married a country girl named Eunice Raymond, I think. He
brought her to Boston and tried to introduce her into the society he had
been brought up in. She was a nice, pretty woman, but uneducated, and
naturally bashful, and James finally left the city and went to live
somewhere in the country, I never knew where! he never wrote me after
leaving Boston. This Jim Sawyer may be your uncle. I hope not, but if he
is, remember he is my brother, and if he needs any assistance let me
know at once. I hope your health is improving. Your mother and sisters
are well and send love, as does also
Your affectionate father,
NATHANIEL ADAMS SAWYER.
As Quincy finished his second letter there was another rap at the door
and Mandy's voice was heard outside saying, "Supper's ready, Mr.
Saw--yer."
Quincy jumped to his feet. He had not unlocked his trunk, as he was not
certain that it would be worth while to do so. It was but the work of a
few moments to make the necessary changes in his toilet. He put on a
black Prince Albert coat in place of a sack coat that he usually wore,
but before he had completed this change there came another tap on the
door, and Mandy's voice was heard saying, "The things will get cold if
you don't come down right away."
As Quincy entered the large room which was used for a dining-room, he
was met by Uncle Ike. Ezekiel was standing a short distance from his
uncle. Uncle Ike said, "'Zekiel, this is my friend, Mr. Sawyer. Mr.
Sawyer, this is my nephew, 'Zekiel Pettengill. I am good friends with
both of you, and I hope you will be good friends to each other."
The two men shook hands. If each had any idea of what the other was
thinking about he did not betray it by look or act.
Uncle Ike continued, "Mr. Sawyer, this is Jim Cobb and this is Bill
Cobb, and this," as Mandy entered bearing something for the table, "is
Miss Mandy Skinner. Now that we are all acquainted, I think we had all
better introduce ourselves at once to the supper. I haven't done such a
hard day's work for sixteen years."
Ezekiel insisted upon Uncle Ike taking the head of the table. He
motioned Mr. Sawyer to take the second seat from his uncle on the right,
while he took the first seat on the left, with Cobb's twins next to him.
Quincy immediately surmised that when the sister appeared at the table
she would probably sit between him and Uncle Ike.
The meal was not a very lively one as far as conversation went. Quincy
inquired politely concerning Miss Pettengill's health, and Uncle Ike
said she was tired after her trip, and Mandy was going to take her
supper up to her.
The meal was plentiful and well cooked. Quincy thought to himself, how
much brighter it would have looked, and how much better the food would
have tasted if Miss Huldy Mason had been present with her pretty face,
joyous laugh, and occasional bright sayings.
After supper the things were quickly taken out by Mandy. The white
tablecloth was removed, and one in which the prevailing color was bright
red took its place.
The three men drew up to the open fireplace. Uncle Ike pulled out his
pipe and said, "Do you allow smoking here, 'Zeke?"
'Zekiel replied, "I wish you and Mr. Sawyer to make yourselves perfectly
at home and do just as you would if you were in your own house."
"Well, if I did that," said Uncle Ike, "you wouldn't need Mandy, for I
should be chief cook and bottle washer myself."
Uncle Ike lighted his pipe, and Ezekiel took a cigar from his pocket,
saying, "I guess I'll smoke, too." Then his face reddened. He said, "Beg
pardon, Mr. Sawyer, I have only this one."
"That's all right," rejoined Quincy, "a cigar would be too heavy for me
to-night. I have a slight headache, and if you will excuse me I will
roll a cigarette."
[Illustration: "MANDY SKINNER," AS SHE APPEARS IN THE PLAY.]
He took his little case of rice paper from his pocket and also a small
pouch of tobacco, and deftly made and lighted a cigarette. The three men
sat smoking, and as Quincy blew a ring into the air he wondered what Sir
Walter Raleigh would have said if he could have looked in upon them.
Quincy broke the silence. "I am afraid, Uncle Ike, that I have caused
you much inconvenience by driving you out of that pleasant front room
where I found my trunk."
"Not a bit," replied Uncle Ike. "I hate carpets, and I prefer to sleep
in my own bed, and what's more, I wanted to put up my stove, and there
was no chance in that front room. When real cold weather comes I always
have a ton of coal for my stove, so I am much better off where I am than
I would be downstairs. By the way, 'Zeke, just tell me all about Alice
again. You won't mind Mr. Sawyer; he is one of the family now."
"Well," said Ezekiel, "Alice was taken sick about the middle of
December. The folks where she boarded sent for a doctor. It was about
eight o'clock in the morning when she was taken, and it was noon before
she got easy, so they could get her to bed. She thought she was getting
better; then, she had another attack; then she thought she was getting
better again, and the third attack was the worst of the three. The folks
wanted to write to me, but she wouldn't let them. When she really did
begin to get better, she found out there was something that was worse
than being sick. She found she couldn't see to read either print or
writing, but Alice is a spunky girl, and she wouldn't give in, even
then. A friend told her to go and see Dr. Moses, who was an eye doctor,
and put herself right under his treatment. She thought she was going to
get well right off at first, but when she found it was likely to be a
long job, then she gave in and wrote to me. She has brought her
treatment down with her, and the doctor says she will have to go to
Boston once a month to see him, as he is too busy to come down here."
At this point in the proceedings the door opened and Mandy entered,
bringing a large dish of big red apples and another full of cracked
shellbarks. She left the room and returned almost immediately with a
large dish full of popcorn.
"Have an apple?" said Ezekiel. "Help yourselves; we don't pass anything
round here. We put the things on the table and each one helps himself."
Mandy came in again, bringing a large pitcher of cider and some glasses,
which she placed upon the table.
While the three men were discussing their country evening lunch in
silence, an animated conversation was taking place in the kitchen, the
participants being Mandy, Mrs. Bridget Crowley, and Hiram, who always
dropped in during the evening to get his glass of cider, a luxury that
was not dispensed at Deacon Mason's.
"Well," said Mandy, "I think it's wasteful extravagance for you Irish
folks to spend so much money on carriages when one of your friends
happens to die. As you just said, when you lived in Boston you own up
you spent fourteen dollars in one month going to funerals, and you paid
a dollar a seat each time."
"I did that," said Mrs. Crowley, "and I earned every bit of it doing
washing, for Pat, bless his sowl, was out of work at the time."
"Just think of that!" said Mandy, turning to Hiram.
"Well, it can't be helped," said Mrs. Crowley, obstinately. "Shure and
if I don't go to folks' funerals they won't come to mine."
This was too much for Mandy and Hiram, and they began laughing, which so
incensed Mrs. Crowley that she trudged off to her little room in the
ell, which departure just suited Mandy and Hiram.
"Have you got any soft soap here in the kitchen?" asked Hiram.
"No," said Mandy, "I used the last this afternoon. I shall have to go
out in the shed to-morrow morning and get some."
"You wouldn't be likely to go out to-night for any?" asked Hiram.
"I guess not," said Mandy. "Why, there is rats out in that shed as big
as kittens. Did you want to use some?"
"No," said Hiram, "but I didn't want you to have any 'round handy, for I
am bound to tell you I heard Strout telling the minister's son that
Lindy Putnam writ a letter to Mr. Sawyer and mailed it at Mason's Corner
post office this mornin', and it was directed to Eastborough Centre, and
Strout said it looked as though they were keeping up correspondence. I
tell you that made 'Manuel Howe mad, for he's gone on Lindy Putnam
himself, and then Strout said that probably all the fellers in town
would have to put off getting married until that city chap had decided
which one of the girls he wanted himself. And now, hang it," said Hiram,
"he has come to live in this house, and I sha'n't have any peace of
mind."
Hiram dodged the first apple Mandy threw at his head, but the second one
hit him squarely, and he gave a loud "Oh!"
"Stop your noise," said Mandy, "or Mr. Pettengill will be out here. I'll
ask them if they want anything else," as she rapped on the door. There
was no response and she opened it and looked in. "Why, they have all
gone to bed," she said. At that moment the old clock in the kitchen
struck nine. "It's nine o'clock and you had better be going home, Hiram
Maxwell."
"I shall have to get some anarchy to put on my forehead," said Hiram.
"See that big bump, Mandy, that you made."
Mandy approached him quite closely and looked at his forehead; as she
did so she turned up her nose and puckered her mouth. Her arms were
hanging by her side. Hiram grasped her around the waist, holding both of
her arms tight, and before Mandy could break away he gave her a kiss
full on the mouth.
He made a quick rush for the door, opened it and dashed out into the
night. Luckily for him there was no moon and he was out of sight before
Mandy could recover her self-possession and reach the door. She peered
out into the darkness for a moment; then she closed the door and bolted
it, took a lamp and went up to her own room. Standing in front of her
looking glass, she turned up her nose and puckered up her mouth as she
had done when facing Hiram.
"That's the first time Hiram Maxwell ever kissed me," she said to
herself, "Mebbe it will be the last time and mebbe it won't." Then she
said reflectively, "I didn't think the little fellow had so much spunk
in him."
In a quarter of an hour she was dreaming of cupids, and hearts, and
arrows, and St. Valentine's Day, which was not so very far away.