THREE months more elapsed. Mrs. Marion was still an inmate of the
family. Up to this time, not a word had come from her husband, and she
had not been able to pay Mrs. Darlington a single dollar.
Painfully did she feel her dependent situation, although she was
treated with the utmost delicacy and consideration. But all the widow's
means were now exhausted in the payment of the second quarter's rent,
and she found her weekly income reduced to thirty-five dollars,
scarcely sufficient to meet the weekly expense for supplying the table,
paying the servants, etc., leaving nothing for future rent bills, the
cost of clothing, and education for the younger children. With all
this, Mrs. Darlington's duties had been growing daily more and more
severe. Nothing could be trusted to servants that was not, in some way,
defectively done, causing repeated complaints from the boarders. What
proved most annoying was the bad cooking, to remedy which Mrs.
Darlington strove in vain. One day the coffee was not fit to drink, and
on the next day the steak would be burnt or broiled as dry as a chip,
or the sirloin roasted until every particle of juice had evaporated. If
hot cakes were ordered for breakfast, ten chances to one that they were
not sour; or, if rolls were baked, they would, most likely, be as heavy
as lead.
Such mishaps were so frequent, that the guests of Mrs. Darlington
became impatient, and Mr. Scragg, in particular, never let an occasion
for grumbling or insolence pass without fully improving it.
"Is your coal out?" said he, one morning, about this time, as he sat at
the breakfast table.
Mrs. Darlington understood, by the man's tone and manner, that he meant
to be rude, though she did not comprehend the meaning of the question.
"No, sir," she replied, with some dignity of manner. "Why do you ask?"
"It struck me," he answered, "that such might be the case. But,
perhaps, cook is too lazy to bring it out of the cellar. If she'll send
for me to-morrow morning, I'll bring her up an extra scuttleful, as I
particularly like a good cup of hot coffee."
His meaning was now plain. Quick as thought, the blood rushed to the
face of Mrs. Darlington.
She had borne so much from this man, and felt towards him such utter
disgust, that she could forbear no longer.
"Mr. Scragg," said she, with marked indignation, "when a gentleman has
any complaint to make, he does it as a gentleman."
"Madam!" exclaimed Scragg, with a threat in his voice, while his coarse
face became red with anger.
"When a _gentleman_ has any complaint to make, he does it _as_ a
gentleman," repeated Mrs. Darlington, with a more particular emphasis
than at first.
"I'd thank you to explain yourself," said Scragg, dropping his hands
from the table, and elevating his person.
"My words convey my meaning plainly enough. But, if you cannot
understand, I will try to make them clearer. Your conduct is not that
of a gentleman."
Of course, Mr. Scragg asked for no further explanation. Starting from
the table, he said, looking at Mrs. Scragg--
"Come!"
And Mrs. Scragg arose and followed her indignant spouse.
"Served him right," remarked Burton, in a low voice, bending a little
towards Miriam, who sat near him. "I hope we shall now be rid of the
low-bred fellow."
Miriam was too much disturbed to make a reply. All at the table felt
more or less uncomfortable, and soon retired. Ere dinner time, Mr. and
Mrs. Scragg, with their whole brood, had left the house, thus reducing
the income of Mrs. Darlington from thirty-five to twenty-three dollars
a week.
At dinner time, Mrs. Darlington was in bed. The reaction which followed
the excitement of the morning, accompanied as it was with the
conviction that, in parting with the Scraggs, insufferable as they
were, she had parted with the very means of sustaining herself,
completely prostrated her. During the afternoon, she was better, and
was able to confer with Edith on the desperate nature of their affairs.
"What are we to do?" said she to her daughter, breaking thus abruptly a
silence which had continued for many minutes. "We have an income of
only twenty-three dollars a week, and that will scarcely supply the
table."
Edith sighed, but did not answer.
"Twenty-three dollars a week," repeated Mrs. Darlington. "What are we
to do?"
"Our rooms will not remain vacant long, I hope," said Edith.
"There is little prospect of filling them that I can see," murmured
Mrs. Darlington. "If all our rooms were taken, we might get along."
"I don't know," returned Edith to this, speaking thoughtfully. "I
sometimes think that our expenses are too great for us to make any
thing, even if our rooms were filled. Six hundred dollars is a large
rent for us to pay."
"We've sunk three hundred dollars in six months. That is certain," said
Mrs. Darlington.
"And our furniture has suffered to an extent almost equivalent," added
her daughter.
"Oh, do not speak of that! The thought makes me sick. Our handsome
French china dinner set, which cost us a hundred and fifty dollars, is
completely ruined. Half of the plates are broken, and there is scarcely
a piece of it not injured or defaced. My heart aches to see the
destruction going on around us."
"I was in Mr. Scragg's room to-day," said Edith.
"Well, what of it?" asked her mother.
"It would make you sick in earnest to look in there. You know the
beautiful bowl and pitcher that were in her chamber?"
"Yes."
"Both handle and spout are off of the pitcher."
"Edith!"
"And the bowl is cracked from the rim to the centre. Then the elegant
rosewood washstand is completely ruined. Two knobs are off of the
dressing-bureau, the veneering stripped from the edge of one of the
drawers, and the whole surface marked over in a thousand lines. It
looks as if the children had amused themselves by the hour in
scratching it with pins. Three chairs are broken. And the new carpet we
put on the floor looks as if it had been used for ten years. Moreover,
every thing is in a most filthy condition. It is shocking."
Mrs. Darlington fairly groaned at this intelligence.
"But where is it all to lead, Edith?" she asked, arousing herself from
a kind of stupor into which her mind had fallen. "We cannot go on as we
are now going."
"We must reduce our expenses, if possible."
"But how are we to reduce them? We cannot send away the cook."
"No. Of course not."
"Nor our chambermaid."
"No. But cannot we dispense with the waiter?"
"Who will attend the table, go to market, and do the dozen other things
now required of him?"
"We can get our marketing sent home."
"But the waiting oh the table. Who will do that?"
"Half a dollar a week extra to the chambermaid will secure that service
from her."
"But she has enough to do besides waiting on the table," objected Mrs.
Darlington.
"Miriam and I will help more through the house than we have yet done.
Three dollars a week and the waiter's board will be saving a good deal."
Mrs. Darlington sighed heavily, and then said--
"To think what I have borne from that Scragg and his family, ignorant,
low-bred, vulgar people, with whom we have no social affinity whatever,
who occupy a level far below us, and who yet put on airs and treat us
as if we were only their servants! I could bear his insolence no
longer. Ah, to what mortifications are we not subjected in our present
position! How little dreamed I of all this, when I decided to open a
boarding-house! But, Edith, to come back to what we were conversing
about, it would be something to save the expense of our waiter; but
what are three or four dollars a week, when we are going behind hand at
the rate of twenty?"
"If Mrs. Marion"--
Edith checked herself, and did not say what was in her mind. Mrs.
Darlington was silent, sighed again heavily, and then said--
"Yes; if it wasn't for the expense of keeping Mrs. Marion. And she has
no claim upon us."
"None but the claim of humanity," said Edith.
"If we were able to pay that claim," remarked Mrs. Darlington.
"True."
"But we are not. Such being the case, are we justified in any longer
offering her a home?"
"Where will she go? What will she do?" said Edith.
"Where will we go? What will we do, unless there is a change in our
favour?" asked Mrs. Darlington.
"Alas, I cannot tell! When we are weak, small things are felt as a
burden. The expense of keeping Mrs. Marion and her two children is not
very great. Still, it is an expense that we are unable to meet. But how
can we tell her to go?"
"I cannot take my children's bread and distribute it to others,"
replied Mrs. Darlington, with much feeling. "My first duty is to them."
"Poor woman! My heart aches for her," said Edith. "She looks so pale
and heart-broken, feels so keenly her state of dependence, and tries so
in every possible way to make the pressure of her presence in our
family as light as possible, that the very thought of turning her from
our door seems to involve cruelty."
"All that, Edith, I feel most sensibly. Ah me! into what a strait are
we driven!"
"How many times have I wished that we had never commenced this
business!" said Edith. "It has brought us nothing but trouble from the
beginning; and, unless my fears are idle, some worse troubles are yet
before us."
"Of what kind?"
"Henry did not come home until after two o'clock this morning."
"What!" exclaimed the mother in painful surprise.
"I sat up for him. Knowing that he had gone out with Mr. Barling, and,
finding that he had not returned by eleven o'clock, I could not go to
bed. I said nothing to Miriam, but sat up alone. It was nearly half
past two when he came home in company with Barling. Both, I am sorry to
say, were so much intoxicated, that they could scarcely make their way
up stairs."
"Oh, Edith!" exclaimed the stricken mother, hiding her face in her
hands, and weeping aloud.
Miriam entered the room at this moment, and, seeing her mother in
tears, and Edith looking the very image of distress, begged to know the
cause of their trouble. Little was said to her then; but Edith, when
she was alone with her soon after, fully explained the desperate
condition of their affairs. Hitherto they had, out of regard for
Miriam, concealed from her the nature of the difficulties that were
closing around them.
"I dreamed not of this," said Miriam, in a voice of anguish. "My poor
mother! What pain she must suffer! No wonder that her countenance is so
often sad. But, Edith, cannot we do something?"
Ever thus, to the mind of the sweet girl, when the troubles of others
were mentioned to her, came, first, the desire to afford relief.
"We can do nothing," replied Edith, "at present, unless it be to assist
through the house, so that the chambermaid can attend the door, wait on
the table, and do other things now required of the waiter."
"And let him go?"
"Yes."
"I am willing to do all in my power, Edith," said Miriam. "But, if
mother has lost so much already, will she not lose still more if she
continue to go on as she is now going?"
"She hopes to fill all her rooms; then she thinks that she will be able
to make something."
"This has been her hope from the first," replied Miriam.
"Yes; and thus far it has been a vain hope."
"Three hundred dollars lost already," sighed Miriam, "our beautiful
furniture ruined, and all domestic happiness destroyed! Ah me! Where is
all going to end? Uncle Hiram was right when he objected to mother's
taking boarders, and said that it was the worst thing she could attempt
to do. I wish we had taken his advice. Willingly would I give music
lessons or work with my hands for an income, to save mother from the
suffering and labour she has now to bear."
"The worst is," said Edith, following out her own thoughts rather than
replying to her sister, "now that all our money is gone, debt will
follow. How is the next quarter's rent to be paid?"
"A hundred aid fifty dollars?"
"Yes. How can we pay that?"
"Oh dear!" sighed Miriam. "What are we to do? How dark all looks!"
"If there is not some change," said Edith, "by the close of another six
months, every thing we have will be sold for debt."
"Dreadful!" ejaculated Miriam, "dreadful!"
For a long time the sisters conferred together, but no gleam of light
arose in their minds. All the future remained shrouded in darkness.