MRS. WELCH ENTERS THE HARVEST
Mrs. Welch had not been in the County forty-eight hours before she was
quite satisfied that this was the field for her work, and that she was
the very laborer for this field.
In three days the signs of her occupation and energy were unmistakable.
Every room in the little cottage was scoured afresh, and things were
changed within the old house, and were undergoing a change without,
which would have astonished the departed Stampers.
A gang of darkies, of all ages and sizes, was engaged by her or
collected somehow (perhaps, no one knew just how, unless Hiram, who
distributed the contents of the boxes, knew), who, Andy Stamper
said, looked like harvesters and got harvest-wages. The rooms were
turned inside out, the yard was cleared up, the fences repaired and
whitewashed, and the chambers were papered or painted of a dark maroon
or other rich color, then the fashion, by Doan, whom Hiram Still sent
over for the purpose—Mrs. Welch not only superintending actively,
but showing, with real skill, how it ought to be done; for one of
the lady’s maxims was, “What your hands find to do, do with all your
might.” Ruth, during the repairs, took occasion to pull out carefully
the nail on which Andy had told her his father used to hang his watch,
and sent it wrapt in a neat little parcel to Andy, with a note saying
how much pleasure she had in sending it. She did not dream that by this
little act she was making one of the best friends of her life. Sergeant
Stamper drove the nail in a strip beside his own bed. And as he struck
the last blow he turned to his wife, who with sympathetic eyes was
standing by, and said:
“Delia, if I ever fail to do what that young lady asks me, I hope God
will drive the nails in my coffin next day.”
On the arrival of Mrs. Welch, there was a repetition of those visits of
mingled friendliness and curiosity which had been paid Major Welch and
Miss Ruth. And as Major Welch and Ruth formed their opinions, so now,
Mrs. Welch formed hers. She prided herself on her reasoning faculty.
She repudiated the idea that woman’s intuition was a substitute for
man’s reason. She was not going to hang on any such wretched makeshift.
She judged men and things precisely as men did, she said, and the only
difference was that she was quicker than most men.
Dr. Cary and Mrs. Cary called with Miss Thomasia and Blair; and
General Legaie and Jacquelin Gray and Steve Allen rode up together
one afternoon. The two former paid only a short visit, but Captain
Allen stayed to tea. Steve treated her with that mingled deference
and freedom which, in just the right proportion, make—at least, in a
young and handsome man—the most charming manners. He even dared to
tease Mrs. Welch on the serious sentiments she expressed, and on her
appearance that day in the wagon, a liberty that neither Ruth nor Major
Welch ever ventured to take; and to Ruth’s exceeding surprise, her
mother, so far from resenting it, actually appeared to like it. As for
Ruth, her mother surprised a look of real delight in her eyes.
It gave her food for thought. “That young man talked to me; but he
looked at Ruth. What does it mean? It might mean one thing—yes, it
might mean that? But it is impossible!” She put the idea aside as too
absurd to consider. However, she determined to be on her guard.
Mrs. Welch had no time to spend in the sort of hospitality practised
by her neighbors. The idea of going over to a neighbor’s to “spend
the day,” as most of the invitations she received ran, or of having
them come and “spend the day” with her as they did with others, was
intolerable. It might have done, she held, for an archaic state of
society, but it was just this terrible waste of time that made the
people about her what she saw them: indolent, and shiftless and poor.
She had “work to do,” and she “meant to do it.” So, having called
formally at Dr. Cary’s, Miss Gray’s, and the other places, the ladies
from which had called on her, she declined further invitations and
began her “work.” She wrote to her Society back at home, that as
she looked around her spirit groaned within her. The harvest was
ripe—already too ripe, and the over-ripened wheat was falling, day by
day, to the earth and being trampled in the ground. She wrote also her
impressions of her new neighbors. She was charmed with Miss Thomasia
and the General. The former reminded her of her grandmother, whom she
remembered as a white-haired old lady knitting in her arm-chair, and
the General was an old French fieldmarshal, of the time of Bayard or
Sidney, who had strayed into this century, and who would not surprise
her by appearing in armor with a sleeve around his helmet, “funny,
dear, old fossil that he is.” She was pleased with Miss Cary and the
Doctor, though the former appeared to have rather too antiquated
views of life, and the Doctor was unpractical to the last degree.
They were all densely prejudiced; but that she did not in the least
mind; they were also universally shiftless, but she had hope. They
must be enlightened and aided (Mrs. Welch was conscious of a feeling
of virtuous charitableness when she penned this. It was going farther
than she had ever deemed it possible she could go). When it came to the
question of the poor blacks, the whites were all alike. They had not
the least idea of their duty to them: even those she had mentioned as
the most enlightened, regarded them yet as only so many chattels, as
still slaves. Finally, she wrote, she could not but admit that nothing
but kindness had been shown to themselves since their arrival. One
could not but appreciate such cordiality, even if it were the result
of mere impulse rather than of steady principle. But Mr. Still, the
Union man of whom the Society knew, had intimated that it was only a
concerted effort to blind them to the true state of affairs, and that
if they exhibited any independence it would soon change. As to this she
should be watchful. And she appealed for help.
Such was the substance of the first letter that Mrs. Welch wrote back
to her old Reform and Help Society at home, which was regarded by some
of her friends as a roseate-colored statement of the case. It was
even intimated that it contained evidence that Mrs. Welch was already
succumbing to the very influence she repudiated.
“But they all do it. I never knew anyone go down there who did not at
once abandon all principles and fall a victim to the influences of
those people,” declared Mrs. Bolter, who, now that Mrs. Welch had left,
represented the earnest and most active wing of the society.
“May not that prove that perhaps there is something on their side that
we do not understand?” hazarded one of the young ladies of the society,
Mrs. Clough, who, as a daughter of Senator Rockfield, was privileged to
express views.
“Not at all,” declared Mrs. Bolter. “I knew that Major Welch and Ruth
were both hopelessly weak; but I confess I did think better things of
Mrs. Welch.”
“Do you know, now that she has gone, I confess that I always did think
Ruth Welch had more sense—more practical sense I mean, than her
mother,” said Mrs. Clough.
“Of course, you do,” replied the older lady. Mrs. Clough colored.
“And my husband thinks so, too.”
“Oh! if your husband thinks so—of course!” Mrs. Bolter looked
sympathetic and superior. “I supposed _he_ thought so.” The younger
lady colored deeply.
“And my sister thinks so,” she added, with dignity.
“Oh! indeed! I knew she thought some of the younger members of the
connection very attractive,” said Mrs. Bolter.
Mrs. Clough rose, and, with a bow, left the assembly.
She was comforted that evening by hearing her husband not only commend
her views warmly, but abuse Mrs. Bolter as a “stuck-up and ill-bred
woman, as vain and vulgar as Bolter himself,” whom he would not trust
around the corner.
“If she is that now, what will she be after she marries her daughter to
Captain Middleton?” Mrs. Clough said. “She’s had him in tow ever since
he came home a week ago. I do think it is vulgar, the way some women
run after men for their daughters nowadays. She has not given that poor
man an hour’s rest since he landed.”
“I don’t believe there’s anything in that. Larry would not marry one of
that family. He knows Bolter too well. I always thought he would end
by marrying Ruth Welch, and he told me to-day at the club he was going
South.”
“Oh! all you men always were silly about Ruth Welch. You all thought
she was the most beautiful creature in the world,” said little Mrs.
Clough, with an air not wholly reconcilable with her attitude at the
Aid Society meeting just recorded.
“No, I know one man who made one exception,” said her husband leaning
over and kissing her, and thereupon, as is the way with lovers, began
“new matter.”
“Captain Middleton is not going South,” said Mrs. Clough, suddenly.
“That is, he’s going south; but not to the South.”
“He is not! Why, he told me he was.”
“Well, he’s not. He’s going to Washington.” She spoke oracularly.
“What’s he going there about? About that old affair? You seem to know
his plans better than he does. I see by the papers it’s up again. Or
about that railroad scheme Bolter’s working at? He’s down there now.
Larry said he had to see the Senator.”
“No, about a new affair—Larry Middleton is in love with Alice,” said
Mrs. Clough, with entire unconsciousness of the singularity of her
sudden and unexpected bouleversement. Her husband turned round on her
in blank amazement.
“Wha-at!” He strung the word out in his surprise.
“Yes—you men are so blind. He’s in love with Alice; was with her
abroad and came home to see her.” She was suddenly interested in a very
small baby-garment she was sewing on.
“Why, you just said he was in love with Ruth Welch!”
“Did I?” she asked, quietly, as calm as a May morning, and apparently
with perfect indifference.
“—And you said Mrs. Bolter would catch him for her loud, sporty
daughter!”
“Oh! I believe I did.” She was turning a hem. “One, two, three,” she
counted. “Well, she won’t get him.” She was interested only in the
baby-garment.
“Are they engaged?”
“Not yet—quite—but almost—Will be in a week. Isn’t that a darling?”
She held up the garment, and spanned it with her pink fingers.
“Well, you women are curious,” said her husband, almost with a gasp.
“Here you have been abusing Ruth Welch and Mrs. Bolter and every woman
Larry Middleton knew in the world, and all the time he was dead in love
with your own sister!”
“Umhm!” She looked up and nodded brightly, then broke into a laugh.
“And you think that’s curious?”
“Well, I’m glad of it. Larry’s a good fellow. Now I see it all. I
thought he was uncommonly glad to see me to-day, and when I undertook
to chaff him a little about Ruth Welch, looked rather red and silly.”
“You didn’t!” said his wife, aghast. “What in the world——!”
“Oh! I’ll make it all right the next time I see him. How was I to
know? I’ll write to Alice and congratulate her.”
“Indeed, you’ll not. Not a word. You’ll ruin everything!”
“Why?”
“Why, he hasn’t spoken yet——”
“Why, you just said—” He lapsed into reflection.
“Oh! You men are so stupid!” sighed Mrs. Clough. “But come, promise me.”
And he promised—as we all do—always.
* * * * *
Having despatched her appeal, Mrs. Welch did not waste time waiting
for a response, but was as good as her word and, like an energetic
soul, without waiting a day, sickle in hand, entered the field alone.
Her first step was what she termed “informing herself.” She always
“informed herself” about things; it was one of the secrets of her
success, she said.
Her first visit on this tour of inspection was to the Bend. She
selected this as the primary object of her visitation, because she
understood it was the worst place in the community, and she proposed
to go at once to the very bottom. Dr. Cary had spoken of it as “a
festering spot”; General Legaie had referred to it as “a den of
iniquity.” Well, if it were a festering sore it ought to be treated;
if it were a den it ought to be opened to the light, she declared. She
found it worse than she had expected; but this did not deter her. She
forthwith set to work to build a school-house near the Bend, and sent
for a woman to come down and take charge of it.
She was no little surprised one day when she called at a cabin where
she had been told a woman was ill, to have the door opened by Mrs.
Cary. Mrs. Cary invited her in and thanked her for calling, quite as
if she owned the house. Mrs. Welch had her first gleam of doubt as to
whether she had stated the case to her Society with entire correctness.
She observed that the woman’s sheets were old and patched, and she
said she would have her Society make new ones. How could she know that
Maria’s old mistress had just brought her these and that she and Blair
had mended them with their own hands?
It does not require an earthquake to start talk in a rural
community—and Mrs. Welch had not been in her new home a month, or, for
that matter, a week, before she was the most talked-of woman in the
County.
Notwithstanding Hiram Still’s desire to keep secret the fact that he
was trying to sell a part of Red Rock to Major Welch, it was soon
rumored around that Major Welch was to buy the Stamper place and a
considerable part of the old Gray estate. Leech, it was reported, had
come up from town, given a clean title and prepared a deed which was
to be delivered on a certain day. Allowing for exaggerations, it is
astonishing how accurate the bureau of advanced rumor often is.
Steve Allen and Jacquelin Gray held sundry conferences in the clerk’s
office, with the papers in Still’s old suit before them, and it got
abroad that they were not going to permit the sale.
The day before that set by this exact agency for the final consummation
of the purchase, a letter was brought for Major Welch. The messenger
who brought it was a handsome, spirited-looking boy of seventeen or
eighteen, evidently a gentleman’s son. Major Welch was away from home;
but Ruth happened to be in the yard when the boy rode up. He was
mounted on a handsome bay with white feet, which Ruth recognized as
that which Captain Allen rode. Ruth loved a fine horse, and she went
up to him. As she approached, the boy sprang to the ground and took
off his hat with a manner so like Captain Allen’s that Ruth smiled to
herself.
“Is—is Major Welch at home?” he asked. He had pulled a paper from his
pocket and was blushing with a boy’s embarrassment.
Ruth said her father was not at home, but explained that she would
take any letter for him—or—would not he tie his horse and come in and
wait for her father?
This invitation quite overthrew the little structure of assurance the
boy had built up, and he was thrown into such a state of confusion that
Ruth’s heart went out to him.
He thanked her; but he was afraid his horse would not stand tied. He
was stuffing the paper back in his pocket, hardly aware of what he was
doing.
Ruth was sure the horse would stand; she had seen him tied; but she
respected the boy’s confusion, and offered again to take the letter for
her father. He gave it to her apparently with reluctance. His cousin,
Steve Allen, had told him to give it to Major Welch himself, he half
stammered.
“Well, I am his daughter, Miss Welch,” Ruth said, “and you can tell
Captain Allen that I said I would certainly deliver it to my father.
Won’t you tell me who you are?” she asked, smiling.
“I’m Rupert Gray, Jacquelin Gray’s brother.”
“Oh! You have been off at school?”
“Yes’m. Jacquelin would make me go, but I’ve come back for good, now.
He says I needn’t go any more. He hasn’t got anything to send me any
more, anyhow.” This in a very cheery tone. He was partly recovering
from his embarrassment. “Steve wanted to send me to college, but I
won’t go.”
“You won’t? Why not?”
“Steve hasn’t got any money to send me to college. Besides, they
just want to get me away from here—I know ’em—and I won’t go.”
(With a boy’s confidingness.) “They’re afraid I’ll get—” He stopped
short.—“But I’m not afraid. Just let ’em try.” He paused, his face
flushed with excitement, and looked straight at her. He evidently
wanted to say something else to her, and she smiled encouragingly.
“You tell your father not to have anything to do with that Still and
that man Leech.” His tone was a mixture of sincerity and persuasiveness.
“Why?” Ruth smiled.
“Because—one’s a carpet-bagger and t’other a scalawag.”
“Why, we are carpet-baggers, too.”
“Well—yes—but—. Steve he says so, too. And he don’t want you to get
mixed up with ’em. That’s the reason.” His embarrassment returned for a
moment.
“Oh! Captain Allen says so? I’m very much obliged to him, I’m sure.”
Ruth laughed, but her form straightened and her color deepened.
“No, no, not that way. Steve is a dandy. And so is Jacquelin. He’s just
as good as Steve. Never was anybody like Jacquelin. You ought to know
him. That fellow Leech imprisoned him. But I knocked him down—I could
die for Jacquelin—at least, I think I could. That’s the reason I hate
’em so!” he broke out, vehemently. “And I don’t want you to get mixed
up with ’em. You aren’t like them. You are more like us.”
Ruth smiled at the ingenuousness of this compliment.
“And you tell your father, won’t you?” he repeated. “Good-evening.”
He held out his hand, shook hers, sprang on his horse, and, making
her a flourishing bow, galloped away, evidently very proud of his
horsemanship.
He left Ruth with a pleasant feeling round her heart, which she could
scarcely have accounted for. She wondered what it was that his brother
and Captain Allen were afraid the boy would do.
As for Rupert, when he returned to Captain Allen he was so full of Miss
Welch that Steve declared he was in love with her, and guilefully drew
him on to talk of her and tell, over and over, every detail of his
interview. The charge of being in love the boy denied, of course, but
from that time Ruth, without knowing it, had the truest blessing a girl
can have—the ingenuous devotion of a young boy’s heart.
When her father came home the current of Ruth’s thoughts was changed.
The letter Rupert had brought contained a paper, or rather two papers,
addressed to Major Welch. One was a formal notice to him that the title
by which Still held Red Rock was fraudulent and invalid, and that he
would buy at his peril, as a suit would be brought to rip up the whole
matter and set aside the deed under which Still held. The paper was
signed by Jacquelin Gray and witnessed by Stevenson Allen as counsel,
in whose handwriting it was. In addition to the formal notice, here
was a note to Major Welch from Captain Allen, in which he stated that
having heard the rumor that Major Welch was contemplating buying the
place in question, he felt it his duty to let him know at once that
such a step would involve him in a lawsuit, and that possibly it might
be very unpleasant for him.
This letter was a bombshell.
Mrs. Welch took it not as a legal notice, but as a declaration of war,
and when that gage was flung down she was ready to accept it. She came
of a stock equally prompt to be martyrs or fighters. She urged Major
Welch to reply plainly at once. It was just a part of the persecution
all loyal people had to go through. Let them see that they were not
afraid. Major Welch was for moving a little deliberately. He should
certainly not be bullied into receding from his purchase by anything
of this kind, but he would act prudently. He would look again into the
matter and see if there was any foundation for the charge.
Ruth rallied to the side of her mother and father, and felt as angry
with Mr. Allen and everyone else concerned in the matter as it was in
the nature of her kind heart to be.
Major Welch’s investigation did not proceed exactly on the lines
on which he would have acted at home. He had to rely on the men he
employed. Both Still and Leech insisted that the notice given was
merely an attempt to bully him. They further furnished him an abstract
of the title, which showed it to be perfectly clear and regular, and
when Major Welch applied in person to the old clerk, he corroborated
this and certified that at that time no cloud was on the title.
He was, however, by no means as gracious toward Major Welch as he had
been the first time he saw him—was, on the contrary, rather short in
his manner, and, that gentleman thought, almost regretted to have to
give the certificate.
“Yes, it’s all clear to date as far as the records show,” he said,
with careful limitation, in reply to a request from Major Welch for a
certificate,” but if you’ll take my advice——”
Still, who was sitting near, wriggled slightly in his chair.
Major Welch had been a little exasperated. “My dear sir, I should
be very glad to take your advice generally, but this is a matter of
private business between this gentle——between Mr. Still and myself,
and I must be allowed to act on my own judgment. What I want is not
advice, but a certificate of the state of those titles.”
A change came over the old clerk’s countenance. He bowed stiffly. “All
right, sir; I reckon you know your own business,” he said, dryly, and
he made out the certificate and handed it to Major Welch almost grimly.
Major Welch glanced at it and turned to Still.
“You can have your deeds prepared, Mr. Still. I am going to town
to-morrow and shall be ready to pay over the money on my return.”
He spoke in a tone for the clerk to hear and intended to show his
resolution.
Still followed him out and suggested that he’d as lieve give him the
deeds to put to record then, and he could pay him when he came back.
He was always willing to take a gentleman’s word. This, however, Major
Welch would not consent to.
Still stayed with Major Welch all the rest of the day and returned
home with him: a fellowship which, though somewhat irksome to the
Major, he tolerated, because Still, half-jestingly, half-seriously,
explained that somehow he “felt sort of safer” when he was with the
Major.
Two or three days afterward Major Welch, having returned from the
capital, paid Still the money and took his deed; and it was duly
recorded.
The interview in the clerk’s office, in which Major Welch had declined
to hear the old clerk’s advice, was reported by Mr. Dockett to Steve
Allen and Jacquelin Gray that same evening. The only way to save the
place, they agreed, was to institute their proceedings and file a
notice of a pending suit, or, as the lawyers call it, a _lis pendens_.
“He’ll hardly be big enough fool to fly in the face of that,” said Mr.
Dockett.
So the very next day a suit was docketed and a _lis pendens_ filed,
giving notice that the title to the lands was in question.
The summonses were delivered to the sheriff, Mr. James Sherwood; but
this was the day Major Welch spent in the city, and when the sheriff
handed the summons to Still and showed the one he had for Major Welch,
Still took it from him, saying he would serve it for him.
Thus it happened that when Major Welch paid down the money he was in
ignorance that two suits had already been instituted to declare the
title in Still fraudulent.
Meantime, copies of Mrs. Welch’s letter to her friends had come back to
the County, and the effect was instantaneous.
When Mrs. Welch wrote the letter describing her new home and
surroundings, she gave, as has been said, what she considered a very
favorable account of her neighbors. She had not written the letter for
publication, yet, when the zeal of her friends gave it to the public,
she was sensible of a feeling of gratified pride. There were in it
a number of phrases which, as she looked at them in cold print, she
would in a milder mood have softened; but she consoled herself with the
reflection that the individuals referred to in the letter would never
see it. Alas! for the vain trust of those who rely on their obscurity
to hide their indiscretions. The _Censor_ was as well known, even if
not so extensively known, in the old County as in Mrs. Welch’s former
home. It had long been known as Leech’s organ, and was taken by more
than one of the Red Rock residents.
When the issue containing Mrs. Welch’s letter first appeared it raised
a breeze. The neighborhood was deeply stirred and, what appeared
most curious to Mrs. Welch was, that what gave most offence, was
her reference to individuals which she had intended to be rather
complimentary. She made up her mind to face boldly the commotion she
had raised and to bear with fortitude whatever it might bring. She
did not know that it was her patronizing attitude that gave the most
serious offence.
“I don’t mind her attack on us, but blame her impudent, patronizing
air,” declared the little General—“General Fossil,” as Steve called
him—“and to think that I should have put myself out to be especially
civil to her! Steve, you are so fond of Northern cherries, I shall
let you do the civilities for us both hereafter.” To the General’s
surprise, Steve actually reddened.
The next time Mrs. Welch met her neighbors she was conscious of the
difference in their bearing toward her. It was at old St. Ann’s. When
she had been there before, the whole congregation had thronged about
her with warm greetings and friendly words. Now there was a marked
change. Though Steve Allen and Rupert and Blair, and a few others came
up and spoke to her, the rest of the congregation contented themselves
with returning her bows coldly from a distance, and several ladies, she
was sure, studiously avoided her greeting.
“Well, sir, I knew she was a oner as soon as I lay my eye ’pon her,”
said Andy Stamper to a group of his friends in the court-yard at the
county seat the next court day, “but I didn’t know she was goin’ to
take that tack. She’s done fixed up the place till you wouldn’t know it
from a town place. She has painted them old rooms so black that Doan
had to git a candle to see how to do it, and I was born in one of ’em.
I told her I never heard o’ paintin’ nothin’ that black befo’ but a
coffin, but she said it was her favorite color.”
“’Pears like that’s so too, Sergeant,” laughed someone. “Is Hiram there
much?”
“Oh! he goes there; but you know I don’t think she likes him; and it’s
my opinion that Hiram he’s afeard of her as he is of Jacquelin Gray. He
talks that soft way o’ hisn aroun’ her which he uses when he’s afeared
o’ anyone. She’s gin them niggers the best clo’es you ever see—coats
better then me or you or anyone aroun’ heah has seen since the war.
What’s curious to me is that though she don’t seem to like niggers and
git along with ’em easy-like and nat’ral as we all do, in another way
she seems to kind o’ want to like ’em. It reminds me of takin’ physic:
she takes ’em with a sort o’ gulp, but wants to take ’em and wants to
make everybody else do it.
“Now she’s been over yonder to the Bend and got ’em all stirred up,
diggin’ dreens and whitewashin’ and cuttin’ poles for crosslay.”
“She’ll be tryin’ to whitewash them,” said one of his auditors.
“Well, by Jingo! if she sets her mind to it she’ll make it stick,” said
Andy.” What gits me is the way she ain’t got some’n better to work on.”
* * * * *
Report said that Jacquelin was blossoming into a fine young lawyer.
Steve Allen declared that his practice was doubling under Jacquelin’s
devotion to the work—which was very well, as Steve, whether from
contrariness or some other motive, was becoming a somewhat frequent
visitor at Major Welch’s, these days.
The General asserted that if Jacquelin stuck to his office and studied
as assiduously as he was doing, he would be the most learned lawyer
in the State. “But he’ll kill himself if he does not stop it. Why, I
can see the difference in him already,” he declared to Miss Thomasia,
solicitously. Miss Thomasia herself had seen the change in Jacquelin’s
appearance since his return home. He was growing thin again, and, if
not pale, was at least losing that ruddy hue of health which he had
had on his arrival, and she expostulated with him, and tried even to
get Blair to do the same; for Blair always had great influence with
him, she told her. Blair, however, pooh-poohed the matter and said,
indifferently, that she could not see any difference in him and thought
he looked very well. Miss Thomasia shook her head. Blair did not use to
be so hard-hearted.
But, however this was, Jacquelin did not alter his course. The negroes
had become so unruly, that, as Rupert was often away from home, and
his aunt was left alone, he came home every night, though it was often
late before he arrived; but early in the morning he returned to the
Court-house and spent the day there in his office, rarely accepting an
invitation or taking any holiday.
When he and Blair met, which they did sometimes unavoidably, there was
a return of the old constraint that had existed before he went away,
and even with Steve he appeared to be growing silent and self-absorbed.
Blair had become the mainstay of her family. Unconsciously she had
slipped into the position where she was the prop on which both her
father and mother leaned. She taught her little colored school, and at
home was always busy about something. She vied with Mrs. Andy Stamper
in raising chickens, and with Miss Thomasia in raising violets. Under
her skilful management, the little cottage amid its wilderness of
fruit-trees, in which old Mr. and Mrs. Bellows had lived, became a
rose-bower, and the fruit-trees became an orchard with its feet buried
in clover. Her father said of her that she was a perpetual reproduction
of the miracle of the creation—that she created the sun and followed
it with all the plants and herbs after their kind.
Yet, with all these duties, Blair found time to run over to see Miss
Thomasia almost every day or two; at first shyly and at rare intervals,
but, after she found that Jacquelin was always at his office, oftener
and more freely. She always declared that a visit to Miss Thomasia was
like reading one of Scott’s novels; that she got back to a land of
chivalry and drank at the springs of pure romance; while Miss Thomasia
asserted that Blair was a breath of May.
Jacquelin, after a time, came to recognize the traces of Blair’s
visits, in the little touches of change and improvement about the
house: a pruned rose-bush here, a fold of white curtain there, and
he often had to hear her praises sung by Miss Thomasia’s guileless
tongue, and listen to the good lady’s lament because Blair and Steve
did not proceed a little more satisfactorily with their affairs.
Miss Thomasia had an idea that it was on account of Steve’s former
reputation for wildness. “It would have such a good influence on
Steve,” she declared, “would be just what he needed. I quite approve
of a young lady being coy and maidenly, but, of course, I know there
is an understanding between them, and I must say, I think Blair is
carrying it too far.” She bridled as she always did at the thought of
anyone opposing Steve. “I know that a man is sometimes driven by a
young lady’s cruelty—apparent cruelty—for I am sure Blair would not
wittingly injure anyone—into courses very sad and injurious to him.”
Miss Thomasia heaved a sigh and gazed out of the window, and a moment
later resumed her knitting.
“Do you see anything of that—young lady, Miss Welch?” she asked
Jacquelin, suddenly.
Jacquelin said he had not seen her for some time, except at church, and
once or twice in the village, at a distance.
“I did not suppose you had,” said Miss Thomasia. “She is a very nice,
refined girl—has always been very sweet to me when I have met her—but
of course—.” Her lips closed firmly and she began to knit vigorously,
leaving Jacquelin to wonder what she meant.
“I only wanted to know,” she said, presently, and that was the only
explanation she gave.