smaller than those required, for a pattern, a piece of blue and white
gingham and the shears, and she began. We all watched her furtively,
but she went slashing away with as much confidence as if she had
served an apprenticeship with a tailor in her youth. We began to
think that possibly she knew better how to cut out trousers than we
did. Mrs. White whispered to me that she had heard that many of those
rich city women learned how to do everything in case they lost their
money, and she thought it was so sensible.
When Mrs. Jameson had finished cutting out the trousers, which was in
a very short space of time, she asked for some thread and a needle,
and Flora Clark started to get some, and got thereby an excuse to
examine the trousers. She looked at them, and held them up so we all
could see, and then she spoke.
"Mrs. Jameson," said she, "these are cut just alike back and front,
and they are large enough for a boy of twelve." She spoke very
clearly and decisively. Flora Clark never minces matters.
We fairly shivered with terror as to what would come next, and poor
Mrs. White clutched my arm hard. "Oh," she whispered, "I am so sorry
she spoke so."
But Mrs. Jameson was not so easily put down. She replied very coolly
and sweetly, and apparently without the slightest resentment, that
she had made them so on purpose, so that the boy would not outgrow
them, and she always thought it better to have the back and front cut
alike; the trousers could then be worn either way, and would last
much longer.
To our horror, Flora Clark spoke again. "I guess you are right about
their lasting," said she; "I shouldn't think those trousers would
wear out any faster on a five-year-old boy than they would on a pair
of tongs. They certainly won't touch him anywhere."
Mrs. Jameson only smiled in her calmly superior way at that, and we
concluded that she must be good-tempered. As for Flora, she said
nothing more, and we all felt much relieved.
Mrs. Jameson went to sewing on the trousers with the same confidence
with which she had cut them out; but I must say we had a little more
doubt about her skill. She sewed with incredible swiftness; I did not
time her exactly, but it did not seem to me that she was more than
an hour in making those trousers. I know the meeting began at two
o'clock, and it was not more than half-past three when she announced
that they were done.
Flora Clark rose, and Mrs. White clutched her skirt and held her back
while she whispered something. However, Flora went across the room to
the table, and held up the little trousers that we all might see.
Mrs. Jameson had done what many a novice in trousers-making does:
sewed one leg over the other and made a bag of them. They were
certainly a comical sight. I don't know whether Flora's sense of
humor got the better of her wrath, or whether Mrs. White's
expostulation influenced her, but she did not say one word, only
stood there holding the trousers, her mouth twitching. As for the
rest of us, it was all we could do to keep our faces straight. Mrs.
Jameson was looking at her book, and did not seem to notice anything;
and Harriet was sitting with her back to Flora, of which I was glad.
I should have been sorry to have had the child's feelings hurt.
Flora laid the trousers on the table and came back to her seat
without a word, and I know that Mrs. White sat up nearly all night
ripping them, and cutting them over, and sewing them together again,
in season to have them packed in the barrel the next day.
In the mean time, Mrs. Jameson was finding the place in her book;
and just as Mrs. Peter Jones had asked Mrs. Butters if it were true
that Dora Peckham was going to marry Thomas Wells and had bought her
wedding dress, and before Mrs. Butters had a chance to answer her
(she lives next door to the Peckhams), she rapped with the scissors
on the table.
"Ladies," said she. "Ladies, attention!"
I suppose we all did stiffen up involuntarily; it was so obviously
not Mrs. Jameson's place to call us to order and attention. Of course
she should have been introduced by our President, who should herself
have done the rapping with the scissors. Flora Clark opened her mouth
to speak, but Mrs. White clutched her arm and looked at her so
beseechingly that she kept quiet.
Mrs. Jameson continued, utterly unconscious of having given any
offence. We supposed that she did not once think it possible that we
knew what the usages of ladies' societies were. "Ladies," said she,
"I am sure that you will all prefer having your minds improved and
your spheres enlarged by the study and contemplation of one of the
greatest authors of any age, to indulging in narrow village gossip.
I will now read to you a selection from Robert Browning."
Mrs. Jameson said Robert Browning with such an impressive and
triumphantly introductory air that it was almost impossible for a
minute not to feel that Browning was actually there in our sewing
circle. She made a little pause, too, which seemed to indicate just
that. It was borne upon Mrs. White's mind that she ought to clap,
and she made a feeble motion with her two motherly hands which one
or two of us echoed.
Mrs. Jameson began to read the selection from Robert Browning. Now,
as I have said before, we have a literary society in our village, but
we have never attempted to read Browning at our meetings. Some of us
read him a little and strive to appreciate him, but we have been
quite sure that some other author would interest a larger proportion
of the ladies. I don't suppose that more than three of us had ever
read or even heard of the selection which Mrs. Jameson read. It was,
to my way of thinking, one of the most difficult of them all to be
understood by an untrained mind, but we listened politely, and with
a semblance, at least, of admiring interest.
I think Harriet Jameson was at first the only seriously disturbed
listener, to judge from her expression. The poor child looked so
anxious and distressed that I was sorry for her. I heard afterward
that she had begged her mother not to take the Browning book, saying
that she did not believe the ladies would like it; and Mrs. Jameson
had replied that she felt it to be her duty to teach them to like
it, and divert their minds from the petty gossip which she had always
heard was the distinguishing feature of rural sewing meetings.
Mrs. Jameson read and read; when she had finished the first selection
she read another. At half-past four o'clock, Mrs. White, who had been
casting distressed glances at me, rose and stole out on tiptoe.
I knew why she did so; Mrs. Bemis' hired girl next door was baking
her biscuits for her that she need not heat her house up, and she had
brought them in. I heard the kitchen door open.
Presently Mrs. White stole in again and tried to listen politely to
the reading, but her expression was so strained to maintain interest
that one could see the anxiety underneath. I knew what worried her
before she told me, as she did presently. "I have rolled those
biscuits up in a cloth," she whispered, "but I am dreadfully afraid
that they will be spoiled."
Mrs. Jameson began another selection, and I did pity Mrs. White. She
whispered to me again that her table was not set, and the biscuits
would certainly be spoiled.
The selection which Mrs. Jameson was then reading was a short one,
and I saw Mrs. White begin to brighten as she evidently drew near the
end. But her joy was of short duration, as Mrs. Jameson began another
selection.
However, Mrs. White laid an imploring hand on Flora Clark's arm when
she manifested symptoms of rising and interrupting the reading. Flora
was getting angry--I knew by the way her forehead was knitted and by
the jerky way she sewed. Poor Harriet Jameson looked more and more
distressed. I was sure she saw Mrs. White holding back Flora, and
knew just what it meant. Harriet was sitting quite idle with her
little hands in her lap; we had set her to hemming a ruffle for the
missionary's wife's dress, but her stitches were so hopelessly uneven
that I had quietly taken it from her and told her I was out of work
and would do it myself. The poor child had blushed when she gave it
up. She evidently knew her deficiencies.
Mrs. Jameson read selections from Robert Browning until six o'clock,
and by that time Mrs. White had attained to the calmness of despair.
At a quarter of six she whispered to me that the biscuits were
spoiled, and then her face settled into an expression of stony
peace. When Mrs. Jameson finally closed her book there was a murmur
which might have been considered expressive of relief or applause,
according to the amount of self-complacency of the reader. Mrs.
Jameson evidently considered it applause, for she bowed in a highly
gracious manner, and remarked: "I am very glad if I have given you
pleasure, ladies, and I shall be more than pleased at some future
time to read some other selections even superior to these which I
have given, and also to make some remarks upon them."
There was another murmur, which might have been of pleasure at the
prospect of the future reading, or the respite from the present one;
I was puzzled to know which it did mean.
We always had our supper at our sewing meetings at precisely five
o'clock, and now it was an hour later. Mrs. White rose and went out
directly, and Flora Clark and I followed her to assist. We began
laying the table as fast as we could, while Mrs. White was cutting
the cake. The ladies of the society brought the cake and pie, and
Mrs. White furnished the bread and tea. However, that night it was so
very warm we had decided to have lemonade instead of tea. Mrs. White
had put it to vote among the ladies when they first came, and we had
all decided in favor of lemonade. There was another reason for Mrs.
White not having tea: she has no dining-room, but eats in her kitchen
summer and winter. It is a very large room, but of course in such
heat as there was that day even a little fire would have made it
unendurably warm. So she had planned to have her biscuits baked in
Mrs. Bemis' stove and have lemonade.
Our preparations were nearly completed, and we were placing the last
things on the table, when my sister-in-law, Louisa Field, came out,
and I knew that something was wrong.
"What is the matter?" said I.
Louisa looked at Flora as if she were almost afraid to speak, but
finally it came out: Mrs. Jameson must have some hot water to prepare
her health food, as she dared not eat our hurtful cake and pie,
especially in such heat.
Flora Clark's eyes snapped. She could not be repressed any longer,
so she turned on poor Louisa as if she were the offender. "Let her
go home, then!" said she. "She sha'n't have any hot water in this
house!"
Flora spoke very loud, and Mrs. White was in agony. "Oh, Flora!
don't, don't!" said she. But she looked at the cold kitchen stove
in dismay.
I suggested boiling the kettle on Mrs. Bemis' stove; but that could
not be done, for the hired girl had gone away buggy-riding with her
beau after she had brought in the biscuits, and Mrs. Bemis was not at
the sewing circle: her mother, in the next town, was ill, and she had
gone to see her. So the Bemis house was locked up, and the fire no
doubt out. Mrs. White lives on an outlying farm, and there was not
another neighbor within a quarter of a mile. If Mrs. Jameson must
have that hot water for her hygienic food there was really nothing
to do but to make up the fire in the kitchen stove, no matter how
uncomfortable we all might be in consequence.
Flora Clark said in a very loud voice, and Mrs. White could not hush
her, that she would see Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson in Gibraltar first;
and she was so indignant because Mrs. White began to put kindlings
into the stove that she stalked off into the other room. Mrs. White
begged me to follow her and try to keep her quiet, but I was so
indignant myself that I was almost tempted to wish she would speak
out her mind. I ran out and filled the tea-kettle, telling Mrs. White
that I guessed Flora wouldn't say anything, and we started the fire.
It was a quarter of seven before the water was hot, and we asked the
ladies to walk out to supper. Luckily, the gentlemen were not coming
that night. It was haying-time, and we had decided, since we held the
meeting principally because of the extra work, that we would not have
them. We often think that the younger women don't do as much work
when the gentlemen are coming; they are upstairs so long curling
their hair and prinking.
I wondered if Flora Clark had said anything. I heard afterward that
she had not, but I saw at once that she was endeavoring to wreak a
little revenge upon Mrs. Jameson. By a series of very skilfull and
scarcely perceptible manoeuvres she gently impelled Mrs. Jameson,
without her being aware of it, into the seat directly in front of the
stove. I knew it was not befitting my age and Christian character,
but I was glad to see her there. The heat that night was something
terrific, and the fire in the stove, although we had made no more
than we could help, had increased it decidedly. I thought that Mrs.
Jameson, between the stove at her back and the hot water in her
health food, would have her just deserts. It did seem as if she must
be some degrees warmer than any of the rest of us.
However, who thought to inflict just deserts upon her reckoned
without Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson. She began stirring the health food,
which she had brought, in her cup of hot water; but suddenly she
looked around, saw the stove at her back, and sweetly asked Mrs.
White if she could not have another seat, as the heat was very apt to
affect her head.
It was Harriet, after all, upon whom the punishment for her mother's
thoughtlessness fell. She jumped up at once, and eagerly volunteered
to change seats with her.
"Indeed, my place is quite cool, mamma," she said. So Mrs. Jameson
and her daughter exchanged places; and I did not dare look at Flora
Clark.
Though the kitchen was so hot, I think we all felt that we had reason
to be thankful that Mrs. Jameson did not beseech us to eat health
food as she did at the picnic, and also that the reading was over for
that day.
Louisa, when we were going home that night, said she supposed that
Mrs. Jameson would try to improve our literary society also; and she
was proved to be right in her supposition at the very next meeting.
Mrs. Jameson came, and she not only read selections from Browning,
but she started us in that mad problem of Shakespeare and Bacon. Most
of the ladies in our society had not an intimate acquaintance with
either, having had, if the truth were told, their minds too fully
occupied with such humble domestic questions of identity as whether
Johnny or Tommy stole the sugar.
However, when we were once fairly started there was no end to our
interest; we all agonized over it, and poor Mrs. Sim White was so
exercised over the probable deception of either Bacon or Shakespeare,
in any case, that she told me privately that she was tempted to leave
the literary society and confine herself to her Bible.
There was actual animosity between some members of our society in
consequence. Mrs. Charles Root and Rebecca Snow did not speak to each
other for weeks because Mrs. Root believed that Shakespeare was
Bacon, and Rebecca believed he was himself. Rebecca even stayed away
from church and the society on that account.
Mrs. Jameson expressed herself as very much edified at our interest,
and said she considered it a proof that our spheres were widening.
Louisa and I agreed that if we could only arrive at a satisfactory
conclusion in the matter we should feel that ours were wider;
and Flora Clark said it did not seem of much use to her, since
Shakespeare and Bacon were both dead and gone, and we were too much
concerned with those plays which were written anyhow, and no question
about it, to bother about anything else. It did not seem to her that
the opinion of our literary society would make much difference to
either of them, and that possibly we had better spend our time in
studying the plays.
At the second meeting of our society which Mrs. Jameson attended she
gave us a lecture, which she had written and delivered before her
Shakespeare club in the city. It was upon the modern drama, and we
thought it must be very instructive, only as few of us ever went to
the theatre, or even knew the name of a modern playwright, it was
almost like a lecture in an unknown tongue. Mrs. Ketchum went to
sleep and snored, and told me on the way home that she did not mean
to be ungrateful, but she could not help feeling that it would have
been as improving for her to stay at home and read a new
Sunday-school book that she was interested in.
Mrs. Jameson did not confine herself in her efforts for our
improvement to our diet and our literary tastes. After she had us
fairly started in our bewildering career on the tracks of Bacon and
Shakespeare--doing a sort of amateur detective work in the tombs, as
it were--and after she had induced the storekeeper to lay in a supply
of health food--which he finally fed to the chickens--she turned
her attention to our costumes. She begged us to cut off our gowns
at least three inches around the bottoms, for wear when engaged
in domestic pursuits, and she tried to induce mothers to take off
the shoes and stockings of their small children, and let them run
barefoot. Children of a larger growth in our village quite generally
go barefoot in the summer, but the little ones are always, as a rule,
well shod. Mrs. Jameson said that it was much better for them also
to go without shoes and stockings, and Louisa and I were inclined
to think she might be right--it does seem to be the natural way of
things. But people rather resented her catching their children on the
street and stripping off their shoes and stockings, and sending the
little things home with them in their hands. However, their mothers
put on the shoes and stockings, and thought she must mean well. Very
few of them said anything to her by way of expostulation; but the
children finally ran when they saw her coming, so they would not have
their shoes and stockings taken off.
All this time, while Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson was striving to improve
us, her daughter Harriet was seemingly devoting all her energies to
the improvement of Harry Liscom, or to the improvement of her own
ideal in his heart, whichever it may have been; and I think she
succeeded in each case.
Neither Mrs. Liscom nor Mrs. Jameson seemed aware of it, but people
began to say that Harry Liscom and the eldest Jameson girl were going
together.
I had no doubt of it after what I had seen in the grove; and one
evening during the last of July I had additional evidence. In the
cool of the day I strolled down the road a little way, and finally
stopped at the old Wray house. Nobody lived there then; it had been
shut up for many a year. I thought I would sit down on the old
doorstep and rest, and I had barely settled myself when I heard
voices. They came around the corner from the south piazza, and I
could not help hearing what they said, though I rose and went away
as soon as I had my wits about me and fairly knew that I was
eavesdropping.
"You are so far above me," said a boy's voice which I knew was Harry
Liscom's.
Then came the voice of the girl in reply: "Oh, Harry, it is you who
are so far above me." Then I was sure that they kissed each other.
I reflected as I stole softly away, lest they should discover me and
be ashamed, that, after all, it was only love which could set people
upon immeasurable heights in each other's eyes, and stimulate them to
real improvement and to live up to each other's ideals.
IV
THEY TAKE A FARM
I had wondered a little, after Mrs. Jameson's frantic appeal to me to
secure another boarding-place for her, that she seemed to settle down
so contentedly at Caroline Liscom's. She said nothing more about her
dissatisfaction, if she felt any. However, I fancy that Mrs. Jameson
is one to always conceal her distaste for the inevitable, and
she must have known that she could not have secured another
boarding-place in Linnville. As for Caroline Liscom, her mouth is
always closed upon her own affairs until they have become matters of
history. She never said a word to me about the Jamesons until they
had ceased to be her boarders, which was during the first week in
August. My sister-in-law, Louisa Field, came home one afternoon with
the news. She had been over to Mrs. Gregg's to get her receipt for
blackberry jam, and had heard it there. Mrs. Gregg always knew about
the happenings in our village before they fairly gathered form on the
horizon of reality.
"What do you think, Sophia?" said Louisa when she came in--she did
not wait to take off her hat before she began--"the Jamesons are
going to leave the Liscoms, and they have rented the old Wray place,
and are going to run the farm and raise vegetables and eggs. Mr.
Jameson is coming on Saturday night, and they are going to move in
next Monday."
I was very much astonished; I had never dreamed that the Jamesons had
any taste for farming, and then, too, it was so late in the season.
"Old Jonas Martin is planting the garden now," said Louisa. "I saw
him as I came past."
"The garden," said I; "why, it is the first of August!"
"Mrs. Jameson thinks that she can raise late peas and corn, and set
hens so as to have spring chickens very early in the season," replied
Louisa, laughing; "at least, that is what Mrs. Gregg says. The
Jamesons are going to stay here until the last of October, and then
Jonas Martin is going to take care of the hens through the winter."
I remembered with a bewildered feeling what Mrs. Jameson had said
about not wanting to board with people who kept hens, and here she
was going to keep them herself.
Louisa and I wondered what kind of a man Mr. H. Boardman Jameson
might be; he had never been to Linnville, being kept in the city by
his duties at the custom-house.
"I don't believe that he will have much to say about the farm while
Mrs. Jameson has a tongue in her head," said Louisa; and I agreed
with her.
When we saw Mr. H. Boardman Jameson at church the next Sunday we were
confirmed in our opinion.
He was a small man, much smaller than his wife, with a certain air of
defunct style about him. He had quite a fierce bristle of moustache,
and a nervous briskness of carriage, yet there was something that was
unmistakably conciliatory and subservient in his bearing toward Mrs.
Jameson. He stood aside for her to enter the pew, with the attitude
of vassalage; he seemed to respond with an echo of deference to every
rustle of her silken skirts and every heave of her wide shoulders.
Mrs. Jameson was an Episcopalian, and our church is Congregational.
Mrs. Jameson did not attempt to kneel when she entered, but bent her
head forward upon the back of the pew in front of her. Mr. Jameson
waited until she was fairly in position, with observant and anxious
eyes upon her, before he did likewise.
This was really the first Sunday on which Mrs. Jameson herself had
appeared at church. Ever since she had been in our village the
Sundays had been exceptionally warm, or else rainy and disagreeable,
and of course Mrs. Jameson was in delicate health. The girls and Cobb
had attended faithfully, and always sat in the pew with the Liscoms.
To-day Harry and his father sat in the Jones pew to make room for the
two elder Jamesons.