THE OLD CAPTAIN.
Flora's reveries were abruptly dispelled by a gentle knock at the door;
and her "Come in," was answered by a tall, portly, handsome old lady,
who sailed into the room in all the conscious dignity of black silk and
white lawn.
The handsome old lady was Mrs. Kitson, the wife of the naval officer,
whose ready-furnished lodgings they had occupied for the last year.
Flora rose to meet her visitor, with the baby still upon her arm.
"Mrs. Kitson, I am happy to see you. Pray take the easy-chair by the
fire. I hope your cough is better."
"No chance of that," said the healthy old lady, who had never known a
fit of dangerous illness in her life, "while I continue so weak.
Hu--hu--hu--. You see, my dear, that it is as bad as ever."
Flora thought that she never had seen a person at Mrs. Kitson's advanced
stage of life with such a healthy, rosy visage. But every one has some
pet weakness. Mrs. Kitson's was always fancying herself ill and
nervous. Now, Flora had no very benignant feelings towards the old
lady's long catalogue of imaginary ailments; so she changed the dreaded
subject, by inquiring after the health of the old Captain, her husband.
"Ah, my dear, he's just as well as ever,--nothing in the world ever ails
him; and little he cares for the sufferings of another. This is a great
day with him; he's all bustle and fuss. Just step to the window, and
look at his doings. It's enough to drive a sensible woman mad. Talk of
women wearing the _smalls_, indeed! it's a base libel on the sex.
Captain Kitson is not content with putting on my apron, but he
appropriates my petticoats also. I cannot give an order to my maid, but
he contradicts it, or buy a pound of tea, but he weighs it after the
grocer. Now, my dear, what would you do if the _Leaftenant_ was like my
husband?"
"Really, I don't know," and Flora laughed heartily. "It must be rather a
trial of patience to a good housekeeper like you. But what is he about?"
she cried, stepping to the window that overlooked a pretty lawn in front
of the house, which commanded a fine view of the sea. "He and old Kelly
seem up to their eyes in business. What an assemblage of pots and
kettles, and household stuff there is upon the lawn! Are you going to
have an auction?"
"You may well think so; if that were the case, there might be some
excuse for his folly. No; all this dirt and confusion, which once a
week drives me nearly beside myself, is what K---- calls clearing up the
ship; when he and his man Friday, as he calls Kelly, turn everything
topsy-turvy, and, to make the muddle more complete, they always choose
my washing-day for their frolic. Pantries and cellars are rummaged over,
and everything is dragged out of its place, for the mere pleasure of
making a litter, and dragging it in again.
"Look at the lawn! Covered with broken dishes, earless jugs, cracked
plates, and bottomless saucepans," continued Mrs. Kitson. "What a dish
of nuts for my neighbours to crack! They always enjoy a hearty laugh at
my expense, on Kitson's clearing-up days. But what does he care for my
distress? In vain I hide up all this old trumpery in the darkest nooks
in the cellar and pantry--nothing escapes his prying eyes; and then he
has such a memory, that if he misses an old gallipot he raises a storm
loud enough to shake down the house.
"The last time he went to London," pursued the old lady, "I collected a
vast quantity of useless trash, and had it thrown into the pond behind
the house. Well, when he cleared the decks next time, if he did not miss
the old broken crockery, all of which, he said, he meant to mend with
white lead on rainy days; while the broken bottles, forsooth, he had
saved to put on the top of the brick wall, to hinder the little boys
from climbing over to steal the apples! Oh, dear, dear, dear! there was
no end to his bawling, and swearing, and calling me hard names, while he
had the impudence to tell Kelly, in my hearing, that I was the most
extravagant woman in the world. Now, _I_, that have borne him seventeen
children, should know something about economy and good management; but
he gives me no credit at all for that. He began scolding again to-day,
but my poor head could not stand it any longer; so I came over to spend
a few minutes with you."
The handsome old lady paused to draw breath, and looked so much excited
with this recapitulation of her domestic wrongs, that Mrs. Lyndsay
thought it not improbable she had performed her own part in the
scolding.
As to Flora, she was highly amused by the old Captain's vagaries.
"By-the-bye," she said, "had he any luck in shooting this morning? He
was out by sunrise with his gun."
The old lady fell back in her chair, and laughed immoderately.
"Shooting! Yes, yes, that was another frolic of his. But Kitson's an old
fool, and I have told him so a thousand times. So you saw him this
morning with the gun?"
"Why, I was afraid he might shoot Lyndsay, who was shaving at the
window. The captain pointed his gun sometimes at the window, and
sometimes at the eaves of the house, but as the gun always missed fire,
I began to regain my courage, and so did the sparrows, for they only
chattered at him in defiance."
"And well they might. Why, my dear, would you believe it, he had no
powder in his gun! Now, Mrs. Lyndsay, you will perhaps think that I am
telling you a story, the thing is so absurd; yet I assure you that it's
strictly true. But you know the man. When my poor Nelly died, she left
all her little property to her father, as she knew none of her late
husband's relations--never was introduced to one of them in her life. In
her dressing-case he found a box of charcoal for cleaning teeth, and in
spite of all that I could say or do, he insisted that it was
_gunpowder_. 'Gunpowder!' says I, 'what would our Nelly do with
gunpowder? It's charcoal, I tell you.'"
"Then he smelt it, and smelt it--''Tis gunpowder, Sally! Don't you
think, that I know the smell of gunpowder? I, that was with Nelson at
Copenhagen and Trafalgar?'
"''Tis the snuff in your nose, that makes everything smell alike;'
says I. 'Do you think, that our Nelly would clean her beautiful white
teeth with gunpowder?'
"'Why not?' says he; 'there's charcoal in gunpowder. And now, Madam,
if you dare to contradict me again, I will shoot you with it, to prove
the truth of what I say!'
"Well, after that, I held my tongue, though I did not choose to give
up. I thought to spite him, so for once I let him have his own way. He
spent an hour last night cleaning his old rusty gun; and rose this
morning by daybreak with the intention of murdering all the sparrows. No
wonder that the sparrows laughed at him. I have done nothing but laugh
ever since--so out of sheer revenge, he proclaimed a cleaning day; and
he and Kelly are now hard at it."
Flora was delighted with this anecdote of their whimsical landlord; but
before she could answer his better-half, the door was suddenly opened
and the sharp, keen face of the little officer was thrust into the
room.