Hepsey Burke

Virginia departed.

After the furnishing of the incipient nursery had been completed, and each little crib had a new unbreakable doll whose cheeks were decorated with 101 unsuckable paint, Virginia and Mary Quinn—invaluable in undertaking the spadework of all Virginia’s parish exploits—gave an afternoon tea to which all the subscribers and their friends were invited. But when everything was in readiness for patronage, what few working women there were in Durford, possessed of the right kind of babies, seemed strangely reluctant to trust their youthful offspring to the tender mercies of Virginia Bascom and Mary Quinn.

Consequently, the philanthropic movement, started under such favorable patronage, soon reached a critical stage in its career, and Mrs. Burke was called in to contribute some practical suggestions. She responded to the summons with all due promptness, and when she arrived at the nursery, she smilingly remarked:

“Hm! But where are the babies? I thought they would be swarming all over the place like tadpoles in a pool.”

“Well, you see,” Virginia began, her voice quivering with disappointment, “Mary Quinn and I have been sitting here four mortal days, and not a single infant has appeared on the scene. I must say that the working women of Durford seem strangely unappreciative of our efforts to help them.”

“Well,” Mrs. Burke responded, “I suppose day-nurseries 102 without babies are as incomplete as an incubator without eggs. But after all, it hardly seems worth while to go out and snatch nursing infants from their mother’s breasts just to fill a long-felt want, does it? Besides, you might get yourself into trouble.”

“I didn’t ask you to come and make fun of me,” Virginia replied touchily. “I wanted you to make some suggestions to help us out. If we don’t get any babies, we might just as well close our doors at once. I should be awfully mortified to have the whole thing a failure, after all we have done, and all the advertising we have had.”

Mrs. Burke sat down and assumed a very judicial expression.

“Well, Ginty dear, I’m awful sorry for you; I don’t doubt you done the best you could. It’d be unreasonable to expect you to collect babies like mushrooms in a single night. All true reformers are bound to strike snags, and to suffer because they aint appreciated in their own day and generation. It’s only after we are gone and others take our places that the things we do are appreciated. You’ll have to resign yourself to fate, Virginia, and wait for what the newspapers call ‘the vindicatin’ verdict of prosperity.’ Think of all the people that tried to do 103 things and didn’t do ’em. Now there’s the Christian martyrs–”

For some reason Virginia seemed to have a vague suspicion that Hepsey was still making fun of her; and being considerably nettled, she interjected tartly:

“I’m not working for the verdict of posterity, and I don’t care a flip for the Christian martyrs. I’m trying to conduct a day-nursery, here and now; we have the beds, and the equipment, and some money, and–”

“But you haven’t got the babies, Virginia!”

“Precisely, Mrs. Burke. It’s simply a question of babies, now or never. Babies we must have or close our doors. I must confess that I am greatly pained at the lack of interest of the community in our humble efforts to serve them.”

For some time Hepsey sat in silence; then she smiled as if a bright idea occurred to her.

“Why not borrow a few babies from the mothers in town, Virginia? You see, you might offer to pay a small rental by the hour, or take out a lease which could be renewed when it expired. What is lacking is public confidence in your enterprise. If you and Miss Quinn could be seen in the nursery windows dandlin’ a baby on each arm, and singin’ lullabies to ’em for a few days, it’d attract attention, inspire faith 104 in the timid, and public confidence would be restored. The tide of babies’d turn your way after a while, and the nursery would prove a howlin’ success.”

Virginia considered the suggestion and, after deep thought, remarked:

“What do you think we ought to pay for the loan of a baby per hour, Mrs. Burke?”

“Well, of course I haven’t had much experience rentin’ babies, as I have been busy payin’ taxes and insurance on my own for some years; then you see rents have gone up like everything lately. But I should think that ten cents an afternoon ought to be sufficient. I think I might be able to hunt up a baby or two. Mrs. Warren might lend her baby, and perhaps Mrs. Fletcher might add her twins. I’ll call on them at once, if you say so.”

Virginia looked relieved, and in a voice of gratitude responded:

“You are really very, very kind.”

“Well, cheer up, Virginia; cheer up. Every cloud has its silver linin’; and I guess we can find some babies somewhere even if we have to advertise in the papers. Now I must be goin’, and I’ll stop on the way and make a bid for the Fletcher twins. Good-by.”

When Nicholas Burke learned from his mother of 105 the quest of the necessary babies, he started out of his own motion and was the first to arrive on the scene with the spoils of victory, in the shape of the eighteen-months infant of Mrs. Thomas McCarthy, for which he had been obliged to pay twenty-five cents in advance, the infant protesting vigorously with all the power of a well developed pair of lungs. As Nickey delivered the goods, he remarked casually:

“Say, Miss Virginia, you just take the darn thing quick. He’s been howlin’ to beat the band.”

“Why, Nickey,” exclaimed Virginia, entranced, and gingerly possessing herself of James McCarthy, “however did you get him?”

“His ma wouldn’t let me have him at first; and it took an awful lot of jollyin’ to bring her round. Of course I didn’t mean to tell no lies, but I said you was awful fond of kids. I said that if you only had Jimmy, it would give the nursery a dandy send-off, ’cause she was so well known, and Mr. McCarthy was such a prominent citizen. When she saw me cough up a quarter and play with it right under her nose, I could see she was givin’ in; and she says to me, ‘Nickey, you can take him just this once. I’d like to help the good cause along, and Miss Bascom, she means well.’ Ma’s gettin’ after the Fletcher twins for you.” 106

James McCarthy was welcomed with open arms, was washed and dressed in the most approved antiseptic manner; his gums were swabed with boracic acid, and he was fed from a sterilized bottle on Pasteurized milk, and tucked up in a crib with carbolized sheets, and placed close to the window where he could bask in actinic rays, and inhale ozone to his heart’s content. Thus the passer-by could see at a glance that the good work had begun to bear fruit.

Mrs. Burke managed to get hold of the Fletcher twins, and as they both howled lustily in unison, all the time, they added much to the natural domesticity of the scene and seemed to invite further patronage, like barkers at a side-show. Mrs. Warren was also persuaded.

Although the village was thoroughly canvassed, Miss Bascom was obliged to content herself with the McCarthy baby and the Fletcher twins, and the Warren baby, until, one morning, a colored woman appeared with a bundle in her arms. As she was the first voluntary contributor of live stock, she was warmly welcomed, and a great fuss made over the tiny black infant which gradually emerged from the folds of an old shawl “like a cuckoo out of its cocoon,” as Mary Quinn remarked. This, of course, was very nice and encouraging, but most unfortunately, 107 when night came, the mother did not appear to claim her progeny, nor did she ever turn up again. Of course it was a mere oversight on her part, but Virginia was much disturbed, for, to her very great embarrassment, she found herself the undisputed possessor of a coal black baby. She was horrified beyond measure, and sent at once for Mrs. Burke.

“What shall I do, what shall I do, Mrs. Burke?” she cried. Mrs. Burke gazed musingly at the writhing black blot on the white and rose blanket, and suggested:

“Pity you couldn’t adopt it, Virginia. You always loved children.”

“Adopt it!” Virginia screamed hysterically. “What in the world can you be thinking of?”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else, unless I can persuade Andy Johnston, the colored man on the farm, to adopt it. He wouldn’t mind its complexion as much as you seem to.”

Virginia brightened considerably at this suggestion, exclaiming excitedly:

“Oh Mrs. Burke, do you really think you could?”

“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps so. At any rate, if we offer to help pay the extra expense, Mrs. Johnston might bring the baby up as her own. Then they can name it Virginia Bascom Johnston, you see.” 108

Virginia bit her lip, but she managed to control her temper as she exclaimed quite cheerfully:

“Mrs. Burke, you are so very kind. You are always helping somebody out of a scrape.”

“Don’t overpraise me, Virginia. My head’s easily turned. The teachin’s of experience are hard—but I guess they’re best in the end. Well, send the poor little imp of darkness round to me to-night, and I’ll see that it has good care.”

As a matter of fact, Hepsey had qualms of conscience as to whether she should not, at the outset, have discouraged the whole baby project; experience threatened to give its lesson by pretty hard knocks, on this occasion.

For though the immediate problem was thus easily solved, others presented themselves to vex the philanthropic Virginia.

When on the tenth day the rental for the Warren baby and the Fletcher twins fell due, and the lease of James McCarthy expired without privilege of renewal, the finances of the nursery were at a very low ebb. It certainly did not help matters much when, towards night, Mary Quinn called Virginia’s attention to the fact that there were unmistakable signs of a bad rash on the faces of the twins, and very suspicious spots on the cheeks of the Warren baby. Even the 109 antiseptic James McCarthy blushed like a boiled lobster, and went hopelessly back on his sterilized character. Of course the only thing to be done was to send at once for the doctor, and for the mothers of the respective infants. When the doctor arrived he pronounced the trouble to be measles; and when the mothers made their appearance, Virginia learned something of the unsuspected resources of the English language served hot from the tongues of three frightened and irate women. Finally the floor was cleared, and the place closed up for disinfection.

Just before she left, Virginia dropped into a chair and wept, quite oblivious of the well-meant consolations of Mary Quinn, sometime co-partner in “The Durford Day-Nursery for the Children of Working Women.”

“We’ve done the very best we could, Miss Bascom; and it certainly isn’t our fault that the venture turned out badly. Poor babies!”

At this the sobbing Virginia was roused to one last protest:

“Mary Quinn, if ever you say another word to me about babies, I’ll have you arrested. I just hate babies, and—and everything! Why, there comes Mr. Maxwell! Say, Mary, you just run and get me a wet towel to wipe my face with, while I hunt for my 110 combs and do up my back hair. And then if you wouldn’t mind vanishing for a while—I’m sure you understand—for if ever I needed spiritual consolation and the help of the church, it is now, this minute.”

CHAPTER IX

THE RECTORY

A few weeks after Donald’s conversational duel with Mrs. Burke he started on a six-weeks’ vacation, which he had certainly earned; and as he busied himself with his packing,—Hepsey assisting,—he announced:

“When I come back, Mrs. Burke, I probably shall not come alone.”

He was strapping up his suit-case when he made this rather startling announcement, and the effect seemed to send the blood to his head. Mrs. Burke 112 did not seem to notice his confusion as she remarked calmly:

“Hm! That’s a good thing. Your grandmother can have the room next to yours, and we’ll do all we can to make the old lady comfortable. I’m sure she’ll be a great comfort to you, though she’ll get a bit lonesome at times, unless she’s active on her feet.”

Donald laughed, as he blushed more furiously and stuttered:

“No, I am not going to bring my grandmother here, and I strongly suspect that you know what I mean. I’m going to be married.”

“So you are going to get married, are you?” Hepsey remarked with due amazement, as if the suspicion of the fact had never entered her head before. “Well, I am mighty glad of it. I only wish that I was goin’ to be present to give you away. Yes, I’m mighty glad. She’ll make a new man of you up here, so long as she isn’t a new woman.”

“No, not in the slang sense of the word; although I think you will find her very capable, and I hope with all my heart that you’ll like her.”

“I’m sure I shall. The question is whether she’ll like me.”

Hepsey Burke looked rather sober for a moment, and Donald instantly asserted: 113

“She can’t help liking you.”

“We-ell now, I could mention quite a number of people who find it as easy as rolling off a log to dislike, me. But that doesn’t matter much. I have found it a pretty good plan not to expect a great deal of adoration, and to be mighty grateful for the little you get. Be sure you let me know when to expect you and your grandmother back.”

“Most certainly I shall,” he laughed. “It will be in about six weeks, you know. Good-by, and thank you a thousand times for all your kindness to me.”

There was considerable moisture in Hepsey’s eyes as she stood and watched Maxwell drive down the road. Then wiping her eyes furtively with one corner of her apron she remarked to herself:

“Well, I suppose I am glad, mighty glad; but somehow it isn’t the jolliest thing in the world to have one’s friends get married. They are never the same again; and in ten times out of six the lady in the case is jealous of her husband’s friends, and tries to make trouble. It takes a lady saint to share her husband’s interests with anybody, and maybe she ’aint to blame. Well, the next thing in order is to fix up the rectory in six weeks. The best way to repair that thing is with a match and some real good kerosene and a few shavings; however, we’ll have to do the 114 best we can. I think I’ll set Jonathan Jackson to work this afternoon, and go around and interview the vestry myself.”

Jonathan proved resignedly obedient to Hepsey’s demands, but the vestry blustered and scolded, because they had not been consulted in the matter, until Hepsey said she would be glad to receive any contribution they might choose to offer; then they relapsed into innocuous desuetude and talked crops.

As soon as the repairs were well under way, the whole town was wild with gossip about Maxwell and Miss Bascom. If he were going to occupy the rectory, the necessary inference was that he was going to be married, as he surely would not contemplate keeping bachelor’s hall by himself. At last Virginia had attained the height of her ambition and captured the rector! Consequently she was the center of interest in every social gathering, although, as the engagement had not been formally announced, no one felt at liberty to congratulate her. To any tentative and insinuating advances in this direction Virginia replied by non-committal smiles, capable of almost any interpretation; and the seeker after information was none the wiser.

Mrs. Roscoe-Jones, by virtue of her long intimacy with Hepsey and her assured social position in Durford’s 115 thirty gentry, felt that she was entitled to some definite information; and so, as they walked back from church one Wednesday afternoon, she remarked:

“I hear that the parish is going to repair the rectory, and that you are taking a great interest in it. You must be on very intimate terms with Mr. Bascom and the vestry!”

“Well, not exactly. Bascom and I haven’t held hands in the dark for some time; but I am going to do what I can to get the house in order for Mr. Maxwell.”

“I wonder where the money is coming from to complete the work? It seems to me that the whole parish ought to be informed about the matter, and share in the work; but I suppose Mr. Bascom’s shouldering it all, since there’s been no effort to raise money by having a fair.”

“I really don’t know much about it as yet, Sarah. Of course Bascom’s charitable work is mostly done in secret, so that nobody ever finds it out. He is a modest man and wouldn’t like to be caught in the act of signing a check for anybody else. It might seem showy.”

“Yes, I understand,” Mrs. Roscoe-Jones retorted dryly; “but under the circumstances, that is–” 116

“Under what circumstances?” Mrs. Burke inquired quickly.

“Oh, considering that Mr. Bascom is Virginia’s father and would want to make her comfortable, you know–”

“No, I don’t know. I’m awful stupid about some things. You must have discovered that before.”

“Now Hepsey, what is the use of beating around the bush like this? You must know the common gossip of the town, and you must be in Mr. Maxwell’s confidence. What shall I say when people ask me if he is engaged to Virginia Bascom?”

“Tell ’em you don’t know a blessed thing about it. What else can you tell ’em? You might tell ’em that you tried to pump me and the pump wouldn’t work ’cause it needed packin’.”

After this, Mrs. Roscoe-Jones felt that there was nothing left for her to do but retire from the scene; so she crossed the road.

When Mrs. Burke began the actual work on the rectory she quickly realized what she had to cope with. The workmen of Durford had a pleasing habit of accepting all offers of work, and promising anything, and making a start so as to get the job; and then, having upset the whole premises, they promptly “lit out” for parts unknown in order to get another 117 job, and no mortal knew when they would return. It always seemed promising and hopeful to see a laboring man arrive in his overalls with his dinner-pail and tools at seven; but when two hours later he had vanished, not to return, it was a bit discouraging. Mrs. Burke was not in a very good humor when, arriving at the rectory, she met Tom Snyder the plumber, at ten-thirty, walking briskly away from his job. She planted herself squarely across the walk and began:

“Good morning, Thomas; where are you going, if I may ask?”

“I am going back for my tools, Mrs. Burke.”

“Excuse me, Thomas, but you were never more mistaken in your life. You put the kitchen pipes out of business two weeks ago, and you must have been goin’ back for your tools ever since. I suppose you’re chargin’ me by the hour for goin’ backwards.”

Thomas looked sheepish and scratched his head with his dirty fingers.

“No, but I have to finish a little job I begun for Elias Warden on the hill. I’ll be back again right away.”

“None of that, Thomas. You’re goin’ back to the rectory with me now, and if the job isn’t finished by six o’clock, you’ll never get your hands on it again.”

The crestfallen Thomas reluctantly turned around 118 and accompanied Hepsey back to the rectory and finished his work in half an hour.

After much trial and tribulation the rectory was duly repaired, replastered, and papered. The grass had been cut; the bushes were trimmed; and the house had been painted. Then Mrs. Burke obtained a hayrack with a team, and taking Nickey and Jonathan Jackson with her, made a tour of the parish asking for such furniture as individual parishioners were willing to give. Late in the afternoon she arrived at the rectory with a very large load, and the next day Jonathan was made to set to work with his tools, and she started in with some paint and varnish, and the result seemed eminently satisfactory to her, even though her hands were stained, she had had no dinner, and her hair was stuck to her head here and there in shiny spots. As they were leaving the house to return home for supper, she scowled severely at Jonathan as she remarked:

“Jonathan, I do believe you’ve got more red paint on the top of your head than you left on the kitchen chairs. Do for mercy sake wash the end of your nose. I don’t care to be seen comin’ out of here with you lookin’ like that,” she added scathingly.

After that, it was, as Mrs. Burke remarked, just fun to finish the rectory; and though so much had 119 been given by the people of the parish, there were many new pieces of furniture delivered, for which no one could account. As neither Mr. Bascom nor Miss Bascom had sent anything, and as neither had appeared on the scene, excitement was at fever heat. Rumor had it that Virginia had gone to the city for a week or so, to buy her trousseau. Presently the report circulated that Maxwell was going to bring his bride back with him when he returned from his vacation.

The day before the one set for Maxwell’s arrival Mrs. Burke confessed the truth, and suggested that the rectory be stocked with provisions, so that the bride and groom should have something to eat when they first got home. The idea seemed to please the parish, and provisions began to arrive and were placed in the cellar, or on the newly painted pantry shelves, or in the neat cupboards. Mrs. Talbot sent a bushel of potatoes, Mrs. Peterson a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Andrews two loaves of bread; Mrs. Squires donated a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Johnson some frosted cake, and Mrs. Marlow two bushels of apples. Mrs. Hurd sent a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Waldorf three dozen eggs, and a sack of flour; Mrs. Freyburg sent a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Jones a boiled ham, Mrs. Orchardson two bushels 120 of turnips and half a pan of soda biscuit.

Mrs. Burke received the provisions as they arrived, and put them where they belonged. Just about supper time Mrs. Loomis came with a large bundle under her arm and remarked to Hepsey:

“I thought I’d bring something nobody else would think of—something out of the ordinary that perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell would relish.”

“I’m sure that was real thoughtful of you, Mrs. Loomis,” Hepsey replied. “What have you got?”

“Well,” Mrs. Loomis responded, “I thought I’d bring ’em two pans of my nice fresh soda biscuit.”

Mrs. Burke kept her face straight, and responded cheerfully:

“That was awful nice of you, Mrs. Loomis.”

“Oh, that’s all right. And if you want any more, just let me know.”

Finally, when the door was closed on the last contributor, Mrs. Burke dropped into a chair and called:

“Jonathan Jackson, come here quick.”

Jonathan responded promptly, and anxiously inquired:

“Hepsey, be you ill?”

“No, I’m not sick; but we have ten pans of soda biscuit. They are in the pantry, down cellar, in the woodshed, on the parlor table. For mercy’s sake 121 take eight pans out to the chickens or stick ’em on the picket fence. I just loathe soda biscuit; and if any more come I shall throw ’em at the head of the woman that brings ’em.”

CHAPTER X

THE BRIDE’S ARRIVAL

Next morning, when Nickey brought up the mail, Mrs. Burke looked anxiously over her letters until she came to the one she was expecting. She read it in silence.

The gist of the matter was that Maxwell had been married to the nicest girl in the world, and was looking forward to having Mrs. Burke meet her, and to have his wife know the woman who had been so supremely good to him in the parish. He closed by informing her that they were to return the next day at 123 five P. M., and if it were not asking too much, he hoped that she would take them in for a few days until they could find quarters elsewhere. The letter was countersigned by a pretty little plea for friendship from “Mrs. Betty.”

Mrs. Burke replaced the letter and murmured to herself, smiling:

“Poor little dear! Of course they could come and stay as long as they pleased; but as the rectory is in order, I think that I’ll meet them at the depot, and take them there direct. They’ll be much happier alone by themselves from the start. I’ll have supper ready for ’em, and cook the chickens while they’re unpackin’ their trunks.”

As Mrs. Burke thought it best to maintain a discreet silence as to the time of their arrival, there was no one but herself to meet them at the station when the train pulled in. As Maxwell presented his wife to Mrs. Burke, Hepsey took the girl’s two hands in hers and kissed her heartily, and then, looking at her keenly as the bride blushed under her searching gaze, she remarked:

“You’re a dreadful disappointment, Mrs. Maxwell. I’m afraid it’ll take me a long time to get over it.”

“I am horribly sorry to disappoint you so, Mrs. Burke.” 124