Mrs. Tree

There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their feet, and glanced one at another.

"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted."

"That's so," said the elders.

"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, and if Mis' Tree answers for him – why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned."

The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes – shrewd blue eyes, with a twinkle in them – roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove.

"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o' peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic."

"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were offered partly in jest."

"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth.

CHAPTER VII.

IN MISS PENNY'S SHOP

One of the pleasantest places in Elmerton was Miss Penny Pardon's shop. Miss Penny (short for Penelope) and Miss Prudence were sisters; and as there was not enough dressmaking in the village to keep them both busy at all seasons, and as Miss Penny was lame and could not "go" much, as we say in the village, she kept this little shop, through which one passed to reach the back parlor where Miss Prudence cut and fitted and stitched. It was a queer little shop. There were a few toys, chiefly dolls, beautifully dressed by Miss Prudence, with marbles and tops in their season for the boys; there was a little fancy work, made by various invalid neighbors, which Miss Penny undertook to sell "if 'twas so she could," without profit to herself; a little stationery, and a few small wares, thread and needles, hairpins and whalebone – and there were a great many birds. Elmerton was a great place for cage-birds, and Miss Penny was "knowing" about them; consequently, when any bird was ailing, it was brought to her for advice and treatment, and there were seldom less than half a dozen cages in the sunny window. One shelf was devoted to stuffed birds, it being the custom, when a favorite died, to present it to Miss Penny for her collection; and thus the invalid canaries and mino birds were constantly taught to know their end, which may or may not have tended to raise their spirits.

One morning Miss Penny was bustling about her shop, feeding the birds and talking to Miss Prudence, the door between the two rooms being open. She was like a bird herself, Miss Penny, with her quick motions and bright eyes, her halting walk which was almost a hop, and a way she had of cocking her head on one side as she talked.

"So I says, 'Of course I'll take him, Mis' Tree, and glad to. He'll be company for both of us,' I says. And it's true. I'd full as lieves hear that bird talk as many folks I know, and liever. I told her I guessed about a week would set him up good, taking the Bird Manna reg'lar, and the Bitters once in a while. A little touch of asthmy is what he's got; it hasn't taken him down any, as I can see; he's as full of the old Sancho as ever. Willy Jaquith brought him down this morning, while you was to market. How that boy has improved! Why, he's an elegant-appearing young man now, and has such a pretty way with him – well, he always had that – but now he's kind of sad and gentle. I shouldn't suppose he had any too long to live, the way he looks now. Well, hasn't Mary Jaquith had a sight of trouble, for one so good? Dear me, Prudence, the day she married George Jaquith, she seemed to have the world at her feet, didn't she?"

"Eheu fugaces," said a harsh voice from a corner.

"There, hear him!" said Miss Penny. "I do admire to hear him speak French. Yes, Jocko, he was a clever boy, so he was. Pretty soon Penny'll get round to him, and give him a good washing, a Beauty Bird, and feed him something real good."

"'Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,Labuntur anni;'

tell that to your granny!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, turning a bright yellow eye on her knowingly.

"Bless your heart, she wouldn't understand if I did. She never had your advantages, dear," said Miss Penny, admiringly. "Here, now you have had a nice nap, and I'll move you out into the sun, and give you a drop of Bird Bitters. Take it now, a Beauty Boy. Prudence, I wish't you could see him; he's taking it just as clever! I never did see the beat of this bird for knowingness."

"Malviny Weight was askin' me about them Bitters," said Miss Prudence's voice from the inner room. "She wanted to know if there was alcohol in 'em, and if you thought it was right to tempt dumb critters."

"She didn't! Well, if she ain't a case! What did you say to her, Prudence? Hush! hush to goodness! Here she is this minute. Good morning, Mis' Weight! You're quite a stranger. Real seasonable, ain't it, this mornin'?"

"'Tis so!" responded the newcomer, who entered, breathing heavily. "I feel the morning air, though, in my bronical tubes. I hadn't ought to go out before noon, but I wanted to speak to Prudence about turnin' my brown skirt. Is she in?"

"Yes'm, she's in. You can pass right through. The door's open."

"Crickey!" said Mrs. Tree's parrot, "What a figurehead!"

"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Weight, angrily.

Miss Penny turned her back hastily, and began arranging toys on a shelf.

"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor to her."

"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. "But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird – "

She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare.

"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as pretty sometimes – won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't you, Beauty Boy?"

"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes still fixed on Mrs. Weight.

"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints."

"Helen was a beauty,Xantippe was a shrew;Medusa was a Gorgon,And so – are —you!

Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a thousand pound. Screeeeeee!"

Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into the inner room, slamming the door violently after her.

"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a man in this village, he'd wring that bird's neck."

Miss Prudence was removing pins from her mouth, preparatory to a reply, when Miss Penny appeared, very pink, it might be with indignation at the parrot's misconduct.

"There, Mis' Weight!" she said, soothingly, "I'm real sorry. You mustn't mind what a bird says. It's only what those wild boys taught him, Arthur Blyth and Willy Jaquith, and I'm sure neither one of 'em would do it to-day, let alone Arthur's being dead. Why, he says it off same as he would a psalm, if they'd taught him that, as of course it's a pity they didn't. You won't mind now, will you, Mis' Weight?"

Mrs. Weight, very majestic, deposited her bundle on the table, and sat down.

"I say nothing of the dead," she proclaimed, after a pause, "and but little of the livin'; but I should be lawth to have the load on my shoulders that Mis' Tree has. The Day of Judgment will attend to Arthur Blyth, but she is responsible for Will Jaquith's comin' back to this village, and how she can sleep nights is a mystery to me. I thank Gracious I see through him at once. Some may be deceived, but I'm not one of 'em."

"Now, Mis' Weight, I wouldn't talk so, if I was you," said Miss Penny, still soothingly. "Willy Jaquith's doing real pretty in the office, everybody says. Mr. Homer's tickled to death to have him there, and they've got the place slicked up so you wouldn't know it. I always thought Homer Hollopeter had a sufferin' time under Isr'el Nudd, though he never said anything. It's not his way."

"What did you say you wanted done with this skirt?" asked Miss Prudence, breaking in. She had less patience than Miss Penny, and she bent her steel-bowed spectacles on the visitor with a look which meant, "Come to business, if you have any!"

"Well, I don't hardly know!" said Mrs. Weight, unrolling her bundle. "I'm so upset with that screeching Limb there, I feel every minute as if I should have palpitations. It does seem as if the larger I got the frailer I was inside. The co'ts of my stom – "

"I thought you said 'twas a skirt!" Miss Prudence broke in again, grimly.

"So 'tis. There! I got something on this front brea'th the other day, and it won't come out, try all I can. I thought mebbe you could – "

She plunged into depths of pressing and turning. At this moment the shop-bell rang, and Miss Penny slipped back to her post.

"Good mornin', Miss Vesta! Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, as the saying is."

"I thank you, Penelope. How do you do this morning?" inquired Miss Vesta Blyth. "I trust you and Prudence are both well."

"Yes'm, we're real smart, sister 'n' me both. Sister's had the lumbago some this last week, and my limb has pestered me so I couldn't step on it none too lively, but other ways we're real smart. I expect you've come to see about Darlin' here."

She took a cage from the window and placed it on the counter. In it was a yellow canary, which at sight of its mistress gave a joyous flap of its golden wings, and instantly broke into a flood of song.

"Oh!" said Miss Vesta, with a soft coo of surprise and pleasure.

"He has found his voice again. And he looks quite, quite himself. Why, Penelope, what have you done to him to make such a difference in these few days? Dear little fellow! I am so pleased!"

Miss Penny beamed. "I guess you ain't no more pleased than I be," she said. "There! I hated to see him sittin' dull and bunchy like he was when you brought him in. I've ben givin' him Bird Manna and Bitters right along, and I've bathed them spots till they're all gone. I guess you'll find him 'most as good as new. Little Beauty Darlin', so he was!"

"Old friends!" said the parrot, ruffling himself all over and looking at Miss Vesta. "Vesta, Vesta, how's Phœbe?"

"Jocko here!" said Miss Vesta. "Good morning, Jocko!"

She put out a finger, and Jocko clawed it without ceremony.

"I advised Aunt Marcia to send him to you, Penelope, and I am so glad she has done so. He seemed quite croupy yesterday, and at his age, of course, even a slight ailment may prove serious."

"How old is that bird, Miss Vesta, if I may ask?" said Miss Penny.

"I know he's older'n I be, but I never liked to inquire his age of Direxia; she might think it was a reflection."

"I remember Jocko as long as I remember anything," said Miss Vesta. "I used to be afraid of him when I was a child, he swore so terribly. The story was that he had belonged to a French marquis in the time of the Revolution; he certainly knew many – violent expressions in that language."

"I want to know if he did!" exclaimed Miss Penny, regarding the parrot with something like admiring awe.

"Why, I've never heard him use any strong expressions, Miss Vesta. He does speak French sometimes, but it doesn't sound like swearin', not a mite. Not ten minutes ago he was sayin' something about Jehu; sounded real Scriptural."

"Oh, I have not heard him swear for years," said Miss Vesta. "Aunt Marcia cured him by covering the cage whenever he said anything unsuitable. He never does it now, unless he sees some one he dislikes very much indeed, and of course he is not apt to do that. Poor Jocko! good boy!"

"Arma virumque cano!" said Jocko. "Vesta, Vesta, don't you pester! ri fol liddy fo li, tiddy fo liddy fol li!"

"Ain't it mysterious?" said Miss Penny, in an awestricken voice. "There! it always makes me think of the Tower of Babel. Did you want to take little Darlin' back to-day, Miss Blyth? I was thinkin' I'd keep him a day or two longer till his feathers looked real handsome and full. I don't suppose you'd want him converted red, would you, Miss Vesta? I'm told they're real handsome, but I don't s'pose you'd want to resk his health."

"I do not understand you, Penelope," said Miss Vesta. "Red? You surely would not think of dyeing a living bird?"

"No'm! oh, no, cert'in not, though I have heerd of them as did. But my bird book says, feed a canary red pepper and he'll turn red, and stay so till next time he moults. I never should venture to resk a bird's health, not unless the parties wished it, but they do say it's real handsome."

"I should think it very wrong, Penelope," said Miss Vesta, seriously. "Apart from the question of the dear little creature's health, it would shock me very much. It would be like – a – dyeing one's own hair to give it a different color from what the Lord intended. I am sure you would not seriously think of such a thing."

"Oh, no'm!" said Miss Penny, guiltily conscious of certain bottles on an upper shelf warranted to "restore gray hair to its youthful gloss and gleam."

"Well, then, I'll just feed him the Bird Manna, say till Saturday, and by that time he'll be his own beauty self, the handsomest canary in Elmerton. Won't he, Darlin'?"

"And I hope Silas Candy is prepared to answer for it at the Judgment Seat!" said Mrs. Weight, in the doorway of the inner room. "Between him and Mis' Tree that Tommy promises to be fruit for the gallus if ever it bore any. Every sheet on the line with 'Squashnose' wrote on it, and a picture of Isick that anybody would know a mile off, and all in green paint. Oh, good morning, Vesta! Why, I thought for sure you must be sick; you weren't out to meeting yesterday."

"No, I was not," said Miss Vesta, mildly. "I trust you are quite well, Malvina, and that the deacon's rheumatism is giving him less trouble lately?"

"If Malviny Weight ain't a case!" chuckled Miss Penny, as the two visitors left the shop together. "I do admire to see Miss Vesta handle her, so pretty and polite, and yet with the tips of her fingers, like she would a dusty chair. There! what was I sayin' the other day? The Blyth girls is ladies, and Malviny Weight – "

"Malviny Weight is a pokin', peerin', pryin' poll-parrot!" said Miss Prudence's voice, sharply; "that's what she is!"

"Why, Prudence Pardon, how you talk!" said Miss Penny.

CHAPTER VIII.

A TEA-PARTY

"I wish we might have had William Jaquith as well," said Miss Vesta. "It would have pleased Mary, and every one says he is doing so well."

"I am quite as well satisfied as it is, my dear Vesta," replied Miss Phœbe. "Let me see; one, two, three – six cups and saucers, if you please; the gold-sprigged ones, and the plates to match. I think it is just as well not to have William Jaquith. I rejoice in his reform, and trust it will be as permanent as it is apparently sincere; but with Mr. and Mrs. Bliss – no, Vesta, I feel that the combination would hardly have been suitable. Besides, he and Cousin Homer could not both leave the office at once, so early in the evening."

"That is true," said Miss Vesta. "Which bowl shall we use for the wine jelly, Sister Phœbe? I think the color shows best in this plain one with the gold stars; or do you prefer the heavy fluted one?"

The little lady was perched on the pantry-steps, and looked anxiously down at Miss Phœbe, who, comfortably seated, on account of her rheumatism, was vainly endeavoring to find a speck of dust on cup or dish.

"The star-bowl is best, I am convinced," said Miss Phœbe, gravely; then she sighed.

"I sometimes fear that cut glass is a snare, Vesta. The pride of the eye! I tremble, when I look at all these dishes."

"Surely, Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, gently, "there can be no harm in admiring beautiful things. The Lord gave us the sense of beauty, and I have always counted it one of his choicest mercies."

"Yes, Vesta; but Satan is full of wiles. I have not your disposition, and when I look at these shelves I am distinctly conscious that there is no such glass in Elmerton, perhaps none in the State. In china Aunt Marcia surpasses us, – naturally, having all the Tree china, and most of the Darracott; I have always felt that we have less Darracott china than is ours by right, – but in glass we stand alone. At times I feel that it may be my duty to give away, or sell for the benefit of the heathen, all save the few pieces which we actually need."

"Surely, Sister Phœbe, you would not do that!" said Miss Vesta, aghast. "Think of all the associations! Four generations of cut glass!"

"No, Vesta, I would not," said Miss Phœbe, sadly; "and that shows the snare plainly, and my feet in it. We are perishable clay! Suppose we put the cream in the gold-ribbed glass pitcher to-night, instead of the silver one; it will go better with the gold-sprigged cups. After all, for whom should we display our choicest possessions if not for our pastor?"

Little Mr. Bliss, the new minister, was not observant, and beyond a vague sense of comfort and pleasure, knew nothing of the exquisite features of Miss Phœbe's tea-table. His wife did, however, and as she said afterward, felt better every time the delicate porcelain of her teacup touched her lips. Mrs. Bliss had the tastes of a duchess, and was beginning life on a salary of five hundred dollars a year and a house. Doctor Stedman and Mr. Homer Hollopeter, too, appreciated the dainty service of the Temple of Vesta, each in his own way; and a pleasant cheerfulness shone in the faces of all as Diploma Crotty handed round her incomparable Sally Lunns, with a muttered assurance to each guest that she did not expect they were fit to eat.

"Phœbe," said Doctor Stedman, "I never can feel more than ten years old when I sit down at this table. I hope you have put me – yes, this is my place. Here is the mark. You set this table, Vesta?"

Miss Vesta blushed, the blush of a white rose at sunset.

"Yes, James," she said, softly. "I remembered where you like to sit."

"You see this dent?" said Doctor Stedman, addressing his neighbor, Mrs. Bliss; "I made that when I was ten years old. I used to be here a great deal, playing with Nathaniel, Miss Blyth's brother, and we were always cautioned not to touch this table. It was always, as you see it now, a shining mirror, and every time a little warm paw was laid on it, it left a mark. This, however, was not explained to us. We were simply told that if we touched that table, something would happen; and when we asked what, the reply was, 'You'll find out what!' That was your Aunt Timothea, girls, of course. Well, Nathaniel, being a peaceful and docile child, accepted this dictum. Perhaps, knowing his aunt, he may have understood it; but I did not, and I was possessed to find out what would happen if I touched the table. Once or twice I secretly laid the tip of a finger on it, when I was alone in the room; but nothing coming of it, I decided that a stronger touch was needed to bring the 'something' to pass. There used to be a little ivory mallet that belonged to the Indian gong – ah, yes, there it is! I remember as if it were yesterday the moment when, finding myself alone in the room, I felt that my opportunity had come. I caught up the mallet and gave a sounding bang on the sacred mahogany; then waited to see what would happen. Then Miss Timothea came in, and I found out. She did it with a slipper, and I spent most of the next week standing up."

"Our Aunt Timothea Darracott was the guardian of our childhood," Miss Phœbe explained to Mrs. Bliss. "She was an austere, but exemplary person. We derived great benefit from her ministrations, which were most devoted. A well-behaved child had little to fear from Aunt Timothea."

"You must not give our friends a false impression of James's childhood, Sister Phœbe," said Miss Vesta, looking up with the expression of a valorous dove. "He was far from being an unruly child as a general thing, though of course it was a pity about the table."

"Thank you, Vesta!" said Doctor Stedman. "But I am afraid I often got Nat into mischief. Do you remember your Uncle Tree's spankstick, Phœbe?"

"Shall we perhaps change the subject?" said Miss Phœbe, with bland severity. "It is hardly suited to the social board. Cousin Homer, may I give you a little more of the chicken, or will you have some oysters?"

"A – it is immaterial, I am obliged to you, Cousin Phœbe," said Mr. Homer Hollopeter, looking up with the air of one suddenly awakened. "The inner man has been abundantly refreshed, I thank you."

"The inner man was making a sonnet, Phœbe, and you have cruelly interrupted him," said Doctor Stedman, not without a gleam of friendly malice.

"Not a sonnet, James, this time," said Mr. Homer, coloring. "A few lines were, I confess, shaping themselves in my mind; it is very apt to be the case, when my surroundings are so gracious – so harmonious – I may say so inspiring, as at the present moment."

He waved his hands over the table, whose general effect was of crystal and gold, cream and honey, shining on the dark mirror of the bare table.

"I agree with you, I'm sure, Mr. Hollopeter," said little Mrs. Bliss, heartily. "I couldn't write a line of poetry to save my life, but if I could, I am sure it would be about this table, Miss Blyth. It is the prettiest table I ever saw, and the prettiest setting."

Miss Phœbe looked pleased.

"It is a Darracott table," she said. "My aunt, Mrs. Tree, has the mate to it. They were saved when Darracott House was burned, and naturally we value them highly. I believe they formed part of the original furnishing brought over from England by James Lysander James Darracott in 1642. It is a matter of rivalry between our good Diploma Crotty and her aunt, Mrs. Tree's domestic, as to which table is in the more perfect condition. Mrs. Tree's table has no dent in it – "

"Ah, Phœbe, I shall carry that dent to my grave with me!" said Doctor Stedman, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "You will never forgive it, I see."

"On the contrary, James, I forgave it long ago," said Miss Phœbe, graciously. "I was about to remark that though the other table has no dent, it has a scratch, made by Jocko in his youth, which years of labor have failed to efface. To my mind, the scratch is more noticeable than the dent, though both are to be regretted. Mr. Bliss, you are eating nothing. I beg you will allow me to give you a little honey! It is made by our own bees, and I think I can conscientiously recommend it. A little cream, you will find, takes off the edge of the sweet, and makes it more palatable."

"Miss Blyth, you must not give us too many good things," said the little minister, shaking his head, but holding out his plate none the less. "Thank you! thank you! most delicious, I am sure. I only hope it is not a snare of the flesh, Miss Phœbe."

He spoke merrily, in full enjoyment of his first spoonful of honey – not the colorless, flavorless white clover variety, but the goldenrod honey, rich and full in color and flavor. He smiled as he spoke, but Miss Phœbe looked grave.

"I trust not, indeed, Mr. Bliss," she said. "It would ill become my sister and me to lay snares of any kind for your feet. I always feel, however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No? Then shall we return to the parlor?"

"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta, the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome.