The children should go to school, captain, I know, said Mrs. Sleeper; but Im afraid they will not take kindly to the change.
Ill make em, then. Its time they were broke, and I flatter myself Im able to bring em under control. But make no interference with my plans. Once begun, they must stick to school. Its for their good, you know.
Very well, captain; I consent; only be easy with them at first.
O, Ill be easy enough, never fear, if they mind me; if not, they must take the consequences. So, next Monday fix em up, and Ill take em over, and talk to Drinkwater.
Ill have them all ready, captain, and thank you for the trouble youre taking, said Mrs. Sleeper.
Now, mind! no interference from you or Hulda. If there is
Dont fret yourself about me, capn. Mercy knows Ive trouble enough of my own. I declare, theres that lumbago comin on agin, groaned Aunt Hulda.
The captain seemed highly delighted at the prospect of a change in the condition of his enemy, and, with a triumphant smile, backed into the entry.
Hallo! theres my horse, reeking with sweat. Where is that imp of mischief? thundered the exasperated captain. If I catch her
Here I am, capn. Clear the coast! Ha, ha, ha! Hooray!
The voice came from the garret. There was a thundering racket on the stairs, a crash against the door, which flew open, and Becky, seated in an old cradle without rockers, burst into the entry. Tired of listening, she had searched the garret for sport, had dragged this old emblem of infancy from its hiding-place to the head of the stairs, seated herself in it, and, regardless of consequences, started for a slide.
It was a reckless act. As the door flew open, the cradle struck the captains shins, throwing him backwards, and pitching Becky out of the front door on to the grass. The captain scrambled to his feet, furious with pain and choler. Becky regained hers quickly and started for the barn, the captain in hot pursuit. Another stern chase. The captain soon desisted, mounted his horse, and rode away, while Miss Becky perched herself on the rickety fence, and saluted the captains ears, as he rode down the hill, with the refrain of the well-known song, O, dear, what can the matter be?
CHAPTER III.
MRS. THOMPSONS CROSS
The captain cantered home in no enviable state of mind. His mission had been successful, in as much as he had gained Mrs. Sleepers consent to his plan for tying up her children. Otherwise he felt unhappy regarding the events of the day. There were still stinging pains in his ankles and back to remind him of Miss Beckys exploit, and the shrill, sarcastic voice of Hulda Prime still rang in his ears. That so miserable a creature as he considered her should have dared to criticise his conduct was peculiarly mortifying to his pride. Aunt Hulda had, indeed, spoken boldly. He was, undoubtedly the greatest man in Cleverly. Senior deacon in the church, moderator at town meetings, referee in all disputes, and general adviser of his fellow-townsmen, he was a man to be treated with respect, a man who would brook no interference with his plans, a man whose opinions must not be combatted, and one whom people did not think it safe to thwart. And this poor old hanger-on at peoples firesides had dared to criticise a proceeding which others had not the courage to mention in his presence. And he had not the power to punish her. Poor Aunt Hulda was never thought so much of before by a man as she was by the captain during his homeward ride.
Gloomily he rode into the yard, and consigned Uncle Ned to the care of Phil Hague, his man-of-all-work, who advanced smiling, to meet him, undeterred by the black looks of his master.
By me sowl, capn, dear, its a fine lather yez given owld Uncle Ned. Is it fur yeve rode?
No, shortly replied the captain.
Is that so? Thin whats the matter wid the baste? Shure hes not looked so wary loike since since Master Harry
Shut up, you fool! thundered the captain. Its your business to take care of him, and not to ask impertinent questions. And he stamped into the house, muttering, Am I never to hear the last of that boy?
Phil scratched his head, and looked after the captain.
Shure theres an aist wind blowin, an well have to be afther scuddin under bare poles, jist.
Gloomily the captain stalked through the various sections of his establishment, until he reached the front sitting-room, and found himself in the presence of his wife.
Mrs. Thompson was the queen of Cleverly society. The mention of her name in any company was enough to make the most silent tongue suddenly eloquent. She was plump in person and plump in virtues. Her face was just round and full enough to please everybody. No one had such rosy cheeks as Mrs. Thompson, at her time of life too! There was the kindliest light in her grey eyes, and the jolliest puckers about her mouth; and the short gray curls that flourished all over her head formed a perfect crown of beauty nothing else. Cleverly folks were proud of her, and well they might be. She was everybodys friend. She not only ministered to the wants of the needy, but she sought them out. She was the first at the bedside of the sick, and the last to give them up, for she was as well skilled in domestic medicine as she was in domestic cooking, and superior in both. She was a wondrous helper, for she knew just where to put her hands, and an enchanting talker, for she never spoke ill of anybody. She was a devout sister of the church, promulgating the true religious doctrines of faith, hope, and charity with no sanctimonious face, but purifying and warming with the incense of good deeds and the sunshine of a life cheerful, hopeful, and energetic. She had her cross to bear who has not? but she so enveloped it in the luxuriant branches of the tree of usefulness rooted in her own heart, that its burden lay easy on her broad, matronly shoulders.
On the captains entrance she was seated in a low rocking-chair, darning one of her husbands socks. She looked up, with a smile upon her face.
Ah, father! back early to-day!
Father! snapped the captain, as he flung himself upon a sofa. Why will you insist on calling me by that name? Havent I repeatedly asked you not to?
So you have Paul, so you have; and Ive repeatedly disobeyed you, cheerfully answered the good woman. I didnt mean to; but women are so forgetful! Ill be more careful in future, fath Dear me, there it is again!
There, there! whats the use of talking to you? But I wont have it. I tell you Im no father. I wont be a father. When that boy took the reins in his own hands, I cut him out of my heart. Ill never, never own him!
Mrs. Thompson bit her lips. Evidently the cross was bearing down hard upon her. Only an instant, and the smile came back.
You rode up from the bridge. Been over to Delias?
Yes, Ive been over to Delias. That woman, and that womans young ones, will drive me crazy.
Then I wouldnt go over there, if I were you. Let me be your messenger in future.
No, marm. Ive taken this case into my own hands, and I mean to finish it. When Sleeper disappeared, I told you not to go near them, for I knew that you would be just foolish enough to fix them up so comfortably, she would lead an idle life; and I wasnt going to have anything of the kind going on. Shes got to come to hard work, and she might as well commence first as last. Its a mystery to me how shes got along so well as she has.
It was no mystery to Mrs. Thompson. She had been forbidden to go, but not to send; and many and heavy had been the burdens her messengers had carried across the river to the little brown house on the hill.
But Ive settled things now, continued the captain. Next Monday the young ones go to school.
Next Monday! No, no; dont send them then! cried Mrs. Thompson, with a shade of alarm in her manner.
And why not? Id like to know. Next Monday the term begins.
Yes; but but hadnt you better wait a few days?
Wait? wait? I wont wait a moment after the doors open. Next Monday they go, bright and early.
Just as you say, Paul, said Mrs. Thompson, with a sigh. How is Delia? looking well?
No; she looks bad. Think she might, with that grumbling old crone fastened on to her.
Old crone! Why, Paul, whom do you mean?
Hulda Prime. Shes dropped in there to help! Help make her miserable; thats all shell do. Plaguy old busybody, meddling in other peoples affairs! I wish the town was well rid of her.
She is rather an encumbrance thats a fact, quietly replied Mrs. Thompson. But we are never troubled with her.
She knows better than to come near me, said the captain, with a wise shake of the head. Why, she had the impudence to taunt me with having turned my own son out of doors!
Indeed! said his wife, hardly able to conceal a smile.
Yes, she did; and shed heard that, spite of me, the boy had gone through college. Plague take her!
Indeed! Well, Aunt Hulda never picks her words. She is sometimes very aggravating.
Aggravating! Shes insolent. The idea of her daring to talk so to me! O, if there was only a law to shut the mouths of such meddling old tattlers, Id spend every cent I have but what Id lock her up where her voice could never be heard!
The captain, unable longer to keep quiet, here rose, dashed about the room two or three times, then darted out, and his angry tirade died away in the distance as he made his way to the barn.
Mrs Thompson sat quiet a moment, then burst into such a merry peal of laughter that the Canary in the cage above her head was inspired, and burst into a torrent of song. The audacity of Aunt Hulda seemed to affect Mrs. Thompson far less severely than it did her husband, for that was the cause of her mirth.
Had Captain Thompson really been a bad man, his frequent outbursts of passion might have terrified, and his fierce threats have pained her; but a long acquaintance with the defect in his otherwise good disposition had made these stormy passages too familiar to be dreaded. His one defect Mrs. Thompsons cross was obstinacy. Give the man his own way, and he was ready for any good act or work: thwart him in the slightest particular, and he was immovable. And so Mrs. Thompson, like a wise woman, never openly arrayed herself against his wishes or opinions. And yet the captain would have been astonished, had he calmly investigated the matter, to find how seldom he really had his own way. This shrewd woman knowing it was useless to combat his stubborn spirit, was continually setting up safety-rods to attract this destructive fluid where it could do no harm; contriving plans for him to combat, herself triumphing in their downfall, while he exulted in his supposed victory.
Miss Beckys career was a case in point. She had been pained to see and hear of the girls wild, mischievous pranks, and felt it was time she should be sent to school. She took occasion one day when, in sight of the window, Becky had climbed up the lightning-rod on the church, and seated herself in a window over the door, to call her husbands attention to the fact, with the remark that such exercise must be excellent for a girls constitution. The captain fired up at once, denounced such tomboy tricks, and declared the girl should go to school, or hed know the reason why.
And so thanks to Mrs Thompson, and not her husband, Becky was to be turned from the error of her ways. The captain was a liberal man; his purse was always open to the demands of his wife. She might cover every bed in the parish with comforters, clothe the poor, and feed the hungry, to her hearts content; he would never stop to count the cost. And so she often managed to repair damages his temper had caused, out of his own purse.
But the mans obstinacy had brought one serious disaster, which she found all her womans wit necessary to repair. It had driven their only child from his home, and made a breach between father and son which might never be healed.
Harry Thompson, at the age of fifteen, was a leader among the boys of Cleverly. He was brave, skilful, and mischievous. He was looked upon as a hero by his playfellows, whom he could incite to the performance of wonderful gymnastic feats, or to the perpetration of boyish tricks hardly as creditable. Among his enthusiastic admirers was Becky Sleeper, then ten years of age, whom, being a special favorite of his, he took pains to train in all the sports with which he was familiar. He was then attending the school; no interested student, but very quick and apt to learn, standing fair in his class. The next year he was sent to the academy; and a suddenly-acquired taste for learning so fired his ambitious spirit that at the end of the second year he graduated at the head of his class, with the reputation of being a remarkable scholar. Then, hungry for knowledge, he wanted to go to college. But Captain Thompson had already planned a course for his son. He had book-learning enough; he wanted him to be a practical man. He should go into the yard and learn the trade of a ship-carpenter; in time he could be a builder; and then the son could build, and the father would fit out and send his ships abroad.
The son demurred. The fathers obstinacy asserted itself; he could not be made to listen to reason; and the matter ended by the boys proclaiming his determination to go through college, if he had to scrub the floors to get through, and the fathers threat that, if he left home, the doors should be closed against his return.
The boy went. The mention of his name was forbidden in his home by the angry father. He had been gone four years, and the captain seemed as insensible to his welfare as he did when he pronounced his dictum.
But the mother, she had not held her peace for four long years without knowledge of her boy. Snugly tucked away among her treasures were weekly records of her sons progress, in his own handwriting tender, loving epistles, such as make a mothers heart warm and happy, telling of true growth in manhoods noblest attributes, and showing in every line the blessed power of a mothers influence.
Despite her cross, Mrs. Thompson was a happy woman, and the championship of her son by Aunt Hulda was a power to make her merry; for she knew how her Harry got through college. He didnt scrub the floors to get through. O, no! Captain Thompsons purse paved the way for a more stately march through the halls of learning.
And so, having had her laugh, Mrs. Thompson called, in a loud voice,
Silly!
Silly, somewhere down in the tale of the kite, answered the summons with a shrill Yes, marm, and in a few minutes entered the room.
Priscilla York was one of Mrs. Thompsons charity patients a tall, ungainly, awkward girl, whom, from pity, the good woman had taken into her house, with a desire to teach her a few of the rudiments of housekeeping.
Silly was by no means a promising pupil, her breaking in requiring the breaking up of many dishes and the exercise of much patience.
She was abrupt and jerking in her motion, except when she walked; then she seemed afraid of damaging carpets, not having been accustomed to them, and walked on tiptoe, which peculiar footfall caused the heels of her slip-shod shoes to drop with a clap-clap-clap, as she crossed the oil-cloth on the floor of the dining-room. Her clothes hung loosely on her, and as she entered the room her arms were stuck stiff at her side, her mouth wide open, and her eyes staring as though she expected to hear some dreadful news.