If there is – ”
“Don’t fret yourself about me, cap’n. Mercy knows I’ve trouble enough of my own. I declare, there’s 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! there’s my horse, reeking with sweat. Where is that imp of mischief?” thundered the exasperated captain. “If I catch her – ”
“Here I am, cap’n. 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 captain’s 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 captain’s 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. THOMPSON’S CROSS
The captain cantered home in no enviable state of mind. His mission had been successful, in as much as he had gained Mrs. Sleeper’s 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 Becky’s 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 people’s 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, cap’n, dear, it’s a fine lather yez given owld Uncle Ned. Is it fur ye’ve rode?”
“No,” shortly replied the captain.
“Is that so? Thin what’s the matter wid the baste? Shure he’s not looked so wary loike since – since Master Harry – ”
“Shut up, you fool!” thundered the captain. “It’s 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 there’s an aist wind blowin’, an’ we’ll 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 everybody’s 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 captain’s entrance she was seated in a low rocking-chair, darning one of her husband’s 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? Haven’t I repeatedly asked you not to?”
“So you have Paul, so you have; and I’ve repeatedly disobeyed you,” cheerfully answered the good woman. “I didn’t mean to; but women are so forgetful! I’ll be more careful in future, fath – Dear me, there it is again!”
“There, there! what’s the use of talking to you? But I won’t have it. I tell you I’m no father. I won’t be a father. When that boy took the reins in his own hands, I cut him out of my heart. I’ll 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 Delia’s?”
“Yes, I’ve been over to Delia’s. That woman, and that woman’s young ones, will drive me crazy.”
“Then I wouldn’t go over there, if I were you. Let me be your messenger in future.”
“No, marm. I’ve 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 wasn’t going to have anything of the kind going on. She’s got to come to hard work, and she might as well commence first as last. Its a mystery to me how she’s 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 I’ve settled things now,” continued the captain. “Next Monday the young ones go to school.”
“Next Monday! No, no; don’t send them then!” cried Mrs. Thompson, with a shade of alarm in her manner.
“And why not? I’d like to know. Next Monday the term begins.”
“Yes; but – but hadn’t you better wait a few days?”
