eight o'clock, and Honey, looking out of the window, exclaimed joyously:
"'Ere's Sam, with a basket han a coffee-pot!"
Rutherford apologized for the poor fare, but the coffee was excellent, the bread and cold meat were appetizing, and Honey, who was the Mark Tapley of the occasion, voiced the general sentiment when, having aided Sam in spreading the viands on a billiard-table, he said: "Cold wit les is werry heatable when you're 'ungry. Ah!" he added, reflectively, "me an' mother 'as hoften been werry 'ard pushed to get has good has this 'ere."
"You haven't got a mother, have you?" asked Wildfen. He couldn't quite contradict the affirmation of a maternal entity, but came near it, in his tone at least.
"Yessir, I 'ave. That's one reason I married habove me – for to get ha comfortable 'ome for mother. My wife said Hi might bring 'er from Hengland, an' we've brought 'er 'ere to Winchester, to keep 'ouse for us, while me and 'Arriet keeps school."
To cover the general smile at this remark, Rutherford asked Sam how the ladies were getting on.
"Dunno how dey is dis mawnin', mars'r."
"Did Mrs. 'Oney stay?" inquired her husband.
"Yes, sah. I heard missus say her husband done leave her dah; she got stay dah till he done come back an' git her."
"And my Gertrude," asked Mr. Plowden, anxiously, "how was she enjoying herself?"
"Dey wa'n't nobody 'joyin' desselves, so fur as I seed, sah. Dey was a-doin' a powah of talkin'. I hyah missus say, sarcastic-like, it were de 'mizziblest merry Christmas' she ebber see; an' de udders groan like de elders does in a 'sperience meetin' when dey means 'Yes, Lawd.'"
Sam's understanding of the prevailing sentiment among the ladies was quite correct. When each of them sought her solitary bed, that night before Christmas, it was with an aching heart that it should be so desolate and dreary. In the morning they dolefully wished each other "A Merry Christmas!" and, after a late and melancholy breakfast, sat in conclave in the library, to discuss the situation.
"Where they all can have gone to, puzzles me," observed Mrs. Rutherford. "There is not a house this side of Winchester where they could get accommodation for the night."
"It was bitter cold last night," sighed Mrs. Wildfen; "and poor Steve is such a shivery fellow anyway, he would have frozen if he had tried to walk to town."
"Perhaps they're all frozen," suggested Miss Fithian, with an air of hopelessness.
"If they are," said Mrs. Rutherford, sternly, "you, Helen, will have four murders on your soul."
"I don't see why you couldn't have kept quiet, at least till after Christmas. It wasn't any of your business anyway," remarked Mrs. Wildfen, aggressively, to the old maid.
"Umph!" sniffed Miss Fithian. "It's safest not to rub cats the wrong way" – which ambiguous expression her hearers vaguely construed as having merely a general application, they not knowing its personal significance.
"Well, it has just completely spoiled our Christmas," sighed Plowden's young wife.
"And theirs too – if there's any comfort in that," added Mrs. Honey. "I never knew my angel boy to show so much spirit before. His favorite corn must have been very bad."
No one inquired the relation between his spirit and his corns.
"Have any of you decided upon a course of action?" inquired the hostess. "You don't seem to, since you say nothing. Well, I have, then. As soon as the law courts open after Christmas, I shall apply for a divorce from Mr. Rutherford."
"I don't see upon what ground," observed Mrs. Honey, who was not only the oldest but the most practically informed woman present.
"He has deceived me."
"His putting a young girl in my charge proves nothing; not even that. It seems to me that there is a game of cross-purposes here – something underneath all this that we do not understand, and that only the interested parties can explain."
"Explain in their own way," retorted Mrs. Rutherford.
"Ladies," said the amiable Mrs. Plowden, "what has occurred is very unpleasant, but for all of you is only a little disagreement that really – as Mrs. Honey says – may be capable of explanation and eventual reconciliation with your husbands. But what is my position? I am the only one who has been terribly deceived, beyond the possibility of a doubt, and the consequences of that deceit are irreparable. If Mr. Plowden left a legitimate wife in England, then what is my position? What am I?"
"The divorce court," said Mrs. Rutherford, "is as open to you as to me."
"But I don't want a divorce from my Robert," sobbed the "willowy" and now weeping Gertrude.
"And you don't need any if he has really been guilty of bigamy," added the practical Mrs. Honey.
"Oh, I'm sure he did not intend to deceive me. He must have married me by mistake."
"Married by mistake! That's a new way of marrying. Ha, ha!" laughed Miss Fithian, scornfully.
"I am willing," continued Mrs. Plowden, unheeding the old maid's taunting laugh, "to wait for his explanation before condemning him, if he would only come back and make it; but I fear he may never do so. Even now I tremble to think that he may be behind prison bars."
"If so," replied Mrs. Wildfen, "he at least is well fed and warm, no doubt, while my poor Steve is wandering over the frozen roads, in the snow, houseless, hungry – and on Christmas, of all days in the year."
"What a wretched quarrel, when there should be 'peace on earth, good-will to men'!" commented Mrs. Honey. "I could find it in my heart to forgive William, if only for the sake of the season."
None of the ladies felt "up" to going to church, so they passed the time, until luncheon was served, speculating upon what had become of the gentlemen, and how they were faring. When they returned to the library, and were talking there, the Indian-like ear of Mrs. Rutherford caught unwonted sounds in the dining-room, and she quickly glided into the hall-way to learn the cause of the violent clattering of dishes, scuffling of feet, and masculine coughing she heard. Darting into the dining-room, she surprised Sam (was the artful Sam surprised?) in the act of clearing the remains of the luncheon from the table and packing them into a large market-basket.
"Why, Sam!" she demanded, "what does this mean?"
"Fo' de Lawd, missus, I dassent tell," he replied, affecting great confusion.
"You must. I insist upon it. Where are you going with that basket of food?"
"Well, missus, ef I must 'fess, I 'fess. I gwine take it to mars'r. I'se on'y a pore ole nigger, but I can't let de gemmen starve, specially young mars'r."
"Where is he?"
"In de billiard-house, missus. All de gemmen dah. Dey's mose starbe', mose froze; don't hab nuffin but cole stuff dis mawnin. Mars'r look mighty sick, an' I reck'n dat ole man, Mars'r Plowden, he mose done gone."
"Sam," said Mrs. Rutherford, with her usual impulsiveness, "after you have taken that basket to them, come back to me. In the meantime, I will consult with my friends as to what steps to take. But say nothing to the gentlemen about this until I bid you."
"No, missus," replied Sam, shuffling off with his load, and wearing a knowing
