leave it tired and cold. Love lightens Ivory’s afflictions but that is something you and I have to do without, so it seems.”
“I suppose little Rodman is some comfort to the Boyntons, even if he is only ten.” Patty suggested.
“No doubt. He’s a good little fellow, and though it’s rather hard for Ivory to be burdened for these last five years with the support of a child who’s no nearer kin than a cousin, still he’s of use, minding Mrs. Boynton and the house when Ivory’s away. The school-teacher says he is wonderful at his books and likely to be a great credit to the Boyntons some day or other.”
“You’ve forgot to name our one great blessing, Waity, and I believe, anyway, you’re talking to keep my mind off the earrings!”
“You mean we’ve each other? No, Patty, I never forget that, day or night. ‘Tis that makes me willing to bear any burden father chooses to put upon us.—Now the bread is set, but I don’t believe I have the courage to put a needle into your tender flesh, Patty; I really don’t.”
“Nonsense! I’ve got the waxed silk all ready and chosen the right-sized needle and I’ll promise not to jump or screech more than I can help. We’ll make a tiny lead-pencil dot right in the middle of the lobe, then you place the needle on it, shut your eyes, and JAB HARD! I expect to faint, but when I ‘come to,’ we can decide which of us will pull the needle through to the other side. Probably it will be you, I’m such a coward. If it hurts dreadfully, I’ll have only one pierced to-day and take the other to-morrow; and if it hurts very dreadfully, perhaps I’ll go through life with one ear-ring. Aunt Abby Cole will say it’s just odd enough to suit me!”
“You’ll never go through life with one tongue at the rate you use it now,” chided Waitstill, “for it will never last you. Come, we’ll take the work-basket and go out in the barn where no one will see or hear us.”
“Goody, goody! Come along!” and Patty clapped her hands in triumph. “Have you got the pencil and the needle and the waxed silk? Then bring the camphor bottle to revive me, and the coral pendants, too, just to give me courage. Hurry up! It’s ten o’clock. I was born at sun-rise, so I’m ‘going on’ eighteen and can’t waste any time!”
III. DEACON BAXTER’S WIVES
FOXWELL BAXTER was ordinarily called “Old Foxy” by the boys of the district, and also, it is to be feared, by the men gathered for evening conference at the various taverns, or at one of the rival village stores.
He had a small farm of fifteen or twenty acres, with a pasture, a wood lot, and a hay-field, but the principal source of his income came from trading. His sign bore the usual legend: “WEST INDIA GOODS AND GROCERIES,” and probably the most profitable articles in his stock were rum, molasses, sugar, and tobacco; but there were chests of rice, tea, coffee, and spices, barrels of pork in brine, as well as piles of cotton and woolen cloth on the shelves above the counters. His shop window, seldom dusted or set in order, held a few clay pipes, some glass jars of peppermint or sassafras lozenges, black licorice, stick-candy, and sugar gooseberries. These dainties were seldom renewed, for it was only a very bold child, or one with an ungovernable appetite for sweets, who would have spent his penny at Foxy Baxter’s store.
He was thought a sharp and shrewd trader, but his honesty was never questioned; indeed, the only trait in his character that ever came up for general discussion was his extraordinary, unbelievable, colossal meanness. This so eclipsed every other passion in the man, and loomed so bulkily and insistently in the foreground, that had he cherished a second vice no one would have observed it, and if he really did possess a casual virtue, it could scarcely have reared its head in such ugly company.
It might be said, to defend the fair name of the Church, that Mr. Baxter’s deaconhood did not include very active service in the courts of the Lord. He had “experienced religion” at fifteen and made profession of his faith, but all well-brought-up boys and girls did the same in those days; their parents saw to that! If change of conviction or backsliding occurred later on, that was not their business! At the ripe age of twenty-five he was selected to fill a vacancy and became a deacon, thinking it might be good for trade, as it was, for some years. He was very active at the time of the “Cochrane craze,” since any defence of the creed that included lively detective work and incessant spying on his neighbors was particularly in his line; but for many years now, though he had been regular in attendance at church, he had never officiated at communion, and his diaconal services had gradually lapsed into the passing of the contribution-box, a task of which he never wearied; it was such a keen pleasure to make other people yield their pennies for a good cause, without adding any of his own!
Deacon Baxter had now been a widower for some years and the community had almost relinquished the idea of his seeking a fourth wife. This was a matter of some regret, for there was a general feeling that it would be a good thing for the Baxter girls to have some one to help with the housework and act as a buffer between them and their grim and irascible parent. As for the women of the village, they were mortified that the Deacon had been able to secure three wives, and refused to believe that the universe held anywhere a creature benighted enough to become his fourth.
The first, be it said, was a mere ignorant girl, and he a beardless youth of twenty, who may not have shown his true qualities so early in life. She bore him two sons, and it was a matter of comment at the time that she called them, respectively, Job and Moses, hoping that the endurance and meekness connected with these names might somehow help them in their future relations with their father. Pneumonia, coupled with profound discouragement, carried her off in a few years to make room for the second wife, Waitstill’s mother, who was of different fibre and greatly his superior. She was a fine, handsome girl, the orphan daughter of up-country gentle-folks, who had died when she was eighteen, leaving her alone in the world and penniless.
Baxter, after a few days’ acquaintance, drove into the dooryard of the house where she was a visitor and, showing her his two curly-headed boys, suddenly asked her to come and be their stepmother. She assented, partly because she had nothing else to do with her existence, so far as she could see, and also because she fell in love with the children at first sight and forgot, as girls will, that it was their father whom she was marrying.
She was as plucky and clever and spirited as she was handsome, and she made a brave fight of it with Foxy; long enough to bring a daughter into the world, to name her Waitstill, and start her a little way on her life journey,—then she, too, gave up the struggle and died. Typhoid fever it was, combined with complete loss of illusions, and a kind of despairing rage at having made so complete a failure of her existence.
The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually busy, offered a man a good young heifer if he would jog about the country a little and pick him up a housekeeper; a likely woman who would, if she proved energetic, economical, and amiable, be eventually raised to the proud position of his wife. If she was young, healthy, smart, tidy, capable, and a good manager, able to milk the cows, harness the horse, and make good butter, he would give a dollar and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may seem, she said “yes” when the Deacon (whose ardor was kindled at having paid three months’ wages) proposed a speedy marriage. The two boys by this time had reached the age of discretion, and one of them evinced the fact by promptly running away to parts unknown, never to be heard from afterwards; while the other, a reckless and unhappy lad, was drowned while running on the logs in the river. Old Foxy showed little outward sign of his loss, though he had brought the boys into the world solely with the view of having one of them work on the farm and the other in the store.
His third wife, the one originally secured for a housekeeper, bore him a girl, very much to his disgust, a girl named Patience, and great was Waitstill’s delight at this addition to the dull household. The mother was a timid, colorless, docile creature, but Patience nevertheless was a sparkling, bright-eyed baby, who speedily became the very centre of the universe
