Rose Clark Part 16

"Thank you, thank you," muttered John, gruffly, throwing up the window in extreme disgust at the strong odor of patchouli on Finel's handkerchief, "thank you, you are _too_ good."

"I came," said Finels, "this morning to consult you on important business matters. We literary people are sadly deficient in practical affairs, and I know of no one in whose judgment I could so safely rely as your own. Can you give me your arm down street?"

"Any time to-morrow I will be happy to oblige you," said the mollified John; "to-day I have an unpostponable business engagement with the stockholders of the ---- Railroad."

"Any time--any time, my dear fellow," said Finels, who was not at all sorry for the reprieve; "I shall not think of deciding, at any rate, until I see you again," and with as faultless a bow to Mrs. Howe as Finels alone could make in a husband's presence, he backed gracefully out.

"Finels is a _pretty_ good fellow, after all," said Mr. Howe, "_rather_ too much of a fop. What's this?" he asked, taking up the book which that gentleman had left.

"Good gracious, Mr. Howe! see the paint on your new coat," said his wife, remembering the marked pa.s.sages and marginal notes, in the poems, intended for her eye alone; "good gracious, Mr. Howe! do come up into my dressing-room, and let me take it off while it is fresh."

A little sponge wet with spirits of turpentine, if it did not obliterate the paint that never was there, at least obliterated all recollection of the book from John's innocent mind; and Mrs. Howe, seeing her lord safely out of the house with his spotless coat, prepared for her call at Du Pont's.

"Please, ma'am," said Patty, "there is an old woman below, as wants to see you bad."

"Didn't I tell you to send away all beggars, Patty?"

"She is not a beggar, and yet she is not a lady exactly, and yet she _is_," said the puzzled Patty. "She is very respectable, ma'am; she said her name was--was--I declare ma'am, I am shocking at names."

"Well--send her off, any way," said Mrs. Howe; "tell her I am out."

"But I have told her you was _in_, ma'am, not knowing as you might want to see her."

"You never should do that, Patty, you should always say that you will see if I am in; that gives me a chance, you see. Go tell her then, that I am engaged."

"Please ma'am," said Patty, returning after a few minutes, "she says her name is 'Mrs. Bond,' and wants to know if she can see the young woman, and the sick baby; shall I show her up there?"

"Yes--yes--don't bother--I never shall get off to Madame Du Pont's."

One--two--three--four--five pair of back stairs, dark as only city back stairs can be. Poor old Mrs. Bond stumbled and panted, panted and stumbled breathlessly up toward the attic.

Patty threw open the door of the cook's room which Mrs. Howe, out of her abundance, had benevolently appropriated to the use of the sick child.

The floor was uncarpeted, the window was without a blind, and the fat cook's ample petticoat had been pinned up by Mrs. Howe, not out of kindness to the sick child, but to keep out the eyes of prying neighbors.

Rose sat on the only seat in the room, a low cricket, swaying to and fro with Charley in her lap, vainly trying to hush his moanings; her eyes were swollen with weeping, and her face was even whiter than Charley's, for through the long weary hours, she had paced the floor with him, or sat on the cricket, lulling him as best she could, watching every change of expression in his little wan face.

At sight of Mrs. Bond, her pent up heart found vent, and laying her head upon her shoulder she sobbed aloud.

"Don't, darling, don't," said Mrs. Bond, with difficulty restraining her own emotions at Rose's distress, and the comfortless look of every thing about her. "Dear heart, don't cry;" and taking Charley in her matronly arms, she pushed Rose gently toward the bed, and sat down beside her.

"I see--I see"--she whispered, looking round the room, "you needn't say a word, dear, it is hard to bear; but turn over, and try to catch a nap while I hold the baby;" and cuddling him up into her comfortably fat neck, the good hearted old lady commenced her weary walk up and down the attic floor. Her gentle lulling and gentler touch, for babies know well how to appreciate an experienced and skillful hand, soon soothed the little sufferer. Rose, too, relieved from the pressure of responsibility which had weighed so heavily on her inexperience, yielded to the exhaustion which overpowered her, and sank into a fitful slumber.

Mrs. Bond laid Charley down on the foot of the bed, enveloped in her own warm shawl, and with velvet tread and noiseless touch, rinsed the gla.s.ses and spoons which stood on the window-seat near her, rearranged the cook's petticoat over the window, and sat down to watch her charge.

How even those few hours' sickness had blanched Charley's cheek, and paled Rose's lip!--"How _could_ Mrs. Howe?"--but no, she would not think about it, if she could help it; and yet it _was_ cruel; no, no, she would not think of it, and leaning her head forward upon the bed, she prayed G.o.d to make the stony heart a heart of flesh.

Rose started up--she was not dreaming, for there sat good Mrs. Bond, with her snowy cap and heart-warming smile.

"Dear heart! what a nice little nap you have had," she says, kissing Rose's forehead; "try and sleep again, dear."

"No," replied Rose, rising slowly; "lie down yourself--how very tired you must be, and how kind you are! I don't know how to bear such wretched hours as I have had here; oh, mother--mother!" and Rose sobbed again.

"There--there!" said Mrs. Bond, wiping Rose's eyes with her handkerchief; "don't now, there's a dear. I don't know why this is, but I know G.o.d loves us all, though we may not sometimes think so. Bear it, and trust Him, dear; we shall know all by and by. There, don't cry, now;" and Mrs. Bond wiped away her own tears.

A little stifled moan from the shawl announced Charley's waking. Rose took him up, and sat down with him upon her lap; how hot was his little head and hand, and how heavy his eye!

"Give him a sup of cold water, dear; see how parched his lips are."

"There is none up here," said Rose. "Mrs. Howe said I must not call upon the servants, and I could not leave Charley alone to get it; now that you are here, I will go down for some, if you will take Charley."

Mrs. Bond shook her head, and motioning Rose to sit still, took a mug in her hand, and slowly felt her way down the dark back stairway.

On the third landing she had a little more light on more than one subject, as Mrs. Howe's "boudoir" door was then open for the purpose of cleaning it. What soft, downy sofas and cus.h.i.+ons!--what a mossy carpet!--what luxurious curtains and chairs! The old lady shook her head mournfully; and, supporting herself by the bal.u.s.trade, descended another pair. There was light there, too, for the drawing-room door was open; no n.i.g.g.ard hand had furnished its gilded mirrors and pictures, its lounges, tete-a-tetes, and candelabras; there was no parsimony in that ample China closet, with its groaning shelves of porcelain, silver, gold, and cut gla.s.s. Down still another pair to the kitchen, whose savory odors already greeted her nostrils; no parsimony there, with its turkeys and chickens roasting, its pies and puddings making, its custards and jellies quivering in costly cut gla.s.ses--no parsimony there.

"Will you have the goodness to show me to the pump in the yard?" asked the unsophisticated Mrs. Bond.

"Pump in the yard! won't this pump do as well?" asked the "professed cook," with a grin at one of her underlings.

"Yes, thank you," said the dignified old lady, discovering her mistake, and moving toward the pump.

"Civil," whispered the cook to her a.s.sistant, "I am sorry I laughed at her. Let me pump it for you," she said, taking the pitcher from the old lady's hand.

"I will be obliged to you if you will," she said, "I don't understand the handle of the pump. Thank you," said Mrs. Bond, with one of her disarming smiles, as she held out her hand for the pitcher.

"Let me carry it up for you," said the cook, "it is such a way up."

"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Bond, quickly, remembering what Rose had told about Mrs. Howe's order not to call on the servants.

But the cook was already out the door with the pitcher, and Mrs. Bond followed her.

"What has come over you, now, I'd like to know," said Patty, as the breathless cook returned to her turkeys, "it is the first time I ever saw you put yourself out to oblige any body."

"Well, it won't be the last time, if that old lady stays here; there's good enough in me, if people only knew how to draw it out; she does, that's the amount of it. I wish my tongue had been torn out before I made fun of her; I felt worse when she said 'thank you,' so civil, than as if she had struck me with that rolling-pin; she's one of the Bible sort; there ain't many of 'em; she'll go to heaven, she will."

"Well, let her go, I'm willing," said Patty, "now sing us the rest of 'Rosy-cheeked Molly.'"

"Oh, I can't," said the cook, breaking down at the end of the first verse, "I wish you would just stir that custard while I run up with this rocking-chair to that old lady; there's nothing on earth but a cricket in that room for her to sit on."

"You'd better not," said Patty, "Mrs. Howe said we weren't one of us to do nothing for them folks up stairs, no how."

"For all that, I shall," said the cook, shouldering the chair; "I am not afraid of Mrs. Howe; I know my value. She wouldn't part with me for her eyes, first because she likes my cooking, and second, because Mrs.

Flynn, whom she hates, wants to get me away from her; so now;" and up stairs she trudged, with the rocking-chair.

"P-h-e-w! there's some difference between that garret and this kitchen,"

said Nancy, when she returned, "both as to distance, and as to accommodations in 'em," said she, looking round upon the plentiful supply of viands. "I begin to think that young girl up there, and her baby, are awful misused; I don't believe Mrs. Howe's story about her; she don't look as if she wasn't clever."

"Well, you'd better not say so," said Patty; "it is always my rule never to burn my fingers pulling other folks' pies out of the oven."