"Dress goods are always acceptable, Mrs. Wilson," she said with the air of one conferring a favor. "I hope you may find this of service."
And Mrs. Wilson was obliged to thank her.
"Brother Wilson," said the Rev. Adoniram Fry in a cheery voice, "I hope I do not intrude. The fact is, I couldn't keep away. I hope you will not be too proud to accept a small gift from your Methodist brother;" and he placed in the minister's hand a five dollar bill.
"Thank you, Brother Fry," said Mr. Wilson, grasping his hand cordially. "I see you understand what I most need;" this last remark being in a lower voice.
"I ought to, Brother Wilson. I never yet knew a minister who couldn't find a use for a five dollar bill."
Deacon Uriah Peabody entered next.
"I've brought you a bushel of apples, parson," he said. "My boy'll carry 'em round to the kitchen. This is a joyful day for you. Your house will overflow with the bounties of Providence."
Such speeches as these the minister, in spite of his meekness, found it hard to listen to without impatience.
"I hope it may," he said gravely. "I shall be glad to have my daily anxieties lightened."
"They will be," said the deacon. "I calc'late you won't to have to buy much for a month to come."
The Rev. Theophilus was better informed. He knew that all but a small remnant of the provisions brought in would be consumed before the company dispersed, and that two days more would suffice to dispose of the last of the donations. But he did not venture to say this. It would have given serious offense to the visitors, who felt that the minister's family could not be grateful enough for their very liberal gifts.
Mrs. Kent and Mabel were late. The former handed Mr. Wilson an envelope containing a ten dollar bill.
"A joint gift from Miss Frost and myself," she said. "Properly it is not a gift, but a small part of what we owe you."
The minister brightened up, not only because he suspected that the envelope contained money, which was the most acceptable form in which a donation could come, but because the words indicated appreciation, and a proper estimate of his relation to the donation visit. They helped him to bear the patronizing manner of Mrs. Bennett, the butcher's wife, who followed with two cheap collars for Mrs. Wilson.
"Things is brightenin' up for you, Mr. Wilson," said she. "Times is hard, but we're doin' what we can to help you along. I'd like to do more myself, but my husband has so many bad bills, and so much trouble in collectin' his money, that we're straitened when we shouldn't be."
The minister was painfully aware that he was one of the debtors who found it hard to pay his bills, and he knew that Mrs. Bennett's speech was meant for a hint.
Supper was by this time ready, and the ladies and gentlemen filed out to the supper table with alacrity. It was, doubtless, the consciousness that they were engaged in a philanthropic action that increased the appetites of the good people. At any rate, there was very little left on the table when the repast was over. All present seemed in excellent spirits. Congratulations poured in upon the minister and his wife, who, it appeared to be thought, were in great luck.
"Guess this'll put you on your feet, parson," said Deacon Peabody, a little huskily, for he had stuffed half of a large doughnut into his mouth. "The people have come for'ard very liberal today."
"Yes," said the minister unenthusiastically.
"Reminds me of the land flowin' with milk an' honey," resumed the deacon.
"If it could only last," thought Mr. Wilson. On ordinary days there was small appearance of plenty on the minister's frugal board, and, as his guests were consuming about all they brought, there seemed small chance of an improvement.
There was a turn in the tide, however. A parcel was brought from the express office, containing a neat cashmere dress, entirely made up, for Mrs. Wilson. This was accompanied by a note from Mary Bridgman, the donor, to this effect:
DEAR MRS. WILSON: -- As I still retain your measure, I have, made up this dress for you, and trust it may prove a good fit. I hope you will receive it in the same spirit in which it was sent. Your true friend, MARY BRIDGMAN.
It was long since the minister's wife had had a new dress, and the prospect of another had seemed remote enough. Nothing, therefore, could be more timely and acceptable, and the little woman, for the first time during the afternoon, seemed actually cheerful.
"I had no idee Mary was doin' so well," said old Mrs. Slocum. "That cashmere dress must have cost a good deal."
"Mary Bridgman was always extravagant," said Mrs. Hadley disapprovingly. "I don't believe she saves a cent."
Mrs. Hadley may perhaps have felt that the dressmaker's handsome gift was a tacit rebuke for her shabby offering.
Thus far the only gifts of any value had been the dress just mentioned and fifteen dollars in money. It spoke poorly for the liberality of an entire parish, especially when it is considered that three out of the four donors -- Mr. Fry, Mary Bridgman and Mabel Frost -- were outsiders. Mr. Wilson was not much disappointed. If anything, the visit had been more remunerative than he expected. To one of his scanty income fifteen dollars in cash would be a considerable help. He felt that, on the whole, the donation visit had "paid."
But there was unexpected good fortune in store for him. Ralph came in with a letter from the post-office, postmarked New York.
"I wonder who it can be from, father," he said. "Do you know any one in New York?"
"Only Miss Bridgman, and we have heard from her."
"Better open the letter, parson," said Mrs. Pulsifer, whose curiosity was excited. "We'll all excuse you."
Thus adjured, the minister did so. As he read, his face became luminous with joy, and he fervently ejaculated, Thank God for all His goodness!"
"What is it, parson?" inquired Deacon Peabody.
"My friends," said the minister, clearing his throat, "I want you all to be partakers of my joy. I will read the letter. It is dated New York.
"REV. MR. WILSON -- DEAR SIR: -- I have this day deposited the sum of five hundred dollars in the Gotham Trust Company of New York city, in your name, and subject to your draft. Pardon me for not communicating my name. Rest assured that it comes from one who appreciates your services, and hopes to be considered your sincere friend and well wisher."
The reading of the letter produced a sensation. Deacon Peabody asked to see it. He put on his spectacles and examined it intently.
"I guess it's genooine," he said cautiously. "Really, Parson Wilson, it makes you a rich man."
"I congratulate you, Mr. Wilson," said Squire Hadley, cordially shaking the minister's hand. "We ain't so liberal as we might be, but I'm glad to find there's somebody that's open handed. Here's ten dollars to add to your five hundred."
"You overwhelm me, Squire Hadley," said the good man. "I feel rebuked for my want of faith in Providence. This morning I awoke with a heavy heart. Little did I dream that the burden was this day to be rolled away. Now I can start fresh, and henceforth I hope to pay my way."
It seemed odd what a sudden accession of respect there was for the minister now that he had money in the bank.
"Oh, Mr. Wilson, don't you be in a hurry about my husband's little account," said Mrs. Bennett. "He'll know you're good for it, and that'll ease his mind."
"Mrs. Bennett," said the minister gravely, "I am obliged for your offer, but I shall attend to your husband's claim at once. I have always wished to pay my debts promptly. Nothing but lack of ability has prevented."
It was quite in order that conjectures should be hazarded as to the unknown donor of this munificent gift. Who was there in New York likely to feel interested in the minister of Granville? Some one suggested that Mr. Randolph Chester lived in New York, and straightway he was questioned on the subject. He smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear madam," said he to old Mrs. Pulsifer, "if I am the person I certainly shall not own it. I prefer to remain silent."
This led to the inference that Mr. Chester really gave the money, though n
o one had suspected him previously of any tendency to liberality. But there were rival claimant's. The Raymonds were from Brooklyn, and generally supposed to be wealthy. Could they be Mr. Wilson's unknown friends? When it was suggested to them they replied evasively, neither admitting nor denying it. So opinion was divided, but it was generally thought that it lay between Mr. Chester and the Raymonds. Of course it was not Mary Bridgman, because she sent the handsome dress for Mrs. Wilson.
The minister, however, did not share in the belief. He was quite baffled in his conjecture; but he felt confident that the deposit was not made by the gentleman who had presented him with Scott's poems nor by the giver of the bottle of cheap cologne.
His good fortune was a nine days' wonder, but the mystery remained unsolved. Mr. Wilson went out among his people with a new hope and cheerfulness, and several remarked that he looked ten years younger than before the visit. Life looked brighter to all the little family at the parsonage, and Ralph began to hope that a way might be provided for him to go to college, after all. It is a little odd, too, that now, when the minister was comparatively at ease in pecuniary matters, the treasurer of the parish bestirred himself to collect the arrears of his salary, and with such good success that within a week he was able to make Mr. Wilson a payment of seventy five dollars. So true is it that "Unto him that hath shall be given." So the Rev. Theophilus, who had meditated a journey to New York, to draw upon his newly gained wealth, was able to defer the expedition.
It was a pleasant circumstance that no one appeared to rejoice more sincerely than Adoniram Fry, the Methodist minister, at the good luck of his ministerial brother. Indeed, his hearty friendliness drew the two parishes into more cordial relations, such as surely should exist between Christian people working together for a common purpose.
Meanwhile the summer was passing rapidly, and Mabel's school approached the end of its term. The Granville school closed unusually late in the season. Three years before, an elderly man, who had all his life lived as a bachelor, and, not without reason, had been regarded as a miser, astonished everybody by leaving, in his will, the sum of ten thousand dollars to the town as a fund, the interest to be devoted to lengthening the summer schools. The reason assigned was that in the long summer holidays he had been annoyed by the village children entering his orchard and robbing his fruit, which led him to believe that they would be better off if the vacation were abridged and the school prolonged.
It was near the middle of August, therefore, when Mabel's labors closed. Before the day of examination her experience was marked by two events which call for notice.
Randolph Chester had fully made up his mind to sacrifice his bachelor independence, and wear the fetters of a married man, if Mabel would accept his hand and fortune. That she would do so he did not seriously doubt. He was annoyed by the frequency with which he met Allan Thorpe, but not greatly alarmed.
"A poor artist, like Thorpe, can't marry," he reflected. "Probably he only earns a few hundred dollars a year, and Miss Frost has nothing. Even if he ventured to offer himself she could not seriously hesitate between him and me. I can make her life easy, and, though I am not so young as I once was, I am well preserved."
Mr. Chester surveyed himself in the mirror and mentally decided that in spite of certain telltale wrinkles about the eyes most persons would not take him for over forty, whereas in reality he would never see fifty again. Do not smile at his delusion. It is a sufficiently common one among people of his age. Indeed, it is natural enough to cling to the semblance of youth. Even philosophers have been known to sigh over the fast coming wrinkles, and express a willingness to resign some of their time earned wisdom for the ruddy bloom of early manhood.
Three days before the school examination Mr. Chester found his opportunity. He called at Mrs. Kent's and found Mabel alone. He felt that the opportunity must be improved.
"I shall attend your examination exercises, Miss Frost," he commenced.
"I shall be glad to see you, Mr. Chester. May I call upon you for a speech?" she added mischievously.
"By no means," said the bachelor hastily. "I am not accustomed to speak on such occasions. Do you intend to leave Granville immediately afterwards?"
"I shall probably remain in the village till the first of September."
Probably she expects an application to keep the fall term of school," thought Mr. Chester. "I am glad to hear you say so, Miss Frost," he added aloud. "We could hardly spare you."
"Thank you, Mr. Chester. I am afraid you have learned to flatter."
"Indeed I have not, Miss Frost," said Mr. Chester, earnestly. "I may add that I, perhaps, should miss you most of all."
Mabel looked at his face quickly. She suspected what was coming.
"I am certainly obliged to you for your appreciation, Mr. Chester," she returned, without betraying any maidenly confusion.
"It is something more than that," said the bachelor quickly, feeling that the moment had come. "Miss Frost -- Mabel -- I have learned to love you. I place my hand and fortune at your feet."
"You are very kind, Mr. Chester, and I am deeply indebted to you for the compliment you have paid me; but I cannot marry without love, and I do not love you."
"It will come in time," urged Mr. Chester. "All I ask is that you marry me, and I will take the risk of that."
"But I cannot," said Mabel. "We should find too late that we had made a mistake."
In spite of his love, Randolph Chester felt a little irritated at Mabel's indifference to her own interests.
"I am afraid, Miss Frost," he said, you don't understand how much I offer you. I possess independent means. I can release you from the slavery of the schoolroom, and provide for you a life of ease. We will live in the city during the greater part of the year, and in the summer come to Granville, or any other place you would prefer. It is not an unpleasant life I offer you."
"I don't think we take the same view of marriage, Mr. Chester," said Mabel. "I should not be willing to marry in order to live at ease, or to escape the `slavery of the schoolroom,' which I have found pleasant. I thank you for the compliment you have paid me, but it is impossible."
She spoke decisively, and Mr. Chester could not escape the conviction that his answer was final. He was not overwhelmed with grief, but he was bitterly angry.
"Of course you can do as you please, Miss Frost," he said sharply. "I hope you won't find out your mistake when it is too late. If you think of marrying that artist fellow, Thorpe, I may as well tell you that he can hardly support himself, much less a wife."
This was more than Mabel could bear. She rose to her feet, and her eyes flashed fire.
"You have no right to say this," she exclaimed. "Mr. Thorpe has never spoken to me of love. As for his circumstances, I have never considered them. I only know that he is a gentleman."
She swept out of the room indignantly, leaving Mr. Chester rather bewildered. He took his hat and left the house, sorely disappointed, and still more angry. His vanity had received a severe wound, which would take a longer time to heal than his heart, which had not been so seriously affected.
As he walked towards the hotel he felt very bitter towards Mabel, and scowled fiercely at Allan Thorpe, whom he happened to meet on the way, though, as it was dark, the artist was happily unconscious of it. He thirsted for revenge. He wished to show Mabel that he was not inconsolable. Unhappily for the bachelor, he was in this mood when he reached the hotel and met Miss Clementina Raymond. He did not care a particle for her, but spite against Miss Frost hurried him on to the avowal of a passion that he did not feel. His offer was rather a cool, business-like proposal than an impulsive declaration of affection. But Clementina made up for his lack of sentiment by a bashful confusion, which was very well assumed.
"I am so surprised, and so embarrassed, Mr. Chester," she said. "How could I dream that you were kind enough to regard me with such sentiments? I ought, perhaps, to consult mamma."
"If you have any doubt about your answer," said Mr. Che
ster abruptly, already half regretting his precipitancy, "say so without hesitation."
Evidently the delay would be dangerous, and Clementina decided to settle the matter at once.
"No," she said, "I will not consult mamma. I know her high opinion of you, dear Mr. Chester -- let me say Randolph. If you care for this little hand, it is yours," and she timidly laid a large and well developed palm in his. She was rather disappointed that he did not press it to his lips. In all the novels she had taken from the Brooklyn Mercantile Library, that was what enraptured lovers always did when accepted. Mr. Chester just pressed the hand slightly, and, rising, said in a business-like way; "Very well, Miss Raymond, we will consider the matter settled. I will leave you now, as you will probably wish to tell your mother."
This was the way in which Clementina told her mother the news: "Mamma, that old goose has proposed, and I have accepted him."
"What old goose?"
"Randolph Chester, of course. He's as old as the hills, but he's got money."
"And you are nearly twenty five, my love."
"Oh, bother, mamma! What's the use of mentioning my age? Somebody might be within hearing. Remember, if he asks how old I am, you are not to answer so impertinent a question."
"Very well, Clementina. Of course, my child, our interests are the same. I am really glad you will have a husband of means. It has been very hard to keep up a genteel appearance on our limited income, and it will be a relief to have some one to provide."
"You are right, mother. Of course I wouldn't think of marrying the old mummy if he hadn't plenty of money. He thinks we are rich; so you must be careful not to drop any hint of our real situation until after we are married. I wonder if I can't induce him to take me to Europe for our wedding tour."
"That would be a very pleasant arrangement, Clementina. I always wanted to go to Europe."
"Of course you couldn't go, mamma," said the selfish daughter. "I am sure Mr. Chester wouldn't agree to it. I may find it very hard to induce him to take me."
A Fancy of Hers Page 9
