The Complete Works of L M Montgomery

by L. M. Montgomery

  There never was any more trouble with Mr. Riley after that. A meeker, more thoroughly chastened dog you could not find. William Adolphus had the best of it and he kept it.

  Seeing that things had calmed down and that it was five o’clock I decided to get tea. I told Alexander Abraham that I would prepare it, if he would show me where the eatables were.

  “You needn’t mind,” said Alexander Abraham. “I’ve been in the habit of getting my own tea for twenty years.”

  “I daresay. But you haven’t been in the habit of getting mine,” I said firmly. “I wouldn’t eat anything you cooked if I starved to death. If you want some occupation, you’d better get some salve and anoint the scratches on that poor dog’s back.”

  Alexander Abraham said something that I prudently did not hear. Seeing that he had no information to hand out I went on an exploring expedition into the pantry. The place was awful beyond description, and for the first time a vague sentiment of pity for Alexander Abraham glimmered in my breast. When a man had to live in such surroundings the wonder was, not that he hated women, but that he didn’t hate the whole human race.

  But I got up a supper somehow. I am noted for getting up suppers. The bread was from the Carmody bakery and I made good tea and excellent toast; besides, I found a can of peaches in the pantry which, as they were bought, I wasn’t afraid to eat.

  That tea and toast mellowed Alexander Abraham in spite of himself. He ate the last crust, and didn’t growl when I gave William Adolphus all the cream that was left. Mr. Riley did not seem to want anything. He had no appetite.

  By this time the doctor’s boy had arrived with my valise. Alexander Abraham gave me quite civilly to understand that there was a spare room across the hall and that I might take possession of it. I went to it and put on a wrapper. There was a set of fine furniture in the room, and a comfortable bed. But the dust! William Adolphus had followed me in and his paws left marks everywhere he walked.

  “Now,” I said briskly, returning to the kitchen, “I’m going to clean up and I shall begin with this kitchen. You’d better betake yourself to the sitting-room, Mr. Bennett, so as to be out of the way.”

  Alexander Abraham glared at me.

  “I’m not going to have my house meddled with,” he snapped. “It suits me. If you don’t like it you can leave it.”

  “No, I can’t. That is just the trouble,” I said pleasantly. “If I could leave it I shouldn’t be here for a minute. Since I can’t, it simply has to be cleaned. I can tolerate men and dogs when I am compelled to, but I cannot and will not tolerate dirt and disorder. Go into the sitting-room.”

  Alexander Abraham went. As he closed the door, I heard him say, in capitals, “WHAT AN AWFUL WOMAN!”

  I cleared that kitchen and the pantry adjoining. It was ten o’clock when I got through, and Alexander Abraham had gone to bed without deigning further speech. I locked Mr. Riley in one room and William Adolphus in another and went to bed, too. I had never felt so dead tired in my life before. It had been a hard day.

  But I got up bright and early the next morning and got a tiptop breakfast, which Alexander Abraham condescended to eat. When the provision man came into the yard I called to him from the window to bring me a box of soap in the afternoon, and then I tackled the sitting-room.

  It took me the best part of a week to get that house in order, but I did it thoroughly. I am noted for doing things thoroughly. At the end of the time it was clean from garret to cellar. Alexander Abraham made no comments on my operations, though he groaned loud and often, and said caustic things to poor Mr. Riley, who hadn’t the spirit to answer back after his drubbing by William Adolphus. I made allowances for Alexander Abraham because his vaccination had taken and his arm was real sore; and I cooked elegant meals, not having much else to do, once I had got things scoured up. The house was full of provisions — Alexander Abraham wasn’t mean about such things, I will say that for him. Altogether, I was more comfortable than I had expected to be. When Alexander Abraham wouldn’t talk I let him alone; and when he would I just said as sarcastic things as he did, only I said them smiling and pleasant. I could see he had a wholesome awe for me. But now and then he seemed to forget his disposition and talked like a human being. We had one or two real interesting conversations. Alexander Abraham was an intelligent man, though he had got terribly warped. I told him once I thought he must have been nice when he was a boy.

  One day he astonished me by appearing at the dinner table with his hair brushed and a white collar on. We had a tiptop dinner that day, and I had made a pudding that was far too good for a woman hater. When Alexander Abraham had disposed of two large platefuls of it, he sighed and said,

  “You can certainly cook. It’s a pity you are such a detestable crank in other respects.”

  “It’s kind of convenient being a crank,” I said. “People are careful how they meddle with you. Haven’t you found that out in your own experience?”

  “I am NOT a crank,” growled Alexander Abraham resentfully. “All I ask is to be let alone.”

  “That’s the very crankiest kind of crank,” I said. “A person who wants to be let alone flies in the face of Providence, who decreed that folks for their own good were not to be let alone. But cheer up, Mr. Bennett. The quarantine will be up on Tuesday and then you’ll certainly be let alone for the rest of your natural life, as far as William Adolphus and I are concerned. You may then return to your wallowing in the mire and be as dirty and comfortable as of yore.”

  Alexander Abraham growled again. The prospect didn’t seem to cheer him up as much as I should have expected. Then he did an amazing thing. He poured some cream into a saucer and set it down before William Adolphus. William Adolphus lapped it up, keeping one eye on Alexander Abraham lest the latter should change his mind. Not to be outdone, I handed Mr. Riley a bone.

  Neither Alexander Abraham nor I had worried much about the smallpox. We didn’t believe he would take it, for he hadn’t even seen the girl who was sick. But the very next morning I heard him calling me from the upstairs landing.

  “Miss MacPherson,” he said in a voice so uncommonly mild that it gave me an uncanny feeling, “what are the symptoms of smallpox?”

  “Chills and flushes, pain in the limbs and back, nausea and vomiting,” I answered promptly, for I had been reading them up in a patent medicine almanac.

  “I’ve got them all,” said Alexander Abraham hollowly.

  I didn’t feel as much scared as I should have expected. After enduring a woman hater and a brindled dog and the early disorder of that house — and coming off best with all three — smallpox seemed rather insignificant. I went to the window and called to Thomas Wright to send for the doctor.

  The doctor came down from Alexander Abraham’s room looking grave.

  “It’s impossible to pronounce on the disease yet,” he said. “There is no certainty until the eruption appears. But, of course, there is every likelihood that it is the smallpox. It is very unfortunate. I am afraid that it will be difficult to get a nurse. All the nurses in town who will take smallpox cases are overbusy now, for the epidemic is still raging there. However, I’ll go into town to-night and do my best. Meanwhile, at present, you must not go near him, Peter.”

  I wasn’t going to take orders from any man, and as soon as the doctor had gone I marched straight up to Alexander Abraham’s room with some dinner for him on a tray. There was a lemon cream I thought he could eat even if he had the smallpox.

  “You shouldn’t come near me,” he growled. “You are risking your life.”

  “I am not going to see a fellow creature starve to death, even if he is a man,” I retorted.

  “The worst of it all,” groaned Alexander Abraham, between mouthfuls of lemon cream, “is that the doctor says I’ve got to have a nurse. I’ve got so kind of used to you being in the house that I don’t mind you, but the thought of another woman coming here is too much. Did you give my poor dog anything to eat?”

  “He has had a bet
ter dinner than many a Christian,” I said severely.

  Alexander Abraham need not have worried about another woman coming in. The doctor came back that night with care on his brow.

  “I don’t know what is to be done,” he said. “I can’t get a soul to come here.”

  “I shall nurse Mr. Bennett,” I said with dignity. “It is my duty and I never shirk my duty. I am noted for that. He is a man, and he has smallpox, and he keeps a vile dog; but I am not going to see him die for lack of care for all that.”

  “You’re a good soul, Peter,” said the doctor, looking relieved, manlike, as soon as he found a woman to shoulder the responsibility.

  I nursed Alexander Abraham through the smallpox, and I didn’t mind it much. He was much more amiable sick than well, and he had the disease in a very mild form. Below stairs I reigned supreme and Mr. Riley and William Adolphus lay down together like the lion and the lamb. I fed Mr. Riley regularly, and once, seeing him looking lonesome, I patted him gingerly. It was nicer than I thought it would be. Mr. Riley lifted his head and looked at me with an expression in his eyes which cured me of wondering why on earth Alexander Abraham was so fond of the beast.

  When Alexander Abraham was able to sit up, he began to make up for the time he’d lost being pleasant. Anything more sarcastic than that man in his convalescence you couldn’t imagine. I just laughed at him, having found out that that could be depended on to irritate him. To irritate him still further I cleaned the house all over again. But what vexed him most of all was that Mr. Riley took to following me about and wagging what he had of a tail at me.

  “It wasn’t enough that you should come into my peaceful home and turn it upside down, but you have to alienate the affections of my dog,” complained Alexander Abraham.

  “He’ll get fond of you again when I go home,” I said comfortingly. “Dogs aren’t very particular that way. What they want is bones. Cats now, they love disinterestedly. William Adolphus has never swerved in his allegiance to me, although you do give him cream in the pantry on the sly.”

  Alexander Abraham looked foolish. He hadn’t thought I knew that.

  I didn’t take the smallpox and in another week the doctor came out and sent the policeman home. I was disinfected and William Adolphus was fumigated, and then we were free to go.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Bennett,” I said, offering to shake hands in a forgiving spirit. “I’ve no doubt that you are glad to be rid of me, but you are no gladder than I am to go. I suppose this house will be dirtier than ever in a month’s time, and Mr. Riley will have discarded the little polish his manners have taken on. Reformation with men and dogs never goes very deep.”

  With this Parthian shaft I walked out of the house, supposing that I had seen the last of it and Alexander Abraham.

  I was glad to get back home, of course; but it did seem queer and lonesome. The cats hardly knew me, and William Adolphus roamed about forlornly and appeared to feel like an exile. I didn’t take as much pleasure in cooking as usual, for it seemed kind of foolish to be fussing over oneself. The sight of a bone made me think of poor Mr. Riley. The neighbours avoided me pointedly, for they couldn’t get rid of the fear that I might erupt into smallpox at any moment. My Sunday School class had been given to another woman, and altogether I felt as if I didn’t belong anywhere.

  I had existed like this for a fortnight when Alexander Abraham suddenly appeared. He walked in one evening at dusk, but at first sight I didn’t know him he was so spruced and barbered up. But William Adolphus knew him. Will you believe it, William Adolphus, my own William Adolphus, rubbed up against that man’s trouser leg with an undisguised purr of satisfaction.

  “I had to come, Angelina,” said Alexander Abraham. “I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

  “My name is Peter,” I said coldly, although I was feeling ridiculously glad about something.

  “It isn’t,” said Alexander Abraham stubbornly. “It is Angelina for me, and always will be. I shall never call you Peter. Angelina just suits you exactly; and Angelina Bennett would suit you still better. You must come back, Angelina. Mr. Riley is moping for you, and I can’t get along without somebody to appreciate my sarcasms, now that you have accustomed me to the luxury.”

  “What about the other five cats?” I demanded.

  Alexander Abraham sighed.

  “I suppose they’ll have to come too,” he sighed, “though no doubt they’ll chase poor Mr. Riley clean off the premises. But I can live without him, and I can’t without you. How soon can you be ready to marry me?”

  “I haven’t said that I was going to marry you at all, have I?” I said tartly, just to be consistent. For I wasn’t feeling tart.

  “No, but you will, won’t you?” said Alexander Abraham anxiously. “Because if you won’t, I wish you’d let me die of the smallpox. Do, dear Angelina.”

  To think that a man should dare to call me his “dear Angelina!” And to think that I shouldn’t mind!

  “Where I go, William Adolphus goes,” I said, “but I shall give away the other five cats for — for the sake of Mr. Riley.”

  Pa Sloane’s Purchase

  “I guess the molasses is getting low, ain’t it?” said Pa Sloane insinuatingly. “S’pose I’d better drive up to Carmody this afternoon and get some more.”

  “There’s a good half-gallon of molasses in the jug yet,” said ma Sloane ruthlessly.

  “That so? Well, I noticed the kerosene demijohn wasn’t very hefty the last time I filled the can. Reckon it needs replenishing.”

  “We have kerosene enough to do for a fortnight yet.” Ma continued to eat her dinner with an impassive face, but a twinkle made itself apparent in her eye. Lest Pa should see it, and feel encouraged thereby, she looked immovably at her plate.

  Pa Sloane sighed. His invention was giving out.

  “Didn’t I hear you say day before yesterday that you were out of nutmegs?” he queried, after a few moments’ severe reflection.

  “I got a supply of them from the egg-pedlar yesterday,” responded Ma, by a great effort preventing the twinkle from spreading over her entire face. She wondered if this third failure would squelch Pa. But Pa was not to be squelched.

  “Well, anyway,” he said, brightening up under the influence of a sudden saving inspiration. “I’ll have to go up to get the sorrel mare shod. So, if you’ve any little errands you want done at the store, Ma, just make a memo of them while I hitch up.”

  The matter of shoeing the sorrel mare was beyond Ma’s province, although she had her own suspicions about the sorrel mare’s need of shoes.

  “Why can’t you give up beating about the bush, Pa?” she demanded, with contemptuous pity. “You might as well own up what’s taking you to Carmody. I can see through your design. You want to get away to the Garland auction. That is what is troubling you, Pa Sloane.”

  “I dunno but what I might step over, seeing it’s so handy. But the sorrel mare really does need shoeing, Ma,” protested Pa.

  “There’s always something needing to be done if it’s convenient,” retorted Ma. “Your mania for auctions will be the ruin of you yet, Pa. A man of fifty-five ought to have grown out of such a hankering. But the older you get the worse you get. Anyway, if I wanted to go to auctions, I’d select them as was something like, and not waste my time on little one-horse affairs like this of Garland’s.”

  “One might pick up something real cheap at Garland’s,” said Pa defensively.

  “Well, you are not going to pick up anything, cheap or otherwise, Pa Sloane, because I’m going with you to see that you don’t. I know I can’t stop you from going. I might as well try to stop the wind from blowing. But I shall go, too, out of self-defence. This house is so full now of old clutter and truck that you’ve brought home from auctions that I feel as if I was made up out of pieces and left overs.”

  Pa Sloane sighed again. It was not exhilarating to attend an auction with Ma. She would never let him bid on anything. But he realized that Ma’s mind was made up
beyond the power of mortal man’s persuasion to alter it, so he went out to hitch up.

  Pa Sloane’s dissipation was going to auctions and buying things that nobody else would buy. Ma Sloane’s patient endeavours of over thirty years had been able to effect only a partial reform. Sometimes Pa heroically refrained from going to an auction for six months at a time; then he would break out worse than ever, go to all that took place for miles around, and come home with a wagonful of misfits. His last exploit had been to bid on an old dasher churn for five dollars — the boys “ran things up” on Pa Sloane for the fun of it — and bring it home to outraged Ma, who had made her butter for fifteen years in the very latest, most up-to-date barrel churn. To add insult to injury this was the second dasher churn Pa had bought at auction. That settled it. Ma decreed that henceforth she would chaperon Pa when he went to auctions.

  But this was the day of Pa’s good angel. When he drove up to the door where Ma was waiting, a breathless, hatless imp of ten flew into the yard, and hurled himself between Ma and the wagon-step.

  “Oh, Mrs. Sloane, won’t you come over to our house at once?” he gasped. “The baby, he’s got colic, and ma’s just wild, and he’s all black in the face.”

  Ma went, feeling that the stars in their courses fought against a woman who was trying to do her duty by her husband. But first she admonished Pa.

  “I shall have to let you go alone. But I charge you, Pa, not to bid on anything — on ANYTHING, do you hear?”

  Pa heard and promised to heed, with every intention of keeping his promise. Then he drove away joyfully. On any other occasion Ma would have been a welcome companion. But she certainly spoiled the flavour of an auction.

  When Pa arrived at the Carmody store, he saw that the little yard of the Garland place below the hill was already full of people. The auction had evidently begun; so, not to miss any more of it, Pa hurried down. The sorrel mare could wait for her shoes until afterwards.