the two widows, united in tribulation, became greater friends than before. neither married again, and the one lived for her little maidens, the other for her son. such close amity proved a strain at times, however, and as each knew all that there was to know about the other, each, conscious of the other’s imperfections, secretly regretted them in the friendliest spirit. then came a little difference of opinion over the children; and then, from a personal attitude of irritation not divulged to anybody, avisa, smarting somewhat at a pin-prick from honor haycraft touching her eldest little girl, spoke in overt fashion to a common friend at postbridge.
“she’s a very good woman,” said mrs. mogridge, while she drank a dish of tea with mrs. bloom. “a pattern wife her was, an’ steady as time since her man was called, an’ a pattern mother, though her goose is a swan, as one might expect, an’ she thinks her ugly, li’l fat boy is a cherub, poor dear. well, ’tis natural so to do. i wouldn’t blame her; we mothers be all alike there. but i could wish she had more brains, an’ didn’t believe such a lot of rummage an’ nonsense. to credit all that dead an’ gone stuff p. 308about pixies, an’ the heath-hounds, an’ the use of herbs picked in moonlight, an’ the planting of seeds ’pon a good friday—why, ’tis onbecoming in a growed-up woman as went to sunday-school; an’ i wish she’d drop it.”
that was all that avisa said to mrs. bloom, the washerwoman; but a fortnight afterward it happened that by evil chance mrs. bloom fell out bitterly with the water-bailiff’s widow, and told mrs. mogridge that she was a cat, and that ’twas well known her husband never died of a chill at all, but from his wife’s unkindness and cruelty. she said a great many other things of a nature not necessary to set down; and, as a result, mrs. mogridge felt it impossible longer to affect the society of mrs. bloom.
then did mrs. bloom ask honor haycraft to a cup of tea; and honor, smarting with indignation at the treatment her dearest friend had received from the washerwoman’s venomous tongue, accepted the invitation. her purpose was loyal to the other widow. she intended to glean further particulars concerning mrs. bloom’s abominable opinions and assertions touching avisa. because a man in the village had told them that mrs. bloom’s statements were in the nature of a libel, and might even put her into prison.
hoping to catch mrs. bloom in some outrageous utterance, and so assist her friend to crush the p. 309washerwoman, honor haycraft appeared in a cottage that always reeked of soap and steam.
mrs. bloom immediately came to personalities; and then honor’s freckles stood out brown upon her red skin; she grew hot from her heart outward; the tea lost its savour, and the toast its charm.
“sorry am i to quarrel with any living thing—man, woman or mouse—but one has one’s pride,” said mrs. bloom. “ess, one has one’s pride; an’ if there’s a thing i do pride myself upon, after my gift of washing, ’tis my gift of silence. it don’t come easy to any healthy-minded woman in a village this size to keep her mouth shut; an’ i confess that it didn’t come easy to me; but i larned how to do it, an’ i’ve been a faithful friend to a gert many people, an’ never quarrelled with a living soul, gentle or simple, till avisa mogridge broke with me.”
“she’s got a proper grudge against you,” said honor, cautiously. “an’ i’m on her side, i warn you.”
“no doubt: you’ve heard her tale. i’m not going to say anything about it to you, because you are her particular friend, an’ blessed are the peacemakers. but this i’ll say, though far be it from me to set friends against friends: i would advise you to take care. she’s a fire as a very little spark will set on light,—a very critical woman,—always was so. it’s a fault where there’s no judgement. her can’t help it. her criticises other folks’ ways, an’ their p. 310habits, an’ their ideas, an’ even their children. now, if there is a dangerous trick on god’s earth, ’tis to criticise other folks’ children.”
“she’s a right to her opinions, however.”
“most surely she have; an’ she’ve a right to the air she breathes, an’ the water she drinks. she’ve a right to her ideas; but she’s no right to utter ’em where they might do harm. you an’ me be the best friends possible, thank god, an’ she’s no right to say an unkind word of you to me, any more than i’d have a right to say an unkind word of her to you; because you an’ she be the best friends possible likewise. an’ not a word against her would ever pass my lips to you; because you’m a woman as feels very deeply, an’ i should make mischief, which god forbid.”
“her never said a word against me, that i’ll swear to,” said honor, hotly; “an’ if an angel from heaven told me her did, i wouldn’t believe it.”
“an’ quite right you’d be,” said mrs. bloom. “you put it like a true friend. true friendship be a-thought blind always; an’ ’tis well it is so, for where there’s clear seeing between any two human beings, old or young, man or woman, perfect friendship can’t be. that’s why i’ve always kept my mouth shut so close all my life; and i ban’t going to begin to open it now i’m turned forty-five—not even to you, my dear.”
p. 311“not a word would i believe—not a syllable,” repeated honor.
“an’ not a word would you hear from me—good or bad. what she said was kindly meant—very kindly meant indeed. it only showed that no two humans look at life from the same point of view. we knowed that afore. for my own part i’ve always declared that ’twas weak of you to believe all they stories of ghosts an’ goblins, an’ dancing stones an’ the like. as a deep-thinking an’ true christian i feel it. but the difference between me an’ her is that i say it to your face; she blames you behind your back.”
“avisa mogridge has laughed at me often enough about it. that’s nothing,” said honor. “i know ’tis nonsense really, but i can’t help believing the things.”
“i’m very glad you’ve got the sense to see it so. ‘no,’ i said, ‘no, mrs. mogridge, whatever honor haycraft may be, she’s not a fool. her father told her about these solemn things in her youth, an’ many an old ancient man hereabouts do still believe in ’em, though of course the bible is short an’ sharp with witches an’ such like.’”
“she didn’t say i was a fool?”
“well, since you ax me, i must be honest, for my own soul’s sake. trouble i won’t make, an’ you’m far too sensible to think of it again. ‘fool’ was not p. 312the word she used, but she wished you had more brains. that may be the same thing, or it may not. i up rather sharp an’ denied you had any lack of intellects; but she said she was in the right. ‘prove it,’ i said. ‘prove it you can’t, avisa mogridge. she’m a sensible, clever, good girl,’ i said, ‘an’ her head’s screwed on the right way.’
“she bided silent a moment. then she said, ‘honor reckons her goose is a swan, an’ thinks that her ugly, li’l fat boy is a cherub.’ i stared at her till my eyes bulged out; i couldn’t believe my own ears. she meant it, of course; but no call for you to grow so red, my dear, she didn’t mean it a bit unkindly. ’twas just her honest opinion that your little angel be too fat an’ too ugly for anything. ‘if you think that,’ i answered her, ‘you’d better not mention it.’”
“she said my li’l boy was ugly?”
“she thinks so. she’s positive of it. she’s a very honest woman, mind you. with all her many faults, she’s honest. she wouldn’t have said it if she hadn’t really believed it. she’m dead certain of it.”
“my billy ugly! did ’e ever set eyes on a finer babby, tell me that?”
“me? i never seed such a purty child in all my life. he’m a like a li’l blue-eyed love off a valentine. but she—”
p. 313“a woman who could say my child was ugly could only say it for malice,” declared the red-haired mother, with a rising breast.
“don’t think that. her own maidens be very homely, you see. ’tis a little natural jealousy, be-like.”
“’tis a lie, jane bloom, an’ i’ll never believe she said it—never.”
“you’ll be sorry for that word, honor haycraft. ax her, then. ax her if her didn’t tell me your little boy was fat an’ ugly. she’s never been catched out in a lie yet, ’tis said. see what she’ll answer you. an’ when you’ve heard her speak, i shall expect you to say you’m sorry to me. i never yet willingly uttered an unkind word against any living soul, an’ never will. if you want to live in a fool’s paradise, that’s your lookout. but it shall never be said i didn’t do my duty to my neighbour according to the prayer book ordinance.”
with this vague but masterly speech mrs. bloom rose from her tea and held the cottage door open. her guest took the hint, and in ten minutes was at home again.
then she crossed the road, and seeing avisa mogridge in her garden with the little girls and the infant billy, who had been left in trust with her, honor spoke:
“just one word, an’ only one, afore i go down to p. 314the village an’ give that old cat-a-mountain, jane bloom, the lie to her crooked face.”
“ah! what have she said, then?” asked the other. mrs. mogridge rose from pulling up weeds, and lifted her shoulders to ease her back.
“she’ve told me as you told her that my child was fat an’ ugly. i answered in one word that she was a wicked liar. an’ she answered back that i’d better ax you, for you’d never been known to tell a falsehood in all your born days. did you say it or didn’t you, avisa? i only want your word. then i’ll go back-along and give her what for.”
mrs. mogridge paused with a bit of groundsel in her hand. the children frolicked beside her, and she bade them be silent, sharply. then she dropped the groundsel and turned and spoke.
“i told you that you was wrong to go an’ speak to her. i warned you against it. now, i suppose, the fat’s in the fire. you’d made me cross a fortnight agone, when you said that my minnie’s second teeth would never come right. an’ i got talking like a fool just afterward, an’ i certainly said to mrs. bloom that your goose was a swan—same as it is with all of us mothers—an’ i said that your little, dear boy was—was ugly. ’twasn’t a right or a kind thing to say, an’ i’m very—”
“you said it! an’ like enough you’ve said it a thousand times. you’m a wicked traitor; an’ i’ll p. 315never speak to you again, so help me god; an’ if your beastly childer cross my threshold any more, or so much as touch my garden palings, i’ll throw boiling water over ’em, so now you know, you evil-minded, jealous devil!”
mrs. haycraft spoke no more, and waited for no answer. she snatched up her child, rushed into her own house, banged the door and was soon sobbing over her fat-nosed billy.
