my acquaintance with mrs. angel dates from the hour she called upon me, in response to my application at a ladies' furnishing store for a seamstress; and the growth of the acquaintance, as well as the somewhat peculiar character which it assumed, was doubtless due to the interest i betrayed in the history of her early life, as related to me at different times, frankly and with unconscious pathos and humor.
her parents were of the "poor white" class and lived in some remote virginian wild, whose precise locality, owing to the narrator's vague geographical knowledge, i could never ascertain. she was the oldest of fifteen children, all of whom were brought up without the first rudiments of an education, and ruled over with brutal tyranny by a father whose sole object in life was to vie with his neighbors in the consumption of "black jack" and corn whiskey, and to extract the maximum of labor from his numerous progeny,—his paternal affection finding vent in the oft-repeated phrase,[196] "durn 'em, i wish i could sell some on 'em!" the boys, as they became old enough to realize the situation, ran away in regular succession;—the girls, in the forlorn hope of exchanging a cruel master for one less so, drifted into matrimony at the earliest possible age. mrs. angel, at the age of sixteen, married a man of her own class, who found his way in course of time to washington and became a day-laborer in the navy yard.
it would be interesting, if practicable, to trace the subtle laws by which this woman became possessed of a beauty of feature and form, and color, which a youth spent in field-work, twenty subsequent years of maternity and domestic labor, and a life-long diet of the coarsest description, have not succeeded in obliterating. blue, heavily fringed eyes, wanting only intelligence to make them really beautiful; dark, wavy hair, delicately formed ears, taper fingers, and a fair, though faded complexion, tell of a youth whose beauty must have been striking.
she seldom alluded to her husband at all, and never by name, the brief pronoun "he" answering all purposes, and this invariably uttered in a tone of resentment and contempt, which the story of his wooing sufficiently accounts for.
"his folks lived over t'other side the mount'n," she related, "an' he was dead sot an' de-termined he'd have me. i never did see a man so sot! the[197] lord knows why! he used ter foller me 'round an' set an' set, day in an' day out. i kep' a-tellin' of him i couldn't a-bear him, an' when i said it, he'd jess look at me an' kind o' grin like, an' never say nothin', but keep on a-settin' 'roun'. mother she didn't dare say a word, 'cause she knowed father 'lowed i should have him whether or no. ''taint no use, calline,' she'd say, 'ye might as well give up fust as last.' then he got ter comin' every day, an' he an' father jess sot an' smoked, an' drunk whiskey, an' he a-starin' at me all the time as if he was crazy, like. bimeby i took ter hidin' when he come. sometimes i hid in the cow-shed, an' sometimes in the woods, an' waited till he'd cl'ared out, an' then when i come in the house, father he'd out with his cowhide, an' whip me. 'i'll teach ye,' he'd say, swearin' awful, 'i'll teach ye ter honor yer father an' mother, as brought ye inter the world, ye hussy!' an' after a while, what with that, an' seein' mother a-cryin' 'roun', i begun ter git enough of it, an' at last i got so i didn't keer. so i stood up an' let him marry me; but," she added, with smouldering fire in her faded blue eyes, "i 'lowed i'd make him sorry fur it, an' i reckon i hev! but he won't let on. ketch him!"
this, and her subsequent history, her valorous struggle with poverty, her industry and tidiness, her intense, though blindly foolish, love for her numer[198]ous offspring, and a general soft-heartedness toward all the world, except "niggers" and the father of her children, interested me in the woman to an extent which has proved disastrous to my comfort—and pocket. i cannot tell how it came about, but at an early period of our acquaintance mrs. angel began to take a lively interest in my wardrobe, not only promptly securing such articles as i had already condemned as being too shabby, even for the wear of an elderly government employé, but going to the length of suggesting the laying aside of others which i had modestly deemed capable of longer service. from this, it was but a step to placing a species of lien upon all newly purchased garments, upon which she freely commented, with a view to their ultimate destination. it is not pleasant to go through the world with the feeling of being mortgaged as to one's apparel, but though there have been moments when i have meditated rebellion, i have never been able to decide upon any practicable course of action.
i cannot recall the time when mrs. angel left my room without a package of some description. she carries with her always a black satchel, possessing the capacity and insatiability of a conjurer's bag, but, unlike that article, while almost anything may be gotten into it, nothing ever comes out of it.
her power of absorption was simply marvellous.[199] fortunately, however, the demon of desire which possesses her may be appeased, all other means failing, with such trifles as a row of pins, a few needles, or even stale newspapers.
"he reads 'em," she explained, concerning the last, "an' then i dresses my pantry shelves with 'em."
"it is a wonder your husband never taught you to read," i said once, seeing how wistfully she was turning the pages of a "harper's weekly."
the look of concentrated hate flashed into her face again.
"he 'lows a woman ain't got no call ter read," she answered, bitterly. "i allers laid off to larn, jess ter spite him, but i ain't never got to it yit."
i came home from my office one day late in autumn, to find mrs. angel sitting by the fire in my room, which, as i board with friends, is never locked. her customary trappings of woe were enhanced by a new veil of cheap crape which swept the floor, and her round, rosy visage wore an expression of deep, unmitigated grief. a patch of poudre de riz ornamented her tip-tilted nose, a delicate aroma of farina cologne-water pervaded the atmosphere, and the handle of my ivory-backed hair-brush protruded significantly from one of the drawers of my dressing-bureau.
i glanced at her apprehensively. my first[200] thought was that the somewhat mythical personage known as "he" had finally shuffled himself out of existence. i approached her respectfully.
"good-evenin'," she murmured. "pretty day!"
"how do you do, mrs. angel?" i responded, sympathetically. "you seem to be in trouble. what has happened?"
"a heap!" was the dismal answer. "old mr. lawson's dead!"
"ah! was he a near relative of yours?" i inquired.
"well," she answered,—somewhat dubiously, i thought,—"not so nigh. he wasn't rightly no kin. his fust wife's sister married my oldest sister's husband's brother—but we's allers knowed him, an' he was allers a-comin' an' a-goin' amongst us like one o' the family. an' if ever they was a saint he was one!"
here she wiped away a furtive tear with a new black-bordered kerchief. i was silent, feeling any expression of sympathy on my part inadequate to the occasion.
"he was prepared," she resumed, presently, "ef ever a man was. he got religion about forty year ago—that time all the stars fell down, ye know. he'd been ter see his gal, an' was goin' home late, and the stars was a-fallin', and he was took then. he went into a barn, an' begun prayin', an' he ain't never stopped sence."
[201]
again the black-bordered handkerchief was brought into requisition.
"how are the children?" i ventured, after a pause.
"po'ly!" was the discouraging answer. "jinny an' rosy an' john henry has all had the croup. i've been a-rubbin' of 'em with radway's relief an' british ile, an' a-givin' on it to 'em internal, fur two days an' nights runnin'. both bottles is empty now, and the lord knows where the next is ter come from, fur we ain't got no credit at the 'pothecary's. he's out o' work ag'in, an' they ain't a stick o' wood in the shed, an' the grocer-man says he wants some money putty soon. ef my hens would only lay——"
"it was unfortunate," i could not help saying, with a glance at the veil and handkerchief, "that you felt obliged to purchase additional mourning just when things were looking so badly."
she gave me a sharp glance, a glow of something like resentment crept into her face.
"all our family puts on black fur kin, ef it ain't so nigh!" she remarked with dignity.
a lineal descendant of an english earl could not have uttered the words "our family" with more hauteur. i felt the rebuke.
"besides," she added, na?vely, "the store-keeper trusted me fur 'em."
"if only phenie could git work," she resumed,[202] presently, giving me a peculiar side-glance with which custom had rendered me familiar, it being the invariable precursor of a request, or a sly suggestion. "she's only fifteen, an' she ain't over 'n' above strong, but she's got learnin'. she only left off school a year ago come spring, an' she can do right smart. there's sam weaver's gal, as lives nex' do' to us, she's got a place in the printin'-office where she 'arns her twenty-five dollars a month, an' she never seen the day as she could read like phenie, an' she's ugly as sin, too."
it occurred to me just here that i had heard of an additional force being temporarily required in the printing bureau. i resolved to use what influence i possessed with a prominent official, a friend of "better days," to obtain employment for "phenie," for, with all the poor woman's faults and weaknesses, i knew that her distress was genuine.
"i will see if i can find some employment for your daughter," i said, after reflecting a few moments. "come here saturday evening, and i will let you know the result."
i knew, by the sudden animation visible in mrs. angel's face, that this was what she had hoped for and expected.
when i came from the office on saturday evening, i found mrs. angel and her daughter awaiting me. she had often alluded to phenie with maternal[203] pride, as a "good-lookin' gal," but i was entirely unprepared for such a vision as, at her mother's bidding, advanced to greet me. it occurred to me that mrs. angel herself must have once looked somewhat as phenie did now, except as to the eyes. that much-contemned "he" must have been responsible for the large, velvety black eyes which met mine with such a timid, deprecating glance.
she was small and perfectly shaped, and there was enough of vivid coloring and graceful curve about her to have furnished a dozen ordinary society belles. her hair fell loosely to her waist in the then prevailing fashion, a silken, wavy, chestnut mass. a shabby little hat was perched on one side her pretty head, and the tightly fitting basque of her dress of cheap faded blue exposed her white throat almost too freely. i was glad that i could answer the anxious pleading of those eyes in a manner not disappointing. the girl's joy was a pretty thing to witness as i told her mother that my application had been successful, and that phenie would be assigned work on monday.
"he 'lowed she wouldn't git in," remarked mrs. angel, triumphantly, "an' as fur columbus, he didn't want her to git in no how."
"oh maw!" interrupted phenie, blushing like a june rose.
"oh, what's the use!" continued her mother.[204] "columbus says he wouldn't 'low it nohow ef he'd got a good stan'. he says as soon as ever he gits inter business fur hisself——"
"oh maw!" interposed phenie again, going to the window to hide her blushes.
"columbus is a butcher by trade," went on mrs. angel, in a confidential whisper, "an' phenie, she don't like the idee of it. i tell her she's foolish, but she don't like it. i reckon it's readin' them story-papers, all about counts, an' lords, an' sich, as has set her agin' butcherin'. but columbus, he jess loves the groun' she walks on, an' he's a-goin' ter hucksterin' as soon as ever he can git a good stan'."
i expressed a deep interest in the success of columbus, and rescued phenie from her agony of confusion by some remarks upon other themes of a less personal nature. soon after, mother and daughter departed.
eight o'clock monday morning brought phenie, looking elated yet nervous. she wore the faded blue dress, but a smart "butterfly-bow" of rose-pink was perched in her shining hair, and another was at her throat. as we entered the treasury building, i saw that she turned pale and trembled as if with awe, and as we passed on through the lofty, resounding corridors, and up the great flight of steps, she panted like a hunted rabbit.
at the bureau i presented the appointment-card[205] i had received. the superintendent gave it a glance, scrutinized phenie closely, beckoned to a minor power, and in a moment the new employé was conducted from my sight. just as she disappeared behind the door leading into the grimy, noisy world of printing-presses, phenie gave me a glance over her shoulder. such a trembling, scared sort of a glance! i felt as if i had just turned a young lamb into a den of ravening wolves.
curiously enough, from this day the fortunes of the house of angel began to mend. "he" was reinstated in "the yard," the oldest boy began a thriving business in the paper-selling line, and mrs. angel herself being plentifully supplied with plain sewing, the family were suddenly plunged into a state of affluence which might well have upset a stronger intellect than that of its maternal head. her lunacy took the mild and customary form of "shopping." her trips to the avenue (by which pennsylvania avenue is presupposed) and to seventh street became of semi-weekly occurrence. she generally dropped in to see me on her way home, in quite a friendly and informal manner (her changed circumstances had not made her proud), and with high glee exhibited to me her purchases. they savored strongly of hebraic influences, and included almost every superfluous article of dress known to modern times. she also supplied herself with lace curtains of marvellous[206] design, and informed me that she had bought a magnificent "bristles" carpet at auction, for a mere song.
"the bristles is wore off in some places," she acknowledged, "but it's most as good as new."
her grief for the lamented mr. lawson found new expression in "mourning" jewelry of a massive and sombre character, including ear-rings of a size which threatened destruction to the lobes of her small ears. her fledgelings were liberally provided with new garments of a showy and fragile nature, and even her feelings toward "him" became sufficiently softened to allow the purchase of a purple necktie and an embroidered shirt-bosom for his adornment.
"he ain't not ter say so ugly, of a sunday, when he gits the smudge washed off," she remarked, in connection with the above.
"it must have been a great satisfaction to you," i suggested (not without a slight tinge of malice), "to be able to pay off the grocer and the dry-goods merchant."
mrs. angel's spirits were visibly dampened by this unfeeling allusion. her beaming face darkened.
"they has to take their resks," she remarked, sententiously, after a long pause, fingering her hard-rubber bracelets, and avoiding my gaze.
once i met her on the avenue. she was issu[207]ing from a popular restaurant, followed by four or five young angels, all in high spirits and beaming with the consciousness of well-filled stomachs, and the possession of divers promising-looking paper bags. she greeted me with an effusiveness which drew upon me the attention of the passers-by.
"we've done had oyshters!" remarked john henry.
"'n' ice-cream 'n' cakes!" supplemented rosy.
the fond mother exhibited, with natural pride, their "tin-types," taken individually and collectively, sitting and standing, with hats and without. the artist had spared neither carmine nor gilt-foil, and the effect was unique and dazzling.
"i've ben layin' off ter have 'em took these two year," she loudly exclaimed, "an' i've done it! he'll be mad as a hornet, but i don't keer! he don't pay fur 'em!"
a vision of the long-suffering grocer and merchant rose between me and those triumphs of the limner's art, but then, as mrs. angel herself had philosophically remarked, "they has to take their resks."
phenie, too, in the beginning, was a frequent visitor, and i was pleased to note that her painful shyness was wearing off a little, and to see a marked improvement in her dress. there was,[208] with all her childishness, a little trace of coquetry about her,—the innocent coquetry of a bird preening its feathers in the sunshine. she was simply a soft-hearted, ignorant little beauty, whose great, appealing eyes seemed always asking for something, and in a way one might find it hard to refuse.
in spite of her rich color, i saw that the girl was frail, and knowing that she had a long walk after leaving the cars, i arranged for her to stay with me overnight when the weather was severe, and she often did so, sleeping on the lounge in my sitting-room.
at first i exerted myself to entertain my young guest,—youth and beauty have great charms for me,—but beyond some curiosity at the sight of pictures, i met with no encouragement. the girl's mind was a vacuum. she spent the hours before retiring in caressing and romping with my kitten, in whose company she generally curled up on the hearth rug and went to sleep, looking, with her disarranged curly hair and round, flushed cheeks, like a child kept up after its bed-time.
but after a few weeks she came less frequently, and finally not at all. i heard of her occasionally through her mother, however, who reported favorably, dilating most fervidly upon the exemplary punctuality with which phenie placed her earnings in the maternal hand.
[209]
it happened one evening in mid-winter that i was hastening along pennsylvania avenue at an early hour, when, as i was passing a certain restaurant, the door of the ladies' entrance was pushed noisily open, and a party of three came out. the first of these was a man, middle-aged, well-dressed, and of a jaunty and gallant air, the second a large, high-colored young woman, the third—phenie. she looked flushed and excited, and was laughing in her pretty, foolish way at something her male companion was saying to her. my heart stood still; but, as i watched the trio from the obscurity of a convenient door-way, i saw the man hail a navy yard car, assist phenie to enter it, and return to his friend upon the pavement.
i was ill at ease. i felt a certain degree of responsibility concerning phenie, and the next day, therefore, i waited for her at the great iron gate through which the employés of the bureau must pass out, determined to have a few words with the child in private. among the first to appear was phenie, and with her, as i had feared, the high-colored young woman. in spite of that person's insolent looks, i drew phenie's little hand unresistingly through my arm, and led her away.
outside the building, as i had half-expected, loitered the man in whose company i had seen her on the previous evening. daylight showed him[210] to be a type familiar to washington eyes—large, florid, scrupulously attired, and carrying himself with a mingled air of military distinction and senatorial dignity well calculated to deceive an unsophisticated observer.
he greeted phenie with a courtly bow, and a smile, which changed quickly to a dark look as his eyes met mine, and turned away with a sudden assumption of lofty indifference and abstraction.
phenie accompanied me to my room without a word, where i busied myself in preparing some work for her mother, chatting meanwhile of various trifling matters.
i could see that the girl looked puzzled, astonished, even a little angry. she kept one of her small, dimpled hands hidden under the folds of her water-proof, too, and her eyes followed me wistfully and questioningly.
"who were those people i saw you with last evening, coming from h——'s saloon?" i suddenly asked.
phenie gave me a startled glance; her face grew pale.
"her name," she stammered, "is nettie mullin."
"and the gentleman?" i asked again, with an irony which i fear was entirely thrown away.
the girl's color came back with a rush.
[211]
"his name is o'brien, general o'brien," she faltered. "he—he's a great man!" she added, with a pitiful little show of pride.
"ah! did he tell you so?" i asked.
"nettie told me," the girl answered, simply. "she's known him a long time. he's rich and has a great deal of—of influence, and he's promised to get us promoted. he's a great friend of nettie's, and he—he's a perfect gentleman."
she looked so innocent and confused as she sat rubbing the toe of one small boot across a figure of the carpet, that i had not the heart to question her further. in her agitation she had withdrawn the hand she had kept hitherto concealed beneath her cape, and was turning around and around the showy ring which adorned one finger.
"i am certain, phenie," i said, "that your friend general o'brien is no more a general and no more a gentleman than that ring you are wearing is genuine gold and diamonds."
she gave me a half-laughing, half-resentful look, colored painfully, but said nothing, and went away at length, with the puzzled, hurt look still on her face.
for several days following i went every day to the gate of the bureau, and saw phenie on her homeward way. for two or three days "general o'brien" continued to loiter about the door-way, but as he ceased at length to appear, and as the[212] system i had adopted entailed upon me much fatigue and loss of time, i decided finally to leave phenie again to her own devices; not, however, without some words of advice and warning. she received them silently, but her large, soft eyes looked into mine with the pathetic, wondering look of a baby, who cannot comprehend why it shall not put its hand into the blaze of the lamp.
i did not see her for some time after this, but having ascertained from her mother that she was in the habit of coming home regularly, my anxiety was in a measure quieted.
"she don't seem nateral, phenie don't," mrs. angel said one day. "she's kind o' quiet, like, as ef she was studyin' about something, an' she used to be everlastin' singin' an' laughin'. columbus, he's a-gittin' kind o' oneasy an' jealous, like. says he, 'mrs. angel,' says he, 'ef phenie should go back on me after all, an' me a-scrapin', an' a-savin', an' a-goin' out o' butcherin' along o' her not favorin' it,' says he, 'why i reckon i wouldn't never git over it,' says he. ye see him an' her's ben a-keepin' comp'ny sence phenie was twelve year old. i tells him he ain't no call ter feel oneasy, though, not as i knows on."
something urged me here to speak of what i knew as to phenie's recent associates, but other motives—a regard for the girl's feelings, and reliance upon certain promises she had made me,[213] mingled with a want of confidence in her mother's wisdom and discretion—kept me silent.
one evening—it was in march, and a little blustering—i was sitting comfortably by my fire, trying to decide between the attractions of a new magazine and the calls of duty which required my attendance at a certain "ladies' committee-meeting," when a muffled, unhandy sort of a knock upon my door disturbed my train of thought. i uttered an indolent "come in!"
there was a hesitating turn of the knob, the door opened, and i rose to be confronted by a tall, broad-chested young man, of ruddy complexion and undecided features; a young man who, not at all abashed, bowed in a friendly manner, while his mild, blue eyes wandered about the apartment with undisguised eagerness. he wore a new suit of invisible plaid, an extremely low-necked shirt, a green necktie, and a celluloid pin in the form of a shapely feminine leg. furthermore, the little finger of the hand which held his felt hat was gracefully crooked in a manner admitting the display of a seal ring of a peculiarly striking style, and an agreeable odor of bergamot, suggestive of the barber's chair, emanated from his person. it flashed over me at once that this was phenie angel's lover, a suspicion which his first words verified.
[214]
"ain't miss angel here?" he asked, in a voice full of surprise and disappointment.
"no, she is not," i answered. "you are her friend, columbus——"
"columbus dockett, ma'am," he responded. "yes, ma'am. ain't phenie been here this evenin'?"
"no. did you expect to find her here?"
mr. dockett's frank face clouded perceptibly, and he pushed his hair back and forth on his forehead uneasily, as he answered:
"i did, indeed, ma'am. i—you see, ma'am, she ain't been comin' home reg'lar of late, phenie ain't, an' i ain't had no good chance to speak to her for right smart of a while. i laid off to see her to-night for certain. i've got somethin' partic'lar to say to her, to-night. you see, ma'am," he added, becoming somewhat confused, "me an' her—we—i—me an' her——"
he stopped, evidently feeling his inability to express himself with the delicacy the subject required.
"i understand, mr. dockett," i said, smilingly, "you and phenie are——"
"that's it!" interposed mr. dockett, much relieved. "yes, ma'am, that's how the matter stan's! i made sure of findin' phenie here. her ma says as that's where she's been a-stayin' nights lately."
[215]
i started. i had not seen phenie for two or three weeks.
"i dare say she has gone home with one of the girls from the bureau," i said, reassuringly.
i had been studying the young man's face in the meantime, and had decided that mr. dockett was a very good sort of a fellow. there was good material in him. it might be in a raw state, but it was very good material, indeed. he might be a butcher by trade, but surely he was the "mildest-mannered man" that ever felled an ox. his voice had a pleasant, sincere ring, and altogether he looked like a man with whom it might be dangerous to trifle, but who might be trusted to handle a sick baby, or wait upon a helpless woman with unlimited devotion.
"you don't have no idea who the girl might be?" he asked, gazing dejectedly into the crown of his hat. "'tain't so late. i might find phenie yit."
it happened, by the merest chance, that i did know where nettie mullin, in whose company i feared phenie might again be found, boarded. that is to say, i knew the house but not its number, and standing as it did at a point where several streets and avenues intersect, its situation was one not easily imparted to another. i saw, by the look of hopeless bewilderment on mr. dockett's face, that he could have discovered the north-west passage with equal facility.
[216]
i reflected, hesitated, formed a hasty resolution, and said:
"i am going out to attend a meeting, and i will show you where one of the girls, with whom i have seen phenie, lives. you may find her there now."
the young man's face brightened a little. he expressed his thanks, and waited for me on the landing.
the house where miss mullin boarded was only a few squares away. it was one of a row of discouraged-looking houses, which had started out with the intention of being genteel but had long ago given up the idea.
it was lighted up cheerfully, however, we saw on approaching, and a hack stood before the door. i indicated to my companion that this was the house, and would have turned away, but at that moment the door opened, and two girls came out and descended the steps. the light from the hall, as well as that of a street-lamp, fell full upon them. there was no mistaking miss mullin, and her companion was phenie,—in a gay little hat set saucily back from her face, the foolish, pretty laugh ringing from her lips.
the two girls tripped lightly across the pavement toward the carriage. as they did so, the door was opened from within (the occupant, for reasons best known to himself, preferring not to[217] alight), and a well-clad, masculine arm was gallantly extended. miss mullin, giggling effusively, was about to enter, followed close by phenie, when, with a smothered cry, dockett darted forward and placed himself between them and the carriage.
"phenie," he said, his voice shaking a little. "phenie, where was you a-goin'?"
the young girl started back, confused.
"law, columbus!" she faltered, in a scared, faint voice.
in the meantime, the man in the carriage put his face out of the door, and eyed the intruder, for an instant, arrogantly. then, affecting to ignore his presence altogether, he turned toward the two girls with a slightly impatient air, saying, in an indescribably offensive tone:
"come, ladies, come. what are you stopping for?"
dockett, who had been holding phenie's little hand speechlessly, let it fall, and turned toward the carriage excitedly.
"miss angel is stoppin' to speak to me, sir," he said. "have you got anything to say ag'inst it?"
the occupant of the carriage stared haughtily at him, broke into a short laugh, and turned again toward the girls.
dockett, pushing his hat down upon his head,[218] took a step nearer. the gentleman, after another glance, drew back discreetly, saying, in a nonchalant manner:
"come, miss nettie. we shall be late."
"i suppose you're not going with us, then, miss angel?" said miss mullin, with a toss of her plumed hat.
dockett turned, and looked phenie steadily in the face.
"be you goin' with them?" he asked, in a low voice.
"n—no!" the girl faltered, faintly. "i'll go with you, columbus."
a muffled remark of a profane nature was heard to proceed from the carriage, the door was violently closed, and the vehicle rolled rapidly away.
i had kept discreetly aloof, although an interested spectator of the scene. phenie, after one swift glance in my direction, had not raised her eyes again.
"we'll go with you where you're goin', ma'am," said dockett, as the carriage disappeared, but i would not permit this.
"well, good evenin', ma'am," he said; "i'm a thousand times obliged to you—good evenin'."
with an indescribable look into phenie's pale, down-cast face,—a look made up of pain, tenderness and reproach,—he put her hand through his arm, and they went away.
[219]
as might have been expected, phenie avoided me, after this, more carefully than ever. i was glad that she did so. i was also glad when, a week or two later, mrs. angel presented herself, in a towering state of indignation, to inform me that phenie had received her discharge. in vain i reminded her that phenie's position had been, from the beginning, a temporary one.
"i don't keer!" she persisted. "i'd like ter know what difference it would 'a' made to the government—jess that little bit o' money! an' me a-needin' of it so! why couldn't they have discharged some o' them women as sets all day on them velvet carpets an' cheers, a-doin' nothin' but readin' story-papers? phenie's seen 'em a-doin' of it, time an' ag'in—an' she a-workin' at a old greasy machine!"
in vain i endeavored to prove that no injustice had been done. mrs. angel's attitude toward the united states government remains, to this day, inflexibly hostile.
"ef columbus had let alone interferin' between phenie an' them that was intendin' well by her, i reckon she'd 'a' been settin' on one o' them velvet cheers herself by this time," she remarked, mysteriously, "or a-doin' better still."
i looked at her sharply.
"they's a gentleman," she went on, with a foolish smile, "a gineral, as is all taken up with phenie.[220] he's a great friend o' the president's, you know, an' they's no knowin' what he might do for the gal, ef columbus'd let alone interferin'."
"then phenie has told you of her new acquaintance?" i said, much relieved.
mrs. angel looked at me blankly.
"lord, no!" she answered, "she never let on! no, indeed! but i knowed it—i knowed it all along. sam weaver's gal, she told me about it. i knowed she was keepin' company with him, kind o'."
"and you said nothing to phenie?"
"lord, no! gals is bashful, mis' lawrence. no, indeed!"
"nor say a word of all this to columbus?" i asked again.
"what fur?" said mrs. angel, imperturbably.
he ain't got no call ter interfere, ef she kin do better."
i was silent a moment in sheer despair.
"do you imagine, for one moment," i said, finally, "that if this general, as he calls himself, is really what he pretends to be, a gentleman and a friend of the president's, that he means honestly by phenie?"
mrs. angel regarded me with a fixed stare, in which i discerned wonder at my incredulity, and indignation at the implied disparagement of her daughter.
[221]
"why not?" she asked, with some heat. "phenie was a-readin' me a story, not so long ago, about a man, a lord or somethin' like, as married a miller's daughter. the name was 'the secrit marriage,' or thereabouts. i'd like to know ef she ain't as good as a miller's daughter, any time o' day?"
i said no more. "against stupidity even the gods strive in vain."
a month later, perhaps, mrs. angel, whom i had not seen since the interview just related, came toiling up the stairs with her arms piled high with suggestive-looking packages, and beamingly and unceremoniously entered my sitting-room. with rather more than her customary ease of manner, she deposited herself and parcels upon the lounge, and exclaimed, pantingly:
"wall! phenie an' columbus is goin' ter be married sunday week!"
"ah!" i responded, with a sympathetic thrill, "so they have made it up again?"
"yes, indeed!" she answered, "they've done made it up. they was one time i was most afeard columbus was goin' to back out, though. 'twas after that time when he come down here after phenie, an' found her a-goin' out 'long o' that bureau gal an' that man as called hisself a gineral!"
[222]
"so you found out the character of phenie's friend at last?" i said.
"columbus, he found it out. i'll tell ye how 'twas. ye see, him an' phenie was a-havin' of it that night after they got home. they was in the front room, but they's right smart of a crack 'roun' the do', an' you kin hear right smart ef you sets up clos't enough," she explained, na?vely.
"'phenie,' says columbus, kind o' humble like, 'i don't want no wife as don't like me better 'n ary other man in the world. ef you likes that man, an' he's a good man, an' means right by ye, i ain't one ter stan' in your way; but,' says he, 'i don't believe he's no good. i've seen them kind befo', an' i don't have no confidence into him.'
"'columbus,' says phenie, kind o' spirited, fur her, 'you ain't got no call to talk agin' him. he's a gentleman, he is!'
"'all right!' says columbus, chokin' up, 'all right. mebbe he is—but i don't like this meetin' of him unbeknownst, phenie. it ain't the thing. now i want you ter promise me not to meet him any more unbeknownst till you knows more about him, an' you give me leave ter find out all about him, an' see ef i don't.'
"'i won't listen to no lies,' says phenie, kind o' fiery.
"'i won't tell ye no lies, phenie,' he says. 'i never has, an' i ain't goin' ter begin now.'
[223]
"then he got up an' shoved his cheer back, and i had ter go 'way from the crack.
"wall, phenie looked real white an' sick after that, an' i felt right down sorry fur the gal, but i didn't let on i knew anything, 'cause 'twaren't my place ter speak fust, ye know! wall, she dragged 'round fur three, four days,—that was after she was discharged, you see,—an' one evenin' columbus he come in all tremblin' an' stirred up, an' him an' her went inter the room, an' i sat up ter the crack. an' columbus he begun.
"'phenie,' says he, his voice all hoarse an' shaky, 'phenie, what would you say ef i was ter tell ye your fine gineral wasn't no gineral, an' was a married man at that?'
"'prove it!' says phenie.
"i had ter laugh ter hear her speak up so peart, like. i didn't think 'twas in her, and she not much more'n a child.
"'wall,' says columbus, 'ef i can't prove it, i knows them as kin.'
"'wall,' says phenie, 'when he tells me so hisself, i'll believe it, an' not befo'!'
"then columbus went away, an' i could see he was all worked up an' mad. his face was white as cotton. phenie, she went to bed, an' i heerd her a-cryin' an' a-snubbin' all night. she couldn't eat no breakfast, nuther, though i made griddle-cakes, extry for her; an' she dressed herself an'[224] went off somewheres—i didn't ask her, but i reckon she went down ter the city ter find out about that man. wall, towards night she come home, an' i never see a gal look so—kind o' wild, like, an' her eyes a-shinin' an' her cheeks as red as pinies. she sot an' looked out o' the winder, an' looked, an' bimeby columbus he come in, an' they went into the room. i couldn't hear rightly what they said, the chill'en was makin' sich a noise, but i heared phenie bust out a-cryin' fit to break her heart, an' then columbus, he—wall, lord! i never did see sich a feller! he jess loves the groun' that gal's feet walks on!"
"he must be very forgiving," i said. "phenie has used him badly."
"wall, i do' know," she replied, with perfect simplicity. "i do' know as she was beholden to columbus ef she could a-done better. the child didn't mean no harm."
although aware of the impracticability of trying to render mrs. angel's comprehension of maternal duty clearer, i could not help saying:
"but why didn't you, as the girl's own mother and nearest friend, have a talk with phenie in the beginning? you might have spared her a great deal of trouble."
mrs. angel's eyes dilated with surprise.
"lord! mis' lawrence!" she exclaimed, "you do' know! why, gals is that bashful! they[225] couldn't tell their mothers sich things. why, i'd 'a' died 'fore i'd 'a' told mine anything about—love-matters! lord!"
"well," i sighed, "i'm glad phenie is going to marry so good a fellow as columbus."
"y—yes," she answered, condescendingly, "he's a good feller, columbus is. he don't drink or smoke, an' he's mighty savin'."
i remarked here, as on other occasions, that mrs. angel regarded this being "savin'" as a purely masculine virtue.
"he's give phenie most a hundred dollars a'ready," she continued, complacently. "they ain't no gal 'round as 'll have nicer things 'n phenie."
a fortnight later the newly wedded pair called upon me. phenie looked very sweet in her bridal finery, but there was something in her face which i did not like. it meant neither peace nor happiness. she looked older. there were some hard lines around her lips, and the childish expression of her lovely eyes had given place to a restless, absent look. her husband was serenely unconscious of anything wanting—unconscious, indeed, of everything but his absolute bliss, and his new shiny hat. he wore a lavender necktie, now, and gloves of the same shade, which were painfully tight, and, with the hat, would have made life a burden to any but the bridegroom of a week's standing. phenie[226] had little to say, but columbus was jubilantly loquacious.
"i've gone out o' butcherin' fur good an' all," he declared, emphatically. "phenie didn't like it, an' no more do i. hucksterin' is more to my mind, ma'am. it's cleaner an'—an' more genteel, ma'am. i've got a good stan', an' i mean to keep phenie like a lady, ma'am!"
she lived but a year after this. she and her baby were buried in one grave. that was five years ago. columbus still wears a very wide hat-band of crape, and mourns her sincerely.
her death was a heavy blow to her mother, whose grief is borne with constant repining and unreasoning reflections. the fountains of her eyes overflow at the mere utterance of the girl's name.
"the doctors 'lowed 'twas consumption as ailed her," she often repeats, "but i ain't never got red o' thinkin' 'twas trouble as killed her. i used ter think, mis' lawrence," she says, with lowered voice, "that she hadn't never got over thinkin' of that man as fooled her so! i wish i could see him oncet! says she ter me, time an' agin', 'ma,' says she, 'i reckon i ain't a-goin' ter live long. i'm right young ter die, but i do' know as i keer!' says she."
"did her husband ever suspect that she was unhappy?" i asked.
[227]
"lord no, ma'am! or ef he did he never let on! an' i never seen sich a man! there wasn't nothin' he didn't git her while she was sick, an' her coffin was a sight! an' he goes to her grave, rain or shine, as reg'lar as sunday comes."
as i have said, several years have passed since phenie's death, but mrs. angel's visits have never ceased. the lapse of time has left hardly any traces upon her comely exterior. in times of plenty, her soul expands gleefully and the brown-paper parcels multiply. in times of dearth, she sits, an elderly niobe, and weeps out her woes upon my hearth-stone. the black satchel, too, by some occult power, has resisted the wear and tear of years and exposure to the elements, and continues to swallow up my substance insatiably as of yore. occasionally, as i have said, something within me rises in arms against her quiet, yet persistent encroachments, but this is a transitory mood. her next visit puts my resolutions to flight.
