Mary Frances Story Book — Chirp the Third
XXXVI CHIRP THE THIRD
_John Listens to the Cricket_ THE Dutch clock in the corner struck ten, when the carrier sat down at his fireside.
So troubled was he that he scarcely heard the cuckoo as it counted off the strokes.
He could scarcely believe what his eyes had seen in the wareroom of Gruff and Tackleton.
If any one had told him, he would not have believed his Dot could be a party to such dreadful deceit.
Yet, in his own heart, he did not blame her, but rather the old young man who had been so wickedly unfair, and he was planning to do him harm to pay him back.
He hoped that Dot would be able to explain; but no--there really wasn’t any hope of that.
There, she was coming.
She had been upstairs with the baby, putting it to bed.
As he sat brooding near the hearth, she came close to him, and put her little stool at his feet.
He then felt her hand upon his own, and knew she was looking up in his face.
He glanced at her.
She looked as sweet as ever, until she caught the expression on his face.
At first she seemed surprised, then her surprise changed in a wild recognition of his thoughts, and she simply bent her head and clasped her hands, but no words were said.
At length she rose and went away, and he felt glad, for the first time since he had known her, to have her gone.
There was a gun hanging on the wall.
He took it down, and moved toward the Stranger’s room.
He put his hand to the door--when suddenly the struggling fire burst into a glow of light, and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp.
No sound he could have heard, no human voice, not even hers, could so have moved and softened him.
The very words in which she had told him of her love for this same cricket were as if just spoken in her sweet, pleasant voice, making household music; and they thrilled through and through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action.
He moved from the door like a man who had been walking in his sleep when awakening from a frightful dream.
He put the gun aside.
Clasping his hands before his face, he sat down again beside the fire.
The cricket on the hearth came out into the room and stood in fairy shape before him.
“‘I love it’,” said the fairy voice, “‘for the many times I have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me’.
” “She said so!
” cried the carrier.
“True!
” “‘This has been a happy home, John; and I love the cricket for its sake.
’” “She’s so sweet-tempered, so cheerful, busy, light-hearted.
Otherwise I never could have loved her as I did.
” The voice, correcting him, said, “do.
” “You should trust her,” the fairy voice said.
All night long he listened to the voice.
All night long the household fairies were busy with him, showing him how sweet and dear she was; how he had never found her untrue, or had reason to doubt her except this once.
He rose up when it was broad day, and washed and tidied himself.
He could not go on his usual rounds, for it was Tackleton’s wedding day.
He had planned to go merrily to the church with Dot.
But such plans were at an end.
Ah!
what a different wedding anniversary he had expected!
_John Blames Himself_ The carrier had thought that Tackleton would pay him an early visit, and he was right.
He had just finished brushing his hair when he saw the merchant in his carriage coming along the road.
As the carriage drew near he saw that Tackleton was dressed out sprucely for marriage, and that he had decorated his horse’s head with flowers and favors.
The horse looked much more like a bridegroom than Tackleton, whose half-closed eye was more disagreeably expressive than ever.
But the carrier took little heed of this.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
“John Peerybingle!
” said Tackleton.
“My good fellow, how do you find yourself this morning?
” “I have had but a poor night, Mr. Tackleton,” said the carrier, shaking his head, “for I have been a good deal disturbed in my mind.
But it’s over now!
Can you spare me half an hour or so, for some private talk?
” “I came on purpose,” returned Tackleton lightly.
“Never mind the horse.
He’ll stand quiet enough if you’ll give him a mouthful of hay.
” “You are not to be married before noon, I think?
” said John.
“No,” answered Tackleton.
“Plenty of time.
Plenty of time.
” When they entered the kitchen, Tilly Slowboy was knocking at the Stranger’s door.
One of her very red eyes was at the keyhole, for she had been crying because her mistress cried.
She was knocking very loud, and seemed frightened.
“If you please, I can’t make nobody hear,” said Tilly, looking round.
“I hope nobody ain’t gone and been and died, if you please.
” This hope Miss Slowboy made more emphatic by kicking on the door, but it led to no result.
“Shall I help?
” asked Tackleton, turning to John.
The carrier nodded his head.
So Tackleton went to the door and he, too, kicked and knocked; and he, too, failed to get any reply.
But he thought of trying the handle of the door, and as it opened easily, he peeped in, went in, and soon came running out again.
“He’s gone!
” said Tackleton; “and the window’s open.
I don’t see any marks--to be sure--or signs of a fight, but I thought perhaps you might have been so angry----” He nearly shut up the expressive eye altogether, he looked at John so hard.
And he gave his eye, and his face, and his whole body, a sharp twist, as if he would have screwed the truth out of John.
“Make yourself easy,” said the carrier.
“He went into that room last night without harm in word or act from me, and no one has entered it since.
He has gone away of his own free will.
” “Oh!
Well, I think he has got off pretty easy,” said Tackleton, taking a chair.
The sneer was lost upon the carrier, who sat down, too, and shaded his face in his hand for some time before speaking.
“You showed me last night,” he said at length, “my wife, my dear wife that I love, deceiving me, and meeting a strange man who had deceived me.
I think there’s no man in the world I wouldn’t rather have had show it to me.
” “I confess I know that I am not a favorite in your home, John, because I never believed wholly in your pretty little wife,” said Tackleton.
“And as you did show me, and as you saw her to such disadvantage, it is right you should know what my mind is on the subject.
For it’s settled, and nothing can change it.
” Tackleton muttered a few words about its being necessary to decide, but he was overawed by the manner of his companion.
Plain and unpolished as it was, there was something noble and dignified about it.
“I am a plain, rough man,” continued the carrier, “with very little to recommend me.
I am not a clever man, as you very well know.
I am not a young man.
I loved my little Dot because I had seen her grow up from a child, in her father’s house; because I knew how precious she was;
because she had been in my life for years and years.
” He paused a moment, then went on.
“I often thought that though I wasn’t good enough for her, I should make her a kind husband, and perhaps appreciate her better than another.
And so it came about we were married.
” “Hah!
” said Tackleton, with a shake of his head.
“I knew how much I loved her, and how happy I should be,” continued the carrier; “but I had not sufficiently considered her.
” “No,” said Tackleton.
“No; you didn’t stop to think how giddy, frivolous, fickle, vain!
Hah!
” “You’d better not interrupt me,” said the carrier, with some sternness, “till you understand me, which you seem far from doing.
” The toy merchant looked at him in surprise.
“I didn’t consider that I took her, at her age, with her beauty, away from her young companions and their many scenes of pleasure into my dull house and my tedious society.
I didn’t consider how little suited I was to her fun and humor, and how wearisome I must be to one of her quick spirit.
No!
I took advantage of her hopeful nature, and I married her.
I shouldn’t have done so!
” The toy merchant gazed at him without winking.
Even the half-shut eye was now open.
“Heaven bless her!
” said the carrier, “for the cheerful way she has tried not to let me see how it was!
Heaven help me, that, in my slow mind I have not found it out before.
Poor child!
Poor Dot!
Strange I did not realize when I have seen her eyes fill with tears on hearing of such a marriage as our own spoken of.
How good and kind she has been!
The thought will comfort me when I am here alone.
” “Here alone?
” said Tackleton.
“Then you do mean to take some notice of her deceit?
” “I mean,” answered the carrier, “to do her the greatest kindness in my power--to try to make it all up to her.
She shall be free to go where she will.
” “Make it up to her!
” exclaimed Tackleton, twisting and turning his great ears with his hands.
“I must have heard wrong.
You didn’t say that, of course.
” “Didn’t I speak plainly?
” said the carrier, giving the toy merchant a shake.
“Very plainly indeed,” answered Tackleton.
“As if I meant it?
” “Very much as if you meant it.
” “Anger and distrust have left me,” said the carrier; “and nothing but my grief remains.
In an unhappy moment some old lover, better suited to her years than I, returned.
Last night she saw him in the interview we witnessed.
It was wrong.
But otherwise than this, she is innocent if there is truth on earth!
I should not have taken her from her home.
She shall return to it, and I will trouble her no more.
Her father and mother will be here to-day, and they shall take her home.
This is the end of what you showed me.
Now, it’s over.
” “Oh, no, John, not over.
Do not say it’s over yet.
Not quite yet.
I
heard your noble words.
I could not steal out again, letting you think me ignorant of what you said.
Do not say it’s over--’till the clock has struck again!
” Dot had entered quietly while John and Tackleton were talking, and had heard every word.
“No hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the hours that are gone,” replied the carrier, with a faint smile.
“But let it be so, if you will, my dear.
” “Well!
” muttered Tackleton.
“I must be off, for when it strikes again, I must be on my way to church.
Good-by, John Peerybingle.
” The carrier saw him to the door, watched his horse until it disappeared in the distance, and then went out himself.
His little wife, being left alone, sobbed piteously, but often dried her tears to say how good and dear he was!
--and once or twice she laughed through her tears so heartily and triumphantly that Tilly was quite horrified.
“Ow, if you please, don’t!
” said Tilly.
“It’s enough to dead and bury the baby; so it is, if you please.
” “Will you bring him to see me sometimes,” inquired her mistress, “when I don’t live here, and have gone to my old home?
” “Ow, if you please, don’t!
” cried Tilly, throwing back her head.
She looked a great deal like Boxer when he howled.
“Ow, if you please, don’t!
What has everybody gone and been and done with everybody, making everybody so miserable?
Ow-w-w!
” _Caleb Confesses His Deceit_ And she might have kept on, if just at that moment Caleb Plummer had not come in, leading his daughter.
“Why, Mary” (which was Dot’s other name, you remember).
“Why, Mary!
” said Bertha.
“Not at the wedding?
” “I told her you would not be there, mum,” whispered Caleb.
“I heard as much last night.
But bless you,” said the little man, “I don’t care what they say.
I don’t believe them.
There ain’t much of me, but what little there is would be torn to pieces sooner than I’d believe a word against you!
” He put his arms around her neck and hugged her very much as a child might have hugged one of the dolls he had made.
“Bertha wanted to come see you instead of going to the wedding,” said Caleb, “so we started in good time.
I often wish I had not deceived her in regard to Tackleton, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d better tell her the truth.
You’ll stay with us while I tell her, won’t you, mum?
” he inquired, trembling from head to foot.
“I don’t know what effect it may have upon her.
I don’t know what she’ll think of me; I don’t know that she’ll ever care for her father afterwards.
But it’s best she should be undeceived, and I must bear the consequences as I deserve.
” “Mary,” said Bertha, “where is your hand?
I heard them speaking softly last night of some blame against you.
They were wrong.
I told them so.
I scorned to hear a word!
I know and trust you, Mary, so well that could my sight be restored at this instant, I could choose you from a crowd--my sister!
” Her father went on one side of her, while Dot remained on the other, holding her hand.
“Bertha, my dear,” said Caleb, “I have something on my mind I want to tell you while we three are alone.
Listen kindly!
I have a confession to make to you.
” “A confession, Father?
” “Yes, my child; I have wandered from the truth,” said Caleb, with a pitiable expression in his face.
“I have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel.
” She turned toward him, and repeated the word, “Cruel?
” “He accuses himself too strongly, Bertha,” said Dot.
“You’ll say so, presently.
You’ll be the first to tell him so.
” “He, cruel to me?
” cried Bertha, with an unbelieving smile.
“Not meaning to be, my child,” said Caleb, “but I have been, although I never knew it until yesterday.
My dear blind daughter, forgive me.
The world, dear heart, is not as you imagine it.
It is not as I have represented it.
The eyes you have trusted in have been false to you.
” She turned her wondering face toward him still, but drew back, and clung closer to her friend.
“Your road in life was rough, my poor one,” said Caleb, “and I meant to smooth it for you.
I have pictured things to you as different from what they are.
I have even changed the characters of some people, to make you happier.
I have surrounded you with fancies.
” “But living people are not fancies,” she said, turning very pale.
“You can’t change them.
” “I have done so, Bertha,” Caleb told her.
“There is one person you know----” “Oh, Father, why do you say I know?
” she said.
“I who am so miserably blind.
” She stretched out her hands as if to feel her way.
“The marriage that takes place to-day,” Caleb continued, “is with a stern, sordid, grinding man.
He has been a hard master to you and me, my dear, for many years.
Ugly in his looks and in his nature.
Cold and callous always.
Unlike what I have painted him to you in everything, my child--in everything.
” “Oh, why,” cried the blind girl, “why did you ever do this?
Teach me to love a person who really never existed?
It is like death!
” Her poor father hung his head and offered no reply in his penitence and sorrow.
Suddenly the cricket on the hearth, unheard by all but her, began to chirp, not merrily, but so mournfully that her tears began to flow; and when the fairy spirit which had been near the carrier all night, appeared behind her, pointing toward her father, she turned to Dot.
“Mary,” she said, “tell me what my home is like--what it is truly.
” “It is a poor place, Bertha; very poor and bare indeed.
The house will scarcely keep out the wind and rain another winter.
It is as roughly shielded from the weather, Bertha,” Dot continued in a low voice, “as your poor father in his sackcloth coat.
” The blind girl, greatly agitated, rose and led the carrier’s wife a little aside.
“Those presents that I treasured so much; that came almost at my wish,” she said, trembling; “where did they come from?
Did you send them?
” “No. ” “Who, then?
” Dot saw she knew already, and was silent.
The blind girl spread her hands before her face again, but in quite a different manner now.
“Dear Mary, a moment, please.
Speak softly.
Tell me truly.
Look across the room to where we were sitting just now--to where my father is--my father, so kind and loving to me--and tell me what you see.
” “I see,” said Dot, who understood her well, “an old man sitting in a chair, and leaning over sorrowfully with his head resting in his hands.
He looks as if his child should comfort him, Bertha.
” “Yes, yes.
She will.
Go on.
” “He is an old man, worn with care and work.
He is a sad, thoughtful, gray-haired man, who seems to have lost the object he most loved in the world--his child for whom he lived.
” The blind girl broke away from her, and dropping on her knees before him, threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, my Father!
My dear, dear Father!
” she cried.
“I have been so blind!
But now my eyes are open.
I never knew you.
To think, I might have died and never truly known the father who has been so loving to me!
” Caleb managed to say, “My Bertha!
” “And in my blindness, I believed him to be so different,” said the girl, still caressing him, “so young and gay!
” “The fresh, smart father in the blue coat--” said poor Caleb, “he’s gone!
” “Nothing is gone,” she answered.
“Dearest Father, no!
Everything is here--in you.
But, Father----” She hesitated.
“Mary--Mary is just what you told me?
There is no change in her?
You never told me anything of her that was not true?
” “I should have done so, I’m afraid,” said Caleb, “if I could have made her better than she was.
But I must have changed her for the worse, if I had changed _her_ at all.
Nothing could improve her, Bertha.
” The blind girl was delighted with this reply, even though she had felt so sure of what it must be, and her renewed embrace of Dot was charming to behold.
_The Dead Returns to Life_ Dot glanced at the clock, and saw that it was within a few minutes of striking, and immediately became very excited.
“More changes than you think for may happen, though,” said Dot;
“changes for the better, I mean; changes for great joy to some of us.
You mustn’t let them startle you too much when they come.
But listen!
You’ve a quick ear, Bertha.
Do you hear wheels upon the road?
” “Yes--coming very fast.
” “I--I--I know you have a quick ear,” said Dot, holding her hand to her heart and talking as fast as she could, “because I have often noticed it, and because you were so quick to hear that strange step last night.
Though why you should have taken such quick notice of it, and said, ‘Whose step is that?
’ seems strange.
But, as I said just now, there are great changes in this world; great changes, and we can’t do better than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly anything.
” Caleb wondered what she meant, for he saw that she was speaking to him as much as to his daughter.
He saw with astonishment, that she was fluttered and distressed, and could scarcely breathe, as she held to a chair to save herself from falling.
“They are wheels indeed!
” she panted.
“Coming nearer!
Nearer!
Very close!
And now you hear them stopping at the garden gate!
And now you hear a step outside the door--the same step, Bertha--is it not?
--and now!
