Who Would Have Thought It?. María Ruiz de Burton
I'll go to sleep. Thank you for lending me your things. I hope I may some day return the kindness, though there exists at present but a poor prospect, for who on earth is to marry such a shabby-looking girl as me? I don't think even any of the Cackle boys would think of proposing to me." So saying, Ruth ran up-stairs, and got into her bed again. After she was cosily wrapped in the bed-covers, close to Mattie, she heard her Aunt Lavvy come slowly up-stairs and go to her.
"Poor Lavvy!" said Ruth, laughing; "I wonder which of the two divines she likes best?"
"Old Hacky, of course. see that plain enough," said Mattie, without opening her eyes.
"What! are you awake too?"
"You awoke me with your racket down-stairs, and I think you awoke mamma and papa too, for I heard them go into Julian's room."
"I made no racket. It was Aunt Lavvy apostrophizing her faithless parsons with the poker in her room. I can hand, hammering the grate for Hammerhard, and hacking it for Hackwell."
"Bah! that isn't original. That is one of Julian's puns," said Mattie, hugging her sister.
Slowly Lavinia hung a night-gown on the two peaks which formed her shoulders, and got into bed. But not to sleep. Those babies—those "trophies of Miltiades"-kept her awake. Her nose was red with crying, and her eyelids were heavy, but not sleepy.
"Do you hear Aunt Lavvy's sighs?" asked Ruth, in a whisper, and both sisters laughed.
"Poor aunty! it is too bad of those parsons to have fooled her so cruelly," said Mattie. "I don't like them for it, particularly that smooth, conceited, deceitful Hackwell. I don't see why mamma likes him. He is handsome, but what is that to mamma? She don't care for his looks."
"Of course she don't, or she thinks she don't; but looks are a heap, Mat, and no mistake, and that is why I think it is so mean in mamma to dress us so shabbily, and I was telling aunt I will speak to papa about it; and so you ought, for he loves you the best."
"No, he don't. Julian is his favorite."
"He loves us all well enough to feel ashamed of seeing us dress in old rags," said Ruth.
"After which aphorism both sisters fell asleep, just as Lola crawled out of the servants' room in search of less foul air, and to avoid the snoring duo, which almost set her crazy, and went to lie at Mrs. Norval's door, with Jack's sympathy for consolation, and his woolly body to keep her warm.
CHAPTER IX.
POTATIONS, PLOTTING, AND PROPRIETY.
SOME months had elapsed since Dr. Norval's return from California. It was now Christmas night, and the reverend gentlemen,--Hackwell and Hammerhard,-having preached two long sermons each, now wanted a good dinner. Married to sisters, and being in many ways congenial, the two divines were very intimate, and passed almost every evening together. Particularly after a hard day's preaching, they were sure to meet in Mr. Hackwell's sanctum to criticise their own oratory; and if any one could have heard the peals of laughter that issued through the keyhole of the sanctum, he would have guessed that their mutual criticisms were not severe. Whilst thus engaged, their two wives sat in the parlor, and · compared their husband's flocks, also for relaxation.
This evening, after a very jolly dinner at Mr. Hackwell's, the two sisters, as usual, sat in the parlor to discuss the absorbing topic of the village,-the sudden prosperity of the Norval family, and their husbands retired, as usual also, "to have a quiet smoke."
"All the Norvals wore new dresses to church, new cloaks, new furs, and new bonnets, again. There seems to be no end to their money," said Mrs. Hammerhard. "Mrs. Cackle told me that Mrs. Norval said that the doctor is going to buy an open carriage to ride next summer, and keep the close one only for winter. Isn't that grand?" observed Mrs. Hackwell. "I invited Mrs. Cackle for this evening."
"I wonder how much the doctor brought from California. Do the Cackles have any idea?"
"Mrs. Cackle thinks that those boxes which the doctor took back to New York so soon after he came were full of gold quartz, and that he got gold out of the quartz," said Mrs. Hackwell.
"Nonsense! that is one of Mrs. Cackle's wonderful stories."
Thus went on the two sisters, and thus was going on the whole village, wondering how much gold the doctor brought. And Mrs. Cackle was invited to tea by all the principal ladies of the village, because Mrs. Cackle was next-door neighbor to Mrs. Norval, and was her friend, besides being a very observant and communicative lady.
"Here we are," observed the Rev. Hackwell, closing the door and locking it. Mr. Hammerhard knew that they were there, and what for, too. He knew it by experience. Without further preliminaries, his reverence Hackwell went to a closet (which he always kept locked), and, unlocking it, took out of it a gallon demijohn, a deep tray holding two tumblers, two spoons, two lemons, a sugar-bowl, and a china mug which could hold about three pints. Then he took out a brass kettle, and, filling it with water, put it on the fire.
The sympathetic little kettle soon began singing the tune he knew the two divines wished to hear. Mr. Hackwell cut a few pieces of lemon-peel, and, measuring his whisky (for whisky it was that his reverence kept in the hidden demijohn), put the required sugar and liquor and lemon-peel in the tumblers and poured the hot water in, taking care to put in the spoons, that the hot water might not break the glasses, Whilst the Rev. Hackwell brewed the punch, the Rev. Hammerhard filled the pipes. Now, punch and pipes being ready, their reverences sank into their easy-chairs to enjoy them, with their feet upon the high fender.
After some moments of silence, in which only by winks and nods they signified how very nice the punch was, Mr. Hammerhard opened the conversation.
"I have often thought I would ask you a question, but always put it off."
"Out with it! What is it?" said Hackwell.
"Well, I have wanted to ask you how it was that when you gave up practice for preaching
"Very good," interrupted Mr. Hackwell, taking a good, long sip at his tumbler. "I see that you have not preached away all your brains. Go on. Practice for preaching, you said."
"Yes. When you gave up hard practice for easy preaching, why didn't you become a Methodist or an Episcopalian,-anything more human than a blue Presbyterian?"
Mr. Hackwell laughed, and answered, "Don't you remember that when we were in college the boys used to call me Johnny 'wholehog'?"
"Yes, I remember that." "Well, it was on account of a tendency of mine, which has not left me, never to do anything by halves, but to go the whole length in anything I undertake. If I had left the practice of law to become an Episcopalian preacher, I would not have stopped there,- I would have ended by being a Catholic priest. Then I could not have married; and imagine what a loss that would have been to the ladies! Think of that!"
"I think the ladies would have been the gainers thereby," said Hammerhard, with a knowing wink. "I think you would have made a lovely father-confessor." At which witticism both divines laughed heartily.
"Moreover," continued Hackwell, when their laugh subsided, "as I intended to settle in New England, I knew there was no risk of my going too far as a Presbyterian. One can't be too blue in these regions, you know."
"That is a fact. But, apropos of the ladies, I say, Hack, didn't we miss it in jilting poor, susceptible Lavvy? The Norvals now are certainly rich, and to be in the family would not be a bad thing for a poor preacher."
"I have often thought of that myself, particularly since the new carriage and horses arrived; but now it is too late to enter by the side-door-Miss Lavvy,or the front ones,—the Misses Norval,—since we are married. We must manage to enter by some crack. What a pity that neither of us can be father-confessor to Mrs. Norval!"
'You can be as bad as -I mean as good—as if you were her confessor. Being her pastor, you can be