Part 18 (1/2)
”What kind of basques are they wearing this summer, Judy?” inquired Mrs.
Yellett, regarding her guest's trim s.h.i.+rt-waist judicially. ”I reckon them loose, meal-sack things must be all the go since you and Miss Mary both have 'em; but give me a good, tight-fittin' basque, every time. How's any one to know whether you got a figure or not, in a thing that never hits you anywhere?” questioned the matriarch, not without a touch of pride anent her own fine proportions.
”You really ought to have a s.h.i.+rt-waist, Mrs. Yellett. You've no idea of the comfort of them, till you've worn them.”
”I don't see but I'll have to come to it.” Her tone was frankly regretful, as one who feels obliged to follow the behests of fas.h.i.+on, yet, in so doing, sacrifices a cherished ideal. Mary Carmichael choked over her coffee in an abortive attempt to restrain her audible hilarity. Judith, without a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt, was discussing materials, cut, and b.u.t.tons; the plainswoman had proved herself the better gentlewoman of the two.
”Get me a spotty calico, white, with a red dot, will you, the next time you're over to Ervay? b.u.t.tons accordin' to your judgment; but if you could get some white chiny with a red ring, I think they'd match it handsome.”
She frowned reflectively. ”You're sure one of them loose, hangy things 'd become me? Then you can bring it over Tuesday, when you come to the hunt.”
”What hunt?” asked Judith, in all simplicity.
”Why, the wolf-hunt. Peter Hamilton come here three days ago and made arrangements for 'em all to have supper here after it was done. 'Lowed there was a young Eastern lady in the party, Miss Colebrooke, who couldn't wait to meet me. Course you're goin', Judy? You've plumb forgot it, or somethin' happened to the messenger. Who ever hyeard tell of anythin'
happenin' in this yere county 'thout you bein' the very axle of it?”
Judith had not betrayed her chagrin by the least change of countenance. To the most searching glance every faculty was intent on the s.h.i.+rt-waist with the ringed b.u.t.tons. Yet both women felt-by a species of telepathy wholly feminine-that Judith was deeply wounded. Loyal Sarah Yellett decided that Hamilton's guests would get but a scant supper from her if her friend Judith was to be unfavored with an invitation, while Judith, in her own warm heart, resented as deeply as Peter's slight of herself, his tale of Miss Colebrooke's impatience to meet Mrs. Yellett. The matriarch's dominant personality evoked many a smile even from those most deeply conscious of her worth; but it wasn't like Peter to make a spectacle of his ruggedly honest neighbor. Nevertheless she remarked, coolly:
”I sha'n't be able to bring your s.h.i.+rt-waist things up Tuesday, I'm afraid, Mrs. Yellett, but I'll try to bring them towards the end of the week.” Then, with a swift change of subject, ”How are the boys getting on with their education, Miss Carmichael?”
The boys looked at Mary out of the corners of their eyes. Their prowess in the field of letters had not been publicly discussed before. Mary Carmichael, emboldened by Judith's presence, looked at her tormentors with a judicious glance.
”The girls are doing fairly well,” she replied, suppressing the mischief in her eyes, ”but the boys, poor fellows, I think something must be the matter with them. Did they ever fall on their heads when they were babies, Mrs. Yellett?”
”Not more than common. All babies fall on their heads; it's as common as colic.”
”Poor boys!” said Mary, with a manner that suggested they were miles away, rather than within a few feet of her. ”Poor boys! I've never seen anything like it. They try so hard, too, yet they can make nothing of work that would be play for a child of three. They must have fallen on their heads harder than you supposed, Mrs. Yellett.”
”Perhaps their skulls were a heap frailer than I allowed for at the time,”
said Mrs. Yellett, with similar remoteness, yet with a twinkle that showed Mary she understood the situation.
”An infant's skull doesn't stand much knocking about, I suppose, Mrs.
Yellett?”
”Not a great deal, if there ain't plenty of vinegar and brown paper handy, and I seldom had such fancy fixings in camp. It's too bad my boys should be dumb 'n account of a little thing like vinegar and brown paper.”
”Maw, they be dumb as Injuns,” declared Cacta, preening herself, while the Messrs. Yellett reapplied themselves to their dinner with ostentatious interest.
”Well, well!” said Mrs. Yellett; ”it be a hard blow to me to know that my sons are lackings; there's mothers I know as would give vent to their disapp'inted ambition in ways I'd consider crool to the absent-minded. Now hearken, the whole outfit of you! Any offspring of mine now present and forever after holding his peace, who proves feebleminded by the end of the coming week, takes over all the work, labor, and ch.o.r.es of such offspring as demonstrates himself in full possession of his faculties, the matter to be reported on by the gov'ment.”
No sovereign, issuing a proclamation of war, could have a.s.sumed a more formidable mien than Mrs. Yellett, squatting erect on the prairie, crowned by her rabbit-skin cap. Mary and Judith, with bland, impa.s.sive expressions, noted the effect of the mandate. There was not the faintest symptom of rebellion; each Brobdingnag accepted the matriarch's edict without a murmur.
With an air of further meditation on the efficacy of brown paper and vinegar at the crucial moment, Mrs. Yellett suddenly observed:
”The lacking, like the dog, may be taught to fetch and carry a book; but to learn it he is unable.”
”Maw, does it say that in the Book of Hiram?” asked Clematis.
”It says that, an' more, too. It says, 'The words of the wise are an expense, but the lovin' parent don't grudge 'em.'”