Part 18 (2/2)
Mehitabel chuckled in high good-humor.
”Kind it is and unappreciated it is; and little is the credit he does to his training. Men are all alike; if they owned half they owe to women they'd be too ashamed to show their heads in daylight.”
The droll airs of the old woman entertained Wynne so greatly that he bore with exemplary fort.i.tude the painful attentions of the physician, the harder to bear because the wound had had time to inflame. The arm was dressed at last, and the doctor took himself away with a parting pa.s.sage of arms with Mehitabel.
”The thing for you to do, young man,” she said, when Dr. Murray had departed, ”is to stay in bed where you are, and that's reason enough for a man to want to get up.”
”I'm not fond of staying in bed,” Maurice responded with a smile; ”and besides that I must get back to Boston.”
She regarded him with an expression of marked disfavor.
”Humph,” said she. ”Quarters ain't good enough for you, I suppose.”
”On the contrary, it is I who am not good enough for the quarters.”
Mehitabel went on with her work of arranging the curtains and putting the room to rights as she answered:--
”Well, I dare say you ain't; but what special thing've you done?”
”Special thing?” Maurice repeated, somewhat confused. ”Oh, I see. The fact is, I don't think I've any right to impose on the hospitality of Mrs. Morison.”
”Well,” a.s.sented she again, ”I dare say you ain't; but if she's willing, you ain't no occasion to grumble, 's I see. She ain't a-going to hear of your starting out hot-foot, 's if she wouldn't keep you.
It'd look bad for the reputation of the family.”
”But,” began he, ”I”--
”Besides,” the old woman continued, ignoring his attempt to speak, ”you ain't got much to wear. Them petticoats you come in, which ain't suitable for any man to wear, without it's the bearded lady in the circus if she's a man, which I never rightly knew, is so torn to pieces by the grace of heaven that you can't go in them, and all the rest of your clothes are all holes and blood.”
”I suppose my clothes were pretty well used up,” he replied, divided between a desire to laugh and a feeling that he should resent the affront to his clerical garb; ”and of course my baggage is nowhere. Can I get clothing here, or shall I have to send to Boston?”
”You can't get men's petticoats,” Mehitabel retorted uncompromisingly, ”nor none of them Popish things. If it's good, plain G.o.d-fearing pants and such, there ain't no trouble, and the price is reasonable.”
”Plain G.o.d-fearing trousers and coat will do,” Maurice answered, bursting into a laugh. ”Do you think that you could send for some if I give you the size?”
She was evidently pleased at the success of her attempts to be funny, for her face relaxed, but she set her mouth primly.
”I'd go myself,” was her reply. ”I'd trust myself to pick out things, and it might give the girls ideas to go traipsing round buying pants and men's fixings.”
When she was gone Maurice lay in a pleasant half-doze, smiling at the absurd old servant with her labored determination to be thought witty, and wondering at the caprices of existence. He was interrupted by the arrival of his breakfast, and after that had been disposed of he received a visit from Mrs. Morison. She was a fine old lady with snowy hair, her sweet face wrinkled into a relief-map of the journey of life, her eyes as bright and sparkling as those of her granddaughter. Wynne could see the family likeness at a glance, and said to himself that some day when time had wrinkled her smooth cheeks and whitened her hair Berenice would be such another beautiful dame. Mrs. Morison brought with her an air of brisk yet serene individuality, as of the fire which on a winter evening burns cheerily on the hearth, warming, invigorating, suggesting wholesome and happy thoughts. She was so kindly and yet so thoroughly alive to the very tips of her fingers that her age almost seemed rather a merry disguise like the powdered hair of a young girl.
”Good-morning,” she greeted him cheerily. ”The doctor says that you are doing well. I hope that you feel so.”
”Thank you,” he answered. ”I don't seem to have as many joints as I used to have, but I'm doing famously, thanks to the skillful treatment I had last night.”
”It was not too skillful, I'm afraid; but Dr. Murray says I did no harm, and that's really a good deal of a compliment from him.”
”I cannot thank you enough for your kindness,” Maurice said. ”It is so strange to be taken care of”--
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