Volume II Part 18 (1/2)

”The what, auntie?”

”The horses for the cortege. You know Brown puts that magnificent span of his in the hea.r.s.e on account of their handsome action. I'm sure Mrs.

Gaylard would have been frightened to death if she could only have seen the way they pranced at her funeral last fall. I was determined then that they should never draw me;” and Aunt Pen s.h.i.+vered for herself beforehand. ”And I can't have them from Timlin's, for the same reason,”

said she. ”All his animals are skittish; and you remember when a pair of them took fright and dashed away from the procession and ran straight to the river, and there'd have been four other funerals if the schooner at the wharf hadn't stopped the runaways. And Timlins has a way, too, of letting white horses follow the hea.r.s.e with the first mourning-coach, and it's very bad luck, very--an ill omen; a prophecy of Death and the Pale Horse again, you know. And I won't have them from Shust's, either,”

said Aunt Pen, ”for he is simply the greatest extortioner since old Isaac the Jew.”

”Well, auntie,” said Mel, forgetful of her late repentance, ”I don't see but you'll have to go with Shank's mare.”

Even Aunt Pen laughed then. ”Don't you really think you are going to lose me, girls?” asked she.

”No, auntie,” replied Maria. ”We all think you are a hypo.”

”A hypo?”

”Not a hypocrite,” said Mel, ”but a hypochondriac.”

”I wish I were,” sighed Aunt Pen; ”I wish I were. I should have some hope of myself then,” said the poor inconsistent innocent. ”Oh no, no; I feel it only too well; I am going fast. You will all regret your disbelief when I am gone;” and she lay back among her pillows. ”That reminds me,” she murmured, presently. ”About my monument.”

”Oh, Aunt Pen, do be still,” said Mel.

”No,” said Aunt Pen, firmly; ”it may be a disagreeable duty, but that is all the better reason for me to bring my mind to it. And if I don't attend to it now, it never will be attended to. I know what relatives are. They put down a slab of slate with a skull and cross-bones scratched on it, and think they've done their duty. Not that I mean any reflections on you; you're all well-meaning, but you're giddy. I shall haunt you if you do any thing of the kind! No; you may send Mr. Mason up here this afternoon, and I will go over his designs with him. I am going to have carved Carrara marble, set in a base of polished Scotch granite, and the inscription is--Girls!” cried Aunt Pen, rising and clasping her knees with unexpected energy, ”I expressly forbid my age being printed in the paper, or on the lid, or on the stone! I won't gratify every gossip in town, that I won't! I shall take real pleasure in baffling their curiosity. And another thing, while I am about it, don't you ask Tom Maltby to my funeral, or let him come in, if he comes himself, on any account whatever. I should rise in my shroud if he approached me. Yes, I should! Tom Maltby may be all very well; I dare say he is; and I hope I die at peace with him and all mankind, as a good Christian should. I forgive him; yes, certainly, I forgive him; but it doesn't follow that I need forget him; and, so long as I remember him, the way he conducted in buying the pew over my head I can't get over, dead or alive. And if I only do get well we shall have a reckoning that will make his hair stand on end--that he may rely on!” And here Aunt Pen took the fan from Maria, and moved it actively, till she remembered herself, when she resigned it. ”One thing more,” she said. ”Whatever happens, Helen, don't let me be kept over Sunday. There'll certainly be another death in the family within the year if you do. If I die on Sat.u.r.day, there's no help for it. Common decency won't let you shove me into the ground at once, and so you will have to make up your minds for a second summons.” And Aunt Pen, contemplating the suttee of some one of us with great philosophy, lay down and closed her eyes again. ”You might have it by torchlight on Sunday night, though,” said she, half opening them. ”That would be very pretty.” And then she dropped off to sleep with such a satisfied expression of countenance that we judged her to be welcoming in imagination the guests at her last rites herself.

Whatever the dream was, she was rudely roused from it by the wreched little Israel, who came bounding up the stairs, and, without word or warning, burst into the room, almost white with horror. Why Israel was afraid I can't conjecture, but, at any rate, a permanent fright would have been of great personal advantage to him. ”Oh, ma'am! oh, miss!

dere's a pusson down stairs, a cullud woman, wid der small-pox!” he almost whistled in his alarm.

”With the small-pox!” cried Aunt Pen, springing into the middle of the floor, regardless of her late repose _in articulo mortis_. ”Go away, Israel! Have you been near her? Put her out immediately! How on earth did she get there?”

”You allus telled me to let everybody in,” chattered Israel.

”Put her out! put her out!” cried Aunt Pen, half dancing with impatience.

”We can't get her out. She's right acrost der door-step. We's feared ter tech her.”

But Aunt Pen's head was out of the window, and she was shouting: ”Police! fire! murder! thieves!” possibly in the order of importance of the four calamities, but quite as if she had a plenty of breath left; and, for a wonder, the police came to the rescue, and directly afterward an ambulance took the poor victim of the frightful epidemic to the hospital. I believe it turned out to be only measles after all, though.

”Run, Israel!” screamed Aunt Pen then; ”run instantly and bring home a couple of pounds of roll-brimstone, and tell the maids to riddle the furnace fire and make it as bright and hot as possible, and to light fires in the parlor grates, and in the old Latrobe, and in every room in the house, without losing a minute. We'll make this house too warm for it!”

And, to our amazement, as soon as Israel came darting back with the impish material, Aunt Pen took a piece in each hand, directed us to do the same, and wrapping the blue afghan round her shoulders, descended to the lower rooms three steps at a time, sent for the doctor to come and vaccinate us, and having set a chair precisely over the register where a red-hot stream of air was pouring up, she placed herself upon it and issued her orders.

Every window was closed, every grate from bas.e.m.e.nt to attic had a fire lighted in it, and little pans of brimstone were burning in every room and hall in the house, while we, astonished, indignant, frightened, and amused, sat enduring the torments of vapor and sulphur baths to the point of suffocation.

”I can't bear this another moment,” wheezed Mel.

”It's the only way,” replied Aunt Pen, serenely, with a rivulet trickling down her nose. ”You kill the germs by heat, and since we can't bake ourselves quite to death, we make sure of the work by the fumes.”

And as she sat there, her face rubicund, her swan's-down straight, drops on her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, and wherever drops could cling, her eyes watering, her curls limp, and an atmosphere of unbearable odor enveloping her in its cloud, the front door opened, and a footstep rung on the tiles.