CHAPTER XI.

FURTHER CHANGES.

FROM this time forward, a coolness grew up between the two families in Myrtle Street.

Joe was very much vexed about the money. Still, he was naturally placable, and, if left to himself, would, no doubt, soon have forgotten his annoyance; but there was a skilful hand at the bellows, keeping up the fire of anger in his mind.

Mr. Van Horn was jealous of John Caswell. John was the Mordecai sitting in the gate of Myrtle Street, who had always refused to bow down to his greatness. Moreover, he had reasons of his own for disliking to have his affairs observed by any one so quick-sighted as the grave, slow-spoken carpenter. He knew that Joe had been in the habit of telling his cousin all about his business affairs; and he made up his mind that, under present circumstances, such openness would not be desirable. He therefore set himself to work, now by insinuations, now by sarcasm, and now by open abuse, to poison the mind of Joe and his wife against their relations across the road.

In this work he had an efficient coadjutor in his wife, to whom mischief-making was as her daily bread, and who, under an appearance of the greatest simplicity, and even silliness, concealed as much cunning as her grave and artful husband.

Agnes soon became distant and cold to her cousins. She ceased to run into Number Nine a dozen times a day, to borrow something, to ask help about her work, or to look at Letty's new magazine. If Letty called at Number Ten, she was received with the most chilling ceremony, or with abundant hints about people minding their own business and keeping their own place. For some time Letty persisted in going to see her cousin, in spite of this treatment; but the manner of both Joe and Agnes at last became so offensive that she had nothing to do but to stay away. Even Madge was no longer allowed to visit her cousin and thus the poor child was deprived of her greatest solace. Letty grieved deeply over the estrangement, and tried in every way to remedy it; but in vain. The more she tried, the worse the matter grew; and she was at last fain to let things take their course, hoping that time would bring Agnes to her senses.

But Letty regretted many things in her cousins' ways more than their conduct to herself. Living opposite, as she did, she could not help seeing the increased expenses of the family, the growing extravagance of Agnes's dress, the hired carriages, the late ball and theatre goings, the card and supper parties. She mourned, too, over the change in Joe's appearance. He had always been rather a sober and steady man, even in his bachelor days, and since his marriage he had become still more so; but Letty could not but notice how red his face was becoming, and how loudly he sometimes talked when he came home late in the evening.

The Alhambra, as he called his place of business, began to be noted for its good liquors and cigars, and the excellence of the free lunches it set forth on festival-days. It had a great run of custom, and people began to whisper that the sale of liquors was not the most profitable business carried on there; that back of the grand billiard-saloon on the first floor, the windows of which blazed with light at the latest hours, there was another apartment, the windows of which did not blaze with light,—which had, in fact, no windows at all, and where the visitors pursued these amusements with closed doors and were waited upon by Mr. Van Horn himself.

Meantime, Mrs. Van Horn Was getting into society, as she called it, very rapidly. Mrs. Van Horn's acquaintances were, of course, Agnes's: they belonged mostly to what was called "the fast set,"—people who made many expensive parties, played cards for money, and prided themselves on doing startling things.

Agnes was very good-looking, and somewhat elegant in her appearance, and her manners were rather above than below those of most of the people whom she met in this set: nevertheless, she was subject to many mortifications. She fancied that every one knew she had once been a shop-girl,—and, indeed, Mrs. Van Horn kindly took care that every one should know it,—and she was always thinking that people threw out hints about her former way of life. Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Lamb, the principal personages of her "set," sometimes patronized and sometimes snubbed her.

And, finally, she was aware that there existed in T— a much finer "set" than her own, to which she and Mrs. Van Horn had no more chance of access than they had of being presented to the man in the moon:—a quiet set, who did not dress extravagantly, nor drive fast horses, nor give many large parties, but who interested themselves in poor people, who managed the Orphans Asylum and the Old Ladies' Home, and who constituted the Club,—the Book Club,—strictly limited as to numbers, and on which many people cast longing eyes who had never read through a book in their lives. Why, it would be hard to say, except that it seems to be human nature for people to desire what they cannot have, simply because it is unattainable.

What made Agnes's exclusion the harder was, that Letty seemed to be creeping into this very set, and that by no effort of her own, but simply, as it were, by the force of mutual attraction. Letty's natural disposition led her to seek comfort in her own sorrows by trying to relieve those of other people; and after the death of her little Alick she accepted the post of district visitor of the Charitable Society. Her coadjutor in the work was no other than Mrs. Mark Campion, wife of the only author of whom the town of T— could boast, and a person of great consideration on her own account.

By this means, Letty was naturally brought into the society of the other visitors; and one morning Agnes, looking out of her window: was greatly amazed to see Mrs. Campion coming out of Letty's house in company with Mrs. Street,—the Mrs. Street, whom "not to know argued one's self unknown," but whom Agnes and Mrs. Van Horn had hitherto beheld at an awful distance. Agnes had not been inside her cousin's door for three months, and it cost her a little sacrifice of dignity to run over now; but curiosity proved too strong for pride, and she went.

Letty received her cousin just as if they had met the day before; but Agnes fancied that she could trace suppressed amusement in her cousin's cordial manner. Letty was amused, for she knew exactly what had brought Agnes round; but she chatted on easily about the garden, Madge, and the last novelty in worsted-work. At last Agnes had to come to the point herself.

"You had some company this morning?"

"Yes," replied Letty.

"I did not know you were acquainted with Mrs. Street."

"Oh, yes: I have known her all my life. She was very intimate with Mrs. Trescott."

"I suppose she came to inquire for a girl, or some such thing?" said Agnes.

"No: she is not at housekeeping, and she keeps the same old lady's maid she has had these twenty years. Good old Casey! She taught me a deal of pretty work when I was a little girl; and when I was married she gave me no end of good advice, besides a wonderful needle-book and pincushion. Did I ever show them to you?"

Agnes could have boxed her cousin's ears with a good will; but she put a strong constraint on herself, and said,—

"Now, Letty, don't be provoking. What do I care about old Casey? I want to know what brought Mrs. Street here; for of course she did not come to make a call."

"Why of course?"

"Oh, because she never would call on any one who lived in Myrtle Street. I tell Joe every day that we shall never have any society as long as we live down here out of the world."

"Now, I think Myrtle Street a very nice place," said Letty. "It is so open and airy, and the lots are so large. I would not change our garden for the grandest place on the Avenue."

"Sour grapes, Letty!"

"May-be so. It is at least a good thing to think one's own grapes sweeter than any other."

"But come, now, tell me: what did Mrs. Street come for?"

"They are about to add a children's department to the Home; and, knowing that I am fond of children, she and Mrs. Trescott put their heads together and invited me to take a share with them in the oversight of it."

"Well, I declare!—To be with Mrs. Street and Mrs. Townsend and all that set of grand people, meeting them at committees and every thing!"

"Yes; I suppose so, if I accept. I told Mrs. Street I must consult my husband before I gave her a positive answer. If I decide to do it, I am to meet all the ladies at Mrs. Townsend's to-morrow afternoon, to talk over matters."

"If you accept! It's not very likely you will refuse, I guess."

"I do not think I shall refuse if John has no objection," replied Letty, quietly. "It is a kind of work that I like,—even better than knitting double wool," she added, smiling; "and, then, one makes pleasant acquaintances."

"Oh, there is no danger of his refusing. He never objects to what you wish to do, just because you do wish it. There is the difference in people. What are you making now?"

"A scarf," replied Letty, displaying her work. "Don't you want the pattern? It is quite new, and very pretty."

"I should like it of all things," said Agnes, examining the scarf, "but, the truth is, I have such a bill at Mrs. Mercer's now, that I don't dare to go there. I am in terror every day lest she should send in the bill to Joe. You need not look so shocked," she added, with an affected laugh: "I dare say you have your own little private accounts that you don't tell your husband of."

"Never! Never!" said Letty, warmly. "I should not dare to look him in the face if I did."

"Well, well: people are different, as I said; and so you would find out if you had Joe to manage. Come in and see me, Letty: you never come near me now-a-days."

"Because I thought you did not want me," said Letty, frankly. "I kept on going till you gave me clearly to understand that my room was better than my company."

"Nonsense! You are always taking offence," said Agnes, in a superior tone. "Of course, with all my engagements, and moving in such very different circles as we do, I cannot run in every day, as I used to when things were different: you ought not to expect it."

"I don't," said Letty, dryly; "but, Agnes, you might let Madge be brought over and see me now and then: she is not old enough to be injured by our inferior associations, you know; and I should really be glad to have her; I am sure a change would be better for her than lying all the time in that dull back room."

"Yes, of course she can come, if you want to be plagued with her," said Agnes. "I don't know what I am to do with the child: she's becoming a great care; she just wants me or some one devoted to her every minute, reading to her or playing with her; and it is very inconvenient."

"She has so few resources,—poor thing!" said Letty. "It is not as if she could run about and amuse herself like other children, you know."

"I am sure she has resources enough, if that is all," said Agnes. "Joe never comes in without bringing her something, and she is never out of his arms while he is in the house; and mother is just as bad. As sure as I want her to do any thing, the excuse is that she cannot leave Madge. For my part, I don't believe in having all the well people in the house put out of the way for the sake of one sick one."

"Mrs. Trescott used always to say that well people could wait," remarked Letty. "But, if you send her over here, she will be out of every one's way for a while, at least. Mary can bring her over, and John will take her home when he comes to tea."

"Well, I don't mind:—only be careful of her, and don't let her take cold, as you did before;" for Agnes always kept up the fiction that it was Letty's neglect which had caused Madge's ill health, and Letty had become so used to the accusation that she never thought of replying to it.

Agnes departed at last, going at once to Mrs. Van Horn to tell her news and express her amazement.

Mrs. Van Horn wondered too, and finally decided that the affair must somehow grow out of the fact that Mr. Caswell had the contract for building the new wing of the Home. She expressed a good deal of astonishment that Agnes should have gone to see Letty, after the way she had been treated and the remarks Mrs. Caswell had made. It was no part of her plan to have Agnes renew her former intimacy; and she used so well her ordinary weapons of insinuation and falsehood that, when Letty returned her cousin's visit, she found Agnes frozen up stiffer than ever.

The quarrel did not, however, extend to Madge. Agnes found it very convenient to get rid of the child for two or three afternoons in the week, that Mrs. Train might be at liberty to help Mary: consequently, Madge often enjoyed the change of a visit to Cousin Letty, where she had Gatty to amuse her and where she could experience, the marvellous and unaccustomed pleasure of behaving herself well and doing what she was bidden. She was still quite helpless so far as walking was concerned, though she could sit up a little while if properly supported; but she was becoming quite deformed. She was uncommonly bright and thoughtful, though terribly spoiled, and as ignorant as a little New Zealander of any thing she ought to have known. She was never satisfied in the matter of reading aloud, and really taxed her friends severely.

Presently, Letty represented to her that, if she would only learn to read, she would be quite independent in that respect and could amuse herself when she liked. Madge seized on the idea with enthusiasm, and begged Cousin Letty to teach her. She learned surprisingly fast, and was soon able to read an easy book for herself. She improved in other ways,—learned to put some restraint on herself and to help herself more easily. Letty thought she suffered from lack of exercise; and so she often laid her on the floor instead of on the sofa, and encouraged her to roll about as much as possible. Madge enjoyed these changes; and Letty was even not without hopes that the child might recover in some degree the use of her limbs.

In the course of the next year, however, Agnes accomplished her long-cherished purpose of removing from Myrtle Street. Number Ten was sold, and Joe bought a fine new house quite at the other end of the town, where a fashionable district was rapidly filling up. Joe was, apparently, growing rich very fast. He spent money freely, and assumed all the airs of a man of wealth and consequence. He really seemed to be touched with Letty's kindness to his unfortunate child, as he called her,—thanked her in the most condescending manner when he went away, and made her a present of a very expensive and really valuable book,—though John was a little inclined to be vexed with Letty for accepting it.

"But, John, where was the use of making a fuss?" said Letty. "As to any obligation, Madge's board for the last year would come to many times the price of the book, not to speak of any thing else; and I wish to keep on good terms with them for the sake of the poor child. As to Joe's airs, they are simply amusing. I could hardly help laughing all the time he was here."

"I suppose that is the best way of looking at the matter," said John. "I cannot conceive how it is that they go on; though I suppose there is no doubt that they make a great deal of money."

"Don't you regret now that you did not put our legacy into the concern?" asked Letty, mischievously. "Just think! You might have been quite a rich man by this time, and Joe would have introduced you into society!"

"Thank you," said John: "I don't think Joe's circle of society would suit me at all. I am afraid some of it is of a kind that will lead him into a deal of trouble, some day or other. I see him in company with men whom I know to be regular gamblers; and it is said—I don't know how truly—that Van Horn has a resort of that kind, where a great deal of his money is made."

"Surely," said Letty, "Joe would never be engaged in such a business as that?"

"I am not so clear," replied her husband. "Joe has good impulses enough, but he has no principle,—nothing to keep him from being led away by any one who chooses to take the trouble. Van Horn flatters him and makes him think that he is going to be a great man directly. I fear he will be his utter destruction before all is done."

They had scarcely finished this dialogue, when Aunt Train came in, looking pale and weary.

"I am tired," said Mrs. Train, with emphasis, as she dropped into Letty's easy-chair. "I am worked off my feet, and just ready to drop, with all this fuss of moving, and the rest; but I thought I could not go away without coming to see you once more, Letty."

"You know it is no fault of mine that we have not seen more of each other," said Letty, gently.

"I know; I know," replied Mrs. Train, hastily. "I have no fault to find with either you or John. You have always been kind and respectful to me, Letty,—always: I will say that for you. How nice and pleasant you look here!" said Mrs. Train, glancing around. "Your wife has that trait of a good housekeeper, John. She knows how to make every part of her house pleasant and inviting. She does not have one grand parlour for company, and the living-rooms anyhow and every-how."

"I never have any but living-rooms," said Letty, smiling. "I never want a house larger than I can use. How do you like the one where you are going?"

"All show and outside," replied Mrs. Train. "It is handsome, too,—very handsome. But I do think it rather hard upon my old bones to have to mount up to the third story to sleep, or else up with a little hole of a room in the basement. I am not used to stairs, and they are very hard upon me. The fact is, the house is not nearly so convenient as the one we are in, especially with a helpless child like Madge to take care of; but, then, Joe and Agnes think the situation makes up for every thing; and perhaps it does."

"I don't myself see the great advantages of the situation," said John, dryly. "The land is, a great deal of it, made by filling in, and the lots are very small. The houses have no gardens, and they are all up-stairs and down-stairs."

"Yes; but, then, we never do any thing with a garden. If we had forty acres, we should only raise just so many more weeds. Joe says a garden does not pay."

"Mine pays, I can assure you," said John. "Think of all the fruit we have had this year,—strawberries and raspberries and grapes more than we could use, and almost all the summer vegetables we have needed. Joe's garden is as good as mine if he would work it as I do."

"Why, aunt, you used to be fond of a garden," said Letty. "I remember what a nice one you always had at the old North Street house."

"I used to have a good many things in the old North Street house that I shall never have again," said Mrs. Train, rather bitterly. "Take my advice, Letty, and keep your own roof over your head as long as you can. There is no great comfort in living in other people's houses."

"So I think," said Letty.

"I used to think I worked hard at home; and so I did," continued Mrs. Train; "but, at any rate, I had the comfort of what I did. I had my own way, and nobody interfered with me. But now I work like a slave from morning till night, doing what no one else wants to do, and, after all, I get no thanks for it. I brought Agnes up like a lady," she continued, wiping her eyes: "I never let her put her hands to a bit of hard work. I laboured day and night that she might have advantages,—that she might go to school and dress and appear like a lady; and what is the consequence? She looks down upon her old mother, and wants to keep her out of sight. She grudges me decent clothes,—though she has the use of all my little income, and expects me to do all the work that Mary can't or won't do."

"You know I always disliked the idea of your putting your property out of your own hands," said John.

"I know," said Mrs. Train. "You were right; and I was an old fool,—that is all."

"But, aunt, if you are so uncomfortable, why not take lodgings of your own?" asked Letty. "Mrs. Mercer, next door, has a nice, large front room and bedroom which she would like to rent. She is a very good woman, and there would be no children to annoy you, except poor little Harry, who is no trouble to any one. Then you would be near us; and we could see that you were comfortable. John would attend to your coal, and all that, and I would help you a great deal."

Mrs. Train shook her head. "It wouldn't do, Letty. Thank you all the same; but it would not do. You see, I cannot work at fine sewing as I used to, and my little income is not enough to support me without my house. And, besides, there is poor Madge. What would become of her without granny?"

"True," replied Letty. "She could hardly spare you, I suppose."

"No, no," said Mrs. Train. "There is no help for it now. I have made my bed, and I must lie in it: that is all. I don't like to ask you to come and see me, Letty, after all that has passed; but I shall always think of you kindly. Good-by; and God bless you!"

"Poor aunt!" said Letty, as she closed the door. "I do wish she could be made more comfortable."

"I don't see how it can be done at present," replied John. "If it were not for Madge, we might ask her here; but what would become of the child?"

"My stepmother used to say, long ago, that aunt was laying up trouble for herself by the way she brought up Agnes," said Letty. "She said what I believe to be true,—that spoiled children never are grateful to those who spoil them. I have more than once seen aunt hanging out clothes or sifting ashes on a freezing day, while Agnes was hanging over the fire with a story-book or some nonsensical piece of embroidery.

"Mother was always indulgent enough to me in the way of giving me playthings and time to play with them; but then she would always make me help her, ever since I can remember,—even when my help must have been much more a plague than a profit. I cannot remember when I had not certain duties to perform every day. I used to think myself hardly used,—quite a little martyr; but I am thankful to her now for all she did. I am very, very sorry for Aunt Train."