CHAPTER V.

NEW NEIGHBOURS.

THE summer and autumn passed quietly away with our friends; and October saw a goodly supply of vegetables stowed away in John's cellar for winter use. The garden had paid for itself many times over, not only in solid comforts, but in pleasant and healthful amusement; while Joseph's equally good piece of ground had produced nothing better than docks and thistles.

Letty's flowers had done wonders; and her south window in the kitchen was filled with hardy plants in pots, looking rather paler just now in their transition from out-door to in-door life, but which might be expected to produce an abundance of flowers towards the end of winter.

Agnes wondered how Letty could bear to have the sunshine blazing in all day, showing every thing so plainly; but Letty loved sunshine, physical as well as mental; and indeed, her housekeeping could bear the full daylight better than that of her cousin.

November saw two important additions to the neighbourhood in Myrtle Street. Mr. and Mrs. Van Horn moved into Number Four, and Agnes's first baby was born. It proved a fine, bouncing little girl, black-eyed and dark-skinned,—exactly the image of its very good-looking father. Agnes had hoped for a boy, and that it would look like her; but she could not allow her disappointment to embitter her against the little, helpless being which drew its life from her. She even submitted without a murmur to its being called Margaret,—after Joe's mother,—and only made a wry face when he persisted in nicknaming it Peggy, and Madge, and Magpie, and every thing else which could be twisted out of the name of Margaret.

Agnes recovered soon from her confinement, and, Joseph getting an advance of wages about the same time, she hired a nice little English girl to assist her in taking care of the little Madge, as the child came finally to be called. She seemed more placid and contented, and also much more serious and thoughtful, than she had ever done since her marriage; and Letty believed that (as it often happens) the baby was going to make a woman of its mother.

As for Joseph, his admiration of the little stranger was almost painful to witness. The baby was never out of his arms while he was in the house: he built endless castles in the air as to its future, and was terrified at every one of its little ailments. He called Letty up one cold, rainy morning at two o'clock to come and see it expire in convulsions, and ran off a mile for Dr. Woodman before she could dress herself,—somewhat to the disgust of the good doctor, who had been up all the night before, and arrived to find Madge fast asleep in her mother's arms,—the disease having readily yielded to three drops of paregoric!

The other arrival made much more noise and stir in the neighbourhood. Number Four was the only house in the street which made any pretensions to gentility; and it was very genteel indeed. It had a tower, and a bow-window, and a veranda, and a gabled porch, and dormer windows, and every thing else which a house could have outside. And it had a drawing-room, and a parlour, and a dining-room, and a sitting-room, and a library, and every thing else which a house could have inside. And it was painted a delicate peach-blossom colour; and it had a varnished front door, and inside blinds, and various scollops and points and apertures about the roof, and looked just fit to hang up in a tree with a pair of white mice in it. So John said; but Joseph, whose imagination was dazzled with all this show, ascribed this remark to envy, and began to consider the possibility of converting his own dwelling into something similar.

The whole neighbourhood was kept in a state of excitement, for some time, by the arrival of Mrs. Van Horn's furniture. Some people admired the splendour of the carved rosewood sofa, the marble tables, and the pictures,—which seemed to be all gilt frames; and the excitement reached its height when it was discovered that Mrs. Van Horn actually had a piano! For Myrtle Street had hitherto been unblessed or unannoyed by the presence of any musical instrument except Mr. De Witt's fiddle.

But when Mrs. Van Horn made her appearance, the wonder and admiration were transferred from all other things to herself. It was during the time of the first great expansion of skirts; and Mrs. Van Horn's crinoline exceeded every thing that had heretofore been seen in Myrtle Street. Her basque was the longest, her sleeves the richest, her bonnet the most fashionable, that could be imagined. She was a pretty little woman, with pleasant features, long fair curls, a great deal of colour, and very lively manners. Her husband was a dark-whiskered, black-haired man, who dressed as extensively in his way as his wife did in hers. He wore a seal-ring on his finger and a heavy chain on his watch,—quite a contrast to the hard-working men who daily went up and down Myrtle Street with their dinner-pails and baskets.

Agnes was greatly taken with the new-comers, especially with Mrs. Van Horn. She thought the squirrel cage they occupied every thing that could be desired in the way of a mansion, and was really angry with Letty for wondering where they would put all their clothes and furniture, and, that being disposed of, where they would live themselves. What Letty thought of the new-comers may be gathered from a conversation she held with her husband the evening after she had been with her cousin to call on them.

"Have you seen any thing of our new neighbours?" he asked, as he composed himself in his favourite chair after supper.

"I have seen all I want to see," replied Letty, promptly.

It was seldom that she spoke so decidedly about any one; and John looked up in surprise. Letty set up her last dishes, gave a final brush to the stove-hearth, and sat down with her knitting on the other side of the fire. John waited quietly, knowing that Letty would begin to talk of her own accord by-and-by.

"So you didn't particularly like Mrs. Van Horn?"

[Illustration: _Opposite Neighbours._ "I have seen all I want to see."]

"No," replied Letty, "I did not; and I will tell you why. I went with Agnes to call on her,—as was only civil, you know, and I dressed myself all in my best, to do honour to my first call. Well, we got in, and were taken into the parlour, which is very handsomely furnished,—only so crowded that there is no room to turn round. Presently the lady came sailing in, in a very gracious and polite way. She is really very pretty;—I will say that for her.

"She was not backward to enter into conversation. She didn't know how she should like Myrtle Street,—it was rather out of the way of her acquaintances. Most of the people she visited lived in Clay Avenue and Webster Park. She didn't seem to have any place to run into just when she liked, as she did into Dalton's and Trescott's. You may imagine I opened my eyes a little at this; but I said nothing, and she went on. The Dalton girls, she said, were her most particular friends; they were just as intimate as sisters; and Bessie Dalton said she didn't know what they should do without her. As for Kate Trescott, she had cried like a child; and Mrs. Trescott said, 'Really, Mrs. Van Horn, I don't see but you will have to take Kate to board;' and truly she believed Kate loved her better than her own mother. And so she ran on about all sorts of fashionable people, calling them by their Christian names and by nicknames,—a great deal more familiarly than I should speak of Mrs. De Witt to a stranger."

"That was bad taste," said John, as Letty paused, rather out of breath. "But I don't see that it could be called any thing worse: could it?"

"But, John, it isn't true. Haven't I opened the door at Mrs. Trescott's for three years, ever since Davis went away? And shouldn't I be likely to know it, if she had been so intimate there as she says? And I don't believe it's any more true of the Daltons."

"She may have become intimate with them since you came away."

"Not she! Mrs. Trescott never has such intimacies with any one. It is not her way. I never knew her to be on any but good terms with her neighbours; but none of them were in the habit of running in, in that unceremonious way,—not even the Miss Daltons, who were Miss Catherine's most intimate friends,—and cousins beside.

"Then she told how she went out shopping with Kate Trescott and Bessie Dalton, to buy the very dress she had on, and how Kate had said she liked such a thing as that, because very few people fancied it: it was not a thing that every servant-girl would be getting. (Miss Catherine making such a speech as that!) Then she talked about the style of housekeeping among these grand friends of hers, little thinking whom she had for an auditor;—and certainly she told me some news. She said the Trescotts kept two man-servants all the time; and four girls, and that Bessie Dalton kept a carriage and footman of her own. I am sure I may say that she does not tell the truth; and I believe that a person who will lie about one thing will lie about another. Besides, she told scandalous stories about other people that I don't believe she ever spoke to in her life, as though the circumstances had occurred within her own knowledge."

"How did Agnes like her?"

"They seemed very much taken with each other, I thought. Agnes, you know, cares a great deal for dress and such matters. I foresee that they are likely to become very intimate."

Letty's prophecy proved true. Agnes and Mrs. Van Horn were always running backward and forward across the road, bareheaded, leaning over each other's gate, to gossip confidentially about various matters, and going shopping together. Mrs. Van Horn spent a great deal of money, and never hesitated to use her credit when her purse failed; and Letty found she was leading her cousin into expensive habits. Agnes discovered that her last winter's shawl was not nearly warm enough, and that she must have a new cloth cloak,—a circular cloak being, as every one knows, warmer than a shawl. Her bonnet, too, was remodelled and retrimmed with new and very expensive feathers and flowers; and then a new dress became imperatively necessary.

Joe grumbled a little at these expenses; but he had a strong desire that his wife should be genteel; and he was much flattered by her intimacy with Mrs. Van Horn. So he was easily brought to see that she must dress in such style that her new friends need not be ashamed of her. Mr. Van Horn, too, was very affable, and now and then invited Joe to smoke one of his fine cigars with him, and sometimes condescended to borrow a dollar of him when they met at the market.

The little English girl found more and more work put upon her shoulders every day; and Letty really pitied the patient creature. Her mother lived in the neighbourhood; but Agnes seldom found that she could spare Sally to run home even for a few minutes on Sunday, she had so much to do. Letty saw very little of Agnes now; but she ventured to remonstrate one day, when she saw Sally lifting a large kettle off the fire.

"You shouldn't let that child lift such heavy weights alone," said she, when Sally left the room. "Such young girls are easily hurt by overdoing their strength, and the injury may last for a lifetime."

"I don't think Sally hurts herself," said Agnes, carelessly. "She must expect to work if she lives out at all. I suppose you used to do such things when you lived at Mrs. Trescott's: didn't you?"

"Not at her age," replied Letty. "Mrs. Trescott was always very careful about such matters. Sally is growing very fast, and—"

"Really, Letty, I don't think I need your advice in managing my household," interrupted Agnes, warmly. "When I do, I will ask for it. I don't want any one interfering in my family."

"I have no desire to interfere in any way," said Letty.

"Then don't do it! Mind your own affairs, and I will mind mine!" said Agnes, tartly.

Letty left the room without speaking. She felt very much hurt. Agnes had always been in the habit of coming to her in the most unceremonious way whenever she needed assistance. Letty had made half her baby-clothes for her, and had washed and dressed Madge every morning till she was two months old.

Agnes came to her to borrow ever thing she wanted, and often to her no little inconvenience; and Letty really thought she might venture a word of advice without being considered as taking a liberty. She went home fully determined never again to intrude herself on Agnes in any such way. In the course of the same afternoon, Agnes came over with her hands full of work.

"Just look here, Letty, how I have burned the front breadth of my plaid silk! What in the world shall I do with it? Would you try to mend it, or would you take it out altogether?"

"Really, Agnes," said Letty, "I could not venture to advise you, after what you said to me this morning. I don't like to be told to mind my own business."

"Nonsense, child!" said Agnes, assuming an air of superior wisdom. "Don't be so touchy."

"I am not touchy, as you very well know," replied Letty, with spirit. "If I had been, I should have quarrelled with you long ago. I gave you a simple piece of advice about your girl, and in return you insulted me. If John were to know what you said to me this morning, he would never let me go into your house again."

"But, Letty, when I am willing to forgive and forget, why should not you be willing also?"

"What had you to forgive?" asked Letty. "You must not think that you are going to say just what you like to people, and nothing be said in return. I am willing to advise you about your dress, if you wish it; but you must make up your mind that, if we are to continue friends, you must do your share. People who would have friends must show themselves friendly."

Agnes protested that was what she wished,—that she was sorry she had hurt Letty's feelings,—but no one ever minded her; and, besides, she had so many troubles of her own, she added, with a sigh, that she supposed they did make her irritable sometimes. She concluded by again asking Letty's opinion about the dress.

"My first advice would be, not to wear silk dresses about the kitchen-stove, and to wear an apron when you are about your work," said Letty. "You will never keep any thing decent till you learn to do that."

Agnes came very near again telling Letty to mind her own business; but she thought of the burned silk, and refrained.

"If I were you," continued Letty, "I should cut out this burned part, match a piece on, and then turn the skirt round. By taking pains enough, you can mend it so that it will never show."

"What a piece of work!" exclaimed Agnes. "Can't you take it and mend it for me, Letty? You sew so much faster and better than I can; and I want to go down street with Mrs. Van Horn."

"I have no time," replied Letty. "I have begun to cut out some shirts, and I cannot leave them till they are finished; and I have my own mending to do. Besides, I want to go and walk myself. Dr. Woodman was here yesterday, and he says I stay in the house more than is good for me, and that I ought to walk every day."

"Of course!" said Agnes, pettishly. "Any thing rather than help me!"

"That is unjust, Agnes, and you know it. How many days have I spent in sewing for you in the course of last summer?"

"Dear me! You need not fire up again. You are growing so particular, one cannot speak to you!"

Letty did not answer, but set about her own work in silence. Agnes fidgeted a while, now taking up a book and reading a little, now looking out of the window, and now gazing hopelessly at the unfortunate dress. Finally, she took a pair of scissors from Letty's basket and began slowly ripping off the skirt.

"I wonder why Mrs. Trescott did not call on Mrs. Van Horn when she was here yesterday?" she said, presently.

"Mrs. Trescott does not know Mrs. Van Horn."

"Why, Letty, what do you mean? Mrs. Van Horn says that family are her most intimate friends; she is always talking about them."

"I know that. I heard all she said the day we called there. I did not believe it then, because I know it is not Mrs. Trescott's habit to form such sudden and violent intimacies with any one. Still, I did not wish to say any thing till I knew certainly. So, yesterday, when Mrs. Trescott was here, I asked her if she was acquainted with Mrs. Van Horn."

"Well," said Agnes, eagerly, "and what did she say?"

"She said she believed she had seen her," replied Letty, laughing. "The people who rented the brown-stone house took boarders, and she had heard Mrs. Van Horn mentioned as one of them. At first she thought that was all she knew; but, when I described her, she said she thought Mrs. Van Horn called one day to inquire about the rent of one of Mr. Trescott's houses on the Avenue."

"Well, I declare!" ejaculated Agnes. "So all that was made up! Why, she told me only last night that she had taken a long walk with Miss Charlotte Dalton, and had gone there to dinner."

"Worse and worse!" said Letty, laughing, "Why, Agnes, Miss Dalton has not walked farther than across the road to Mrs. Trescott's since I knew her; and that is seven years this fall. She was hurt somehow in the riding-school when she was quite a little girl, and has never walked since. It is only at her best that she can go as far as Mrs. Trescott's."

"Well, if ever! I thought there was something odd about her always going out of church before the sermon."

"Yes; she cannot sit up long on a seat with a straight back. But you would be surprised to see how much work she accomplishes. She has a Sunday-school class,—only the girls always come to her at home—"

"But to think Mrs. Van Horn should have told such a story!" interrupted Agnes. "What do you suppose she could be thinking of?"

"Not of telling the truth, certainly," said Letty. "But I suspect that is the last thing she troubles her head about. You know now why I would not say I liked her."

"After all, Letty, it was only a little bit of romancing," said Agnes, after a pause. "It was not telling a lie, exactly."

"I don't know what you mean by romancing. It seems to me that when a person says what is not true, with the intention of deceiving, that is nothing less than a lie."

"Then you think the intention makes the lie?"

"Of course it does," said Letty. "If I tell Gatty a story about how Ginger went to visit another cat, and what they said to each other, and what a dog said to them, there is no lie in that. Gatty knows very well that kittens and dogs cannot talk. But if I were tell her that some great lady gave me Ginger,—intending thereby to show that I was on very intimate terms with that great lady,—that would be a lie."

"Well, I must say, I wonder how you held your tongue that day," said Agnes. "I should have spoken right out."

"What good would that have done?"

"I don't know that it would have done any good; but it would have mortified her. Besides, it might have made her more careful another time."

"True, it might have had that effect; though I think it doubtful. A person who carries such a habit to Mrs. Van Horn's age is not easily cured. But you must remember, Agnes, that I was not quite sure. I had been away from Mrs. Trescott's almost a year, and I could not tell what might have happened in that time; though, from what I knew of the habits of the family, I thought the story very improbable."

"Well, Letty, I must say, it would be a good thing if every one in the world were as careful in speaking about people as you are," said Agnes, feelingly. "See, I have ripped all that, as you told me. What shall I do now?"

"Put it away, and go to walk with me," said Letty, "and to-morrow I will show you how to match the plaids."

"I don't see how I can; though truly I should like it, Letty. You see, I promised to go shopping with Mrs. Van Horn, and she will expect me and wait for me."

"Of course you must keep your engagement," said Letty. She longed to add a caution against being led into extravagance by her companion's example,—but refrained. She felt that such a caution might do harm rather than good.

For a little while the intimacy between Agnes and her new friend seemed to be cooling off; but it soon became warm again. There was a fascination about Mrs. Van Horn's society which Agnes found it impossible to resist. In truth, she was a skilful flatterer, and exercised her talent even where there was nothing to be gained by it, merely, as it appeared, "to keep her hand in." They soon came to calling each other by their Christian names, to exchanging embraces and kisses, and holding long, confidential conferences.

Agnes now seldom came into Number Ten, except when she had a favour to ask; and both she and Joseph assumed a certain air of superiority, which annoyed John and amused Letty exceedingly.

Shortly after the holidays, little Sally's mother took her home.

"I am sorry to do it, ma'am," she said Agnes; "but the work is altogether too hard for the child. She grows pale and thin, and has a pain in her side and shoulder all the time, and I think she is growing crooked. I cannot well afford to keep her at home; but I can still less afford to have her sick,—perhaps for life."

Agnes was very much annoyed, and had something to say about the impertinence of the "lower classes." She did not find another girl immediately, and was, consequently, obliged to be more at home.

At last she fell into the habit of carrying little Madge over to Number Ten and leaving her with Letty, while she went down-town, or to a concert or other evening entertainment.

Letty was fond of the baby; and, though it necessarily made her some trouble, she did not complain; but after she had twice been kept up till two o'clock in the morning, once while the parents were out on a sleigh-ride, and again while they were at a party,—John rebelled.

"I am not going to have this any longer, Letty!" he said, decidedly, next morning, when Letty's pale cheeks and untasted breakfast showed the headache she would fain have concealed. "Agnes is as well as you, and stronger; and there is no sense in your wearing yourself out in doing her work."

"But, John—"

"But, Letty, I won't; and that is just all about it. If Agnes wished you to take Madge now and then while she went to church, or out to take the air, I should say nothing against it. Such things are all fair and proper between friends and relations,—not to say neighbours; but as to your holding and carrying that fractious baby till two o'clock, that her mother may figure at a ball, where, in my opinion, she has no business to be at all,—there is no sense nor reason in it. You need not disturb yourself," he added, smiling. "I take all the responsibility. Just say, when she asks you, that I have forbidden it."

And Letty did say so, the very next week, when Agnes wished to go to a concert. And Agnes wondered that people could be so selfish, and wondered what she should do, and wondered that Letty could say John was not tyrannical when he laid his commands on her in that way, and finally went over to tell her sorrows to Mrs. Van Horn. That lady exclaimed and sympathized and pitied; but she never offered to let her girl take care of Madge, as Agnes had hoped: so Agnes, for once, had to stay at home.

The next week she found another girl, not so promising in appearance as Sally, but stronger; and after that she felt herself at liberty to run abroad as much as she pleased.

Letty often wondered how she dared to leave the child; but the time was past when she could venture to remonstrate with her cousin.

One day, when Letty was very busy looking over her domestic affairs and putting them in perfect order, Mrs. Van Horn came in. The little parlour was occupied with various pieces of work; but Letty made room for her visitor, and sat down to entertain her. Mrs. Van Horn had something on her mind, and, after several hints and innuendoes, delivered herself to this effect:—

She thought Mrs. Caswell ought to know what people said about her. She had thought it her duty as a friend to come and tell her. Not that she believed it, of course,—she had told everybody so,—but—and here she stopped, and looked more mysterious than ever.

Letty was rather weak and nervous, and this sort of communication agitated her considerably. Her colour changed, and her hands trembled, as she begged Mrs. Van Horn to explain.

That lady, delighted to see the effect of her words, kept her auditor in suspense some time longer, as she declared that she would not hurt Mrs. Caswell's feelings for the world. It was very unpleasant for any one in her situation; she was rather sorry she had said any thing; but every one was talking—and here she made another pause.

Letty was now on the verge of tears; but she restrained herself, and waited in silence for the mystery to be explained; and it came at last.

Mrs. Van Horn had actually heard it said that Mrs. Caswell, before her marriage, was a servant—neither more nor less than a common servant—in some family in the upper part of the city!

Letty could not restrain a laugh, which had, perhaps, something nervous in it; and Mrs. Van Horn looked rather uneasy, but laughed in her turn.

"Of course I knew you would be amused: that is always the best way to treat these things," said she. "I assure you I shall contradict the story everywhere."

"Pray, don't," said Letty, partly resuming her gravity. "It would not be at all worth your while."

"Oh, but I assure you it is no trouble; and, if it were, I do not mind trouble where my friends are concerned."

"But, Mrs. Van Horn, there is another reason for not contradicting the story:—it is quite true. I did live put for some years. I went to Mrs. Trescott's when I was fourteen, and stayed there till I was married; and I am quite sure no one could have a better home. Mrs. Trescott is the kindest friend I have in the world."

It was now Mrs. Van Horn's turn to look blank; but, like a skilful strategist, she determined to make the best of a very awkward position.

"Dear me! Who could have believed it? Not but that I always thought there was something familiar in your face and manners. I dare say I have seen you there; or perhaps it is only because you have caught some of Mrs. Trescott's ways, as you naturally would, living there so long. Poor woman! I am afraid she is not as happy in her family as one could wish. Perhaps you can tell me about the matter. It was commonly reported that Mr. and Mrs. Trescott had a grand quarrel, which was the occasion of his going off to Europe so suddenly a year ago. It was said that he objected to her spending so much on her poor relations, and declared that he would not be burdened with the support of the whole Dalton tribe: they might take care of themselves. I believe, too, she objected to his running after mediums so much. I have heard, on the best authority, that he is really a spiritualist, and goes to a clairvoyant for advice as to all his business matters. I understand that when his nephews want to get money out of him, they go and bribe this woman; and Mr. Trescott does just what she tells him."

Letty indignantly denied the truth of all these stories. She wondered how such scandals grew up.

Mrs. Van Horn wondered too, and related several more of the same sort, just to show what people would say. She then asked if Letty would be so very kind as to give her a glass of water. Her sharp eyes had caught sight of something which she wished to examine a little more closely.

Letty was not gone quite so long as she was expected to be, and returned to find her visitor closely examining the marks of a pile of rather fine handkerchiefs,—a part of Maria's wardrobe which Mrs. Trescott had given her.

Mrs. Van Horn looked confused at first, but soon recovered herself; while Letty coloured at the impertinence,—a circumstance which Mrs. Van Horn did not fail to observe.

"What beautiful marking!" said she, coolly holding the handkerchief to the light. "I never saw any thing nicer!"

"It is very neat," said Letty; "but here are some which are more curious still:" and she showed her one of the fine towels before mentioned, and marked with the name of Anastasia Burchell in most elaborate cross-stitch. "One does not often see any thing like that now-a-days."

"No, indeed! Nor such superb damask, either!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Horn, with enthusiasm. "I declare, they are the handsomest towels I ever saw! And such an immense size! How beautifully they are done up! They look like new!"

"They have never been used since I had them," said Letty, glad to divert the woman's attention to something which was not slander. "Here are some table-cloths of the same sort." And she displayed her treasures to the admiring eyes of Mrs. Van Horn, who observed every thing closely and went away with her head full of a new idea.

"It is a likely story that any one ever gave her those things!" she said to herself. "People don't make such presents to kitchen-girls. I dare say she knew how to help herself. After all, she did not deny, in so many words, that Trescott and his wife quarrelled. I dare say it is true. People that pretend to such wonderful goodness are just the ones to be up to all sorts of mischief."