CHAPTER XIV.
AUNT BETSEY UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
Uncle Nathan’s orchard was a long distance from his house, and adjoined aunt Nyna’s garden. When the apples were ripe enough to gather and put up for sale, uncle Nathan employed both the Greysons and Grimsbys, and aunt Betsey came down, of her own accord, to see that the boys did not carry away any, and also to take particular care that they put a good proportion of the small ones into the barrels intended for market. There was quite a high stone wall between the orchard and aunt Nyna’s garden, and close beside this wall, in the garden, grew a famous peach tree. It was a source of great profit to aunt Nyna, for the peaches were very large and luscious, and always commanded a very high price.
One day, during the apple gathering, aunt Betsey stood by the wall and regarded the peach tree with a longing gaze. She glanced down at the wall and then up to the tree, and measured with her eye, as though she was revolving a subject of great importance in her mind.
“Nathan,” said she to her husband, “doesn’t that branch of the tree hang over the wall?”
“Well—yes—a little,” he replied, carelessly.
“Then,” said aunt Betsey, with an eager look, “according to law and common custom, all the peaches on it belong to us, and I wish you would send up one of the boys to gather them.”
“I shan’t do any such thing!” said uncle Nathan, decidedly.
“Well, then,” she replied, “if you won’t, I will; for what’s ours is ours, and I’ll have it at any rate.”
“Indeed you will!” said uncle Nathan in surprise; “I wouldn’t touch one of those peaches for my right hand, and what’s more, I tell you not to.” It was very seldom that he spoke in such an authoritative manner, and therefore aunt Betsey was considerably disconcerted. She said nothing more, but secretly resolved that have the peaches she would, and as it was high time they were gathered, she felt that the sooner she secured her part the better. That afternoon she had the minister and his wife to tea. She put on her best black silk dress, which she had kept very carefully for more than ten years. She also put on her blandest expression of countenance, and talked so piously that the minister and his wife supposed her to be a perfect model of goodness and propriety. It was sometime after nine when her visitors left, and as uncle Nathan was very much fatigued, he retired immediately, leaving aunt Betsey at her sewing.
“Now,” thought she to herself, “as there is such a clear, bright moon, I will just run over and get those peaches.” She took her basket and hastened forth, but had not proceeded far, when she bethought herself that she had on her very best dress. For a few moments she hesitated, and almost made up her mind to go back and change it, but the fear that she should get hindered or discovered, decided her to keep on and risk the consequences. The way was long and lonely, but aunt Betsey was a very resolute woman, and would go through fire and water to accomplish her purpose. Arriving at the orchard, she crossed it very quickly—mounted the stone wall, and laying hold of the branch, had already deposited several of the peaches in her basket, when she heard a fierce growl, and the next moment Bose seized her by the leg.
“Mercy me!” exclaimed aunt Betsey, as she tumbled down on the wall, all in a heap—“O Bose! you dear, good dog! How you frightened me! Let go of me, Bose! do, there’s a good fellow! Oh! Oh! Why, I’m aunt Betsey, don’t you know me!” But just then, Bose seemed to be no respecter of persons, and the only proof he gave of his goodness, was that of letting go of her leg and seizing her by the dress, which he shook fiercely, rending and tearing it in the most shocking manner. Every thread which gave way, seemed to draw right from aunt Betsey’s heart, but there was no helping it. She attempted to conciliate Bose by patting him, but it rather appeared to increase his fury, and to all her terms of affection and endearment, he only answered by significant growls.
“O dear!” she exclaimed at length, “what shall I do! I never saw such a savage, unmanageable brute in my life!” She sat still for some time, and the dog gradually loosened his hold. She felt greatly relieved, and drew up her feet gently to spring from the wall; but the moment she did so, Bose seized her dress in a new place, and tore it most shockingly. Aunt Betsey grew desperate.
“Begone! you villain you!” she exclaimed, as she beat the dog upon his head with her basket. She discovered immediately, however, that this was an altogether mistaken movement, for Bose seized her at once by the arm, and set his teeth so firmly that she cried out with pain.
“O merciful Heaven!” she moaned, “I believe I have done wrong, or I never should be punished so terribly. But O, Lord!” she added devoutly, with uplifted hands—“if thou wilt only bring me out of this difficulty, I never will do the like again.” Even her prayers, though, seemed just then to be unavailing, for the dog would not let her stir an inch. If she remained quiet any length of time, Bose sat down beside her, but the moment she started he seized her again. At one time, she attempted to cry out for assistance, but at this Bose became perfectly furious, and therefore she desisted.
“Well,” said she at length, after she had been sitting upon the wall for about two hours, and saw no prospect whatever of an escape—“I suppose I have got to sit here till morning, and how much longer nobody knows, for this horrid brute acts as if he was possessed. I declare I wish this peach tree had been in Sodom before ever I touched it. What a pretty sight I shall be, going home by broad daylight, with my dress all in tatters!” and she began to cry in good earnest.
The dew and the chilly night air made her shiver, but Bose seemed to resent even the movement that she made to draw her shawl around her.
After sitting quiet for a long time, she heard the village clock strike twelve. Once more she attempted to slip stealthily from the wall, but again she was rudely detained by her watchful sentinel. Moaning and sobbing in utter despair, she concluded to submit, and wait till morning should bring relief.
Suddenly, however, a most alarming sound fell upon her ear. It was the village bells ringing briskly, as if for fire. She bethought herself directly, that in her haste, she had left some blazing brands upon her hearth, and that in consequence perhaps her own house might now be in flames. The thought made her almost distracted, but she dared not make the least movement to depart.
Once more she listened intently, and distinguished a confused sound of voices. Sometimes there appeared to be only a single one, and then to be many. Again they would seem to come near, and then go a great way off. The shouting, also, was not in the least like the cry of fire, and therefore she did not know how to understand it. She began to think, at last, that she had suddenly become deranged, and all this noise and confusion existed only in her imagination. It was not long, however, before she discovered lights glancing among the trees, and soon saw a party of men, with lanterns in their hands, coming through the orchard, directly towards her. Again she began to wonder what all this could mean, when her imagination suggested that some bloody deed had been committed in the village, and now they were out in quest of the perpetrator. A thrill of horror passed over her, and as the men came nearer she ventured to call out to them.
“O, here she is! here she is!” they all shouted at once, as they hastened towards her, and immediately they blew a terrible blast on the fish horns they carried with them, as a signal to others that the object of their search was found. Mr. Byers was the foremost of the group; and in his company were the minister, doctor, lawyer, schoolmaster, two deacons, the town clerk, and the editor of the village paper.
“Why, Mrs. Hastings!” said Mr. Byers, as he held up his lantern and surveyed her—“how came you here?”
“Well,” replied aunt Betsey, trying to put on a fair face before this honorable company—“you see my husband has been putting up his apples, and as he left all the barrels in the orchard, I thought I would just take a run down before I went to bed, to see that all was safe, when the first thing I knew this horrible dog laid hold of me, and has kept me here ever since.”
Mr. Byers held his lantern over the wall. Bose sprang up to him, wagging his tail and looking delighted, as if conscious he had done his duty. Then, seizing aunt Betsey’s basket in his teeth, he shook it with a fierce growl, scattering the few peaches that yet remained in it.
“O, ho!” said Mr. Byers, “it is very easy to see through all this, now that we have a little light on the subject. How happened it, Mrs. Hastings, that the widow’s peaches lodged in your basket?”
“Well, Mr. Byers,” returned aunt Betsey, tartly, “if you must know, I will tell you. Please hold up your lantern, and if you look carefully, you will perceive that one branch of that tree hangs a little over our orchard; therefore all the fruit on it belongs, by good rights, to us. I thought, since I was down here, I might as well take them now as at any time, and I defy all the world to find fault with me. What’s right is right, anyhow, let people say what they will.”
Aunt Betsey had stepped down from the wall, and now stood before them with her dress all in tatters, her arms akimbo, and her head thrust forward, looking the very picture of defiance.
“Woman!” said Mr. Byers, gravely, as he gave her a contemptuous poke with his cane—“I am ashamed of you! you are a disgrace to humanity in general, and your sex in particular. What is legally right is not always morally so; and for you, with your abundance, to steal peaches from a poor widow woman, is, to say the least, a sin in the sight of God, for which you have been justly punished.”
“Friends!” he added in a louder tone, as he turned to the group behind him, which had gradually augmented till the whole population of the village seemed to be present, “this woman is more to be pitied than blamed, for to carry such a narrow contracted heart in the bosom, is the greatest curse that can fall upon any human being, and for the sake of that Christian charity which thinketh no evil, let us hush the matter up as soon as possible.”
“Yes,” said the editor, significantly, “I shall hush it up according to my usual custom. I have a very excellent method of disposing of such matters.”
Aunt Betsey burst into tears. Her husband came up and offered his arm. She took it and walked home, accompanied by such an escort as no woman in the village ever had before. Behind and before her went her neighbors and friends, talking over the matter with perfect freedom; and from their remarks the unhappy woman had not the least reason to doubt, that although they compassionated her sincerely, yet her inconsiderate act met with their unqualified condemnation. From that day (or we should rather say night) forth, aunt Betsey considered herself hopelessly disgraced in the eyes of the whole village, and to the end of her life, the very mention of peaches made her shudder. How true is it, that the ruling passion of one’s nature, however carefully guarded, will at some time or other betray itself.