“Fennel comes home from work at evening, and settles himself down with an air of intense satisfaction, as if this were for him the only spot in all the world. Sometimes he undresses Buddy, Adeline, meanwhile, stepping about, doing up the work, going sideways so as to keep her eyes on them, and telling over all the cunning things baby and little Adeline have committed during the day. At last baby’s father, after fumbling at the nightgown strings, and tying them in a single bow-knot, covers him over like a cocoon. Then lullaby, hushaby, softly and gently. Fennel’s low tones are wonderfully sweet; and now and then Adeline joins in ‘with sweet accord.’ I tell you ’tis such a perfect taking comfort, it almost brings the tears to my eyes. That baby’s slumbers ought to be sweet, thus watched and tended. But it is so funny to see a man try to glide! In Fennel’s tiptoe performances he seems to be putting himself universally out of joint....
“Fennel is unwilling to have Adeline do any very bard work. They live well, but simply; that is, they have the best of bread, meats, fruit, &c., but no elaborate concoctions which take time to prepare, and cost money to buy. Fennel says he thinks the right way is to save on non-essentials, and spend on essentials. Among essentials he counts books and pictures, especially books that have any bearing on education. He says, that, as Adeline has little Adeline and Buddy to bring up, she ought to have the means of preparing herself to do it, and beautiful things to look at, and leisure to enjoy them, so as to keep herself in a pleasant frame of mind. There is nothing he will not do to make Adeline’s work easy for her. I don’t mean ever to marry till I find a man just like Fennel Payne. But he has no brother. Alas and alackaday! Why, he even bought silver-plated knives to save Adeline’s arms and Adeline’s moments. His Aunt Laura was over yesterday; and she gave him quite a lecture on extravagance, also threw out something about the mother of a family sitting down to read in the daytime. Fennel declared that he could buy a set of knives every month with what his aunt spent in cooking the unnecessaries of life; and Adeline did a sum in tarts and doughnuts to show where her reading-time came from. Fennel said, that, if anybody ought to sit down to read in the daytime, it is the mother of a family; for she, more than anybody, needs whatever help books can give. Aunt Laura said she approved of laying by for a rainy day; and Adeline said that was just what she was doing,—laying up ideas against the day when her health might not be so good, or her family so small. ‘The question is, Aunt Laura,’ said she, ‘who wastes time and money,—you, or I?’ Uncle David and Aunt Laura have always worked like slaves, and do now; but every dollar saved is put into the bank or into land. There’s hardly a pretty thing in their house. They work and save, work and save, denying themselves almost every enjoyment, except that of eating. They will live well. Uncle David owned to Fennel once, that he wants to have the name, when he dies, of leaving property. What a funny idea it is, when you come to think of it,—the idea of living this life, that can’t be lived but once, entirely for the sake of accumulating something, which, when we have done living, can be of no use to us! I agree with Fennel and Adeline, that we ought to get out of life what is best worth having. I suppose we can carry that with us; don’t you? And I shall not marry until I meet with a man—well, something like Fennel, or, at any rate, who believes as I do in these matters. Though, to be sure, I might take one that differed a little, supposing one offered, and convert him; but it would be advisable to do this last before marriage, perhaps before the engagement....
“Aunt Laura has just come over again, and she and Adeline are discussing the chapel question. They are on opposite sides, of course. ’Tis as good as a play, being in Tweenit now; and I long to stay longer. Such exciting times! The women, it seems, have earned money to build a chapel (there never was any meeting-house here); and now the men, who have all along discouraged them from doing it, they step forward, and want to form a regular parish that shall build the chapel, and run it generally; but they are not going to allow the women to come to the parish-meetings, and speak,—the meetings that are to dispose of their own money, They say it would be wicked. Isn’t this funny?”...
XII.
NEW INVENTION WANTED.
I HEARD Nanny Joe remark, the other day, that begging money was akin to pulling teeth; and, for her part, she wished there was a way of putting people’s avaricious propensities under some influence akin to laughing-gas, that their money might be drawn without pain. I said to her in reply, that fairs answer the purpose very well, as I could testify from experience; having taken them often, and found in every instance the effect to be such, that I scarcely knew of any operation being performed, until I woke up, and found my money extracted. Nanny replied, that such machinery was too cumbersome, and that she meant some little, handy pocket-contrivance to be applied individually. Probably Mr. David was the individual in her mind at the time. The old man is pretty well to do for a farmer; yet his dollars come hard. Every one has roots to it; and the roots are clinched.
Nanny Joe and Nanny Moses have been trying to beg money enough to buy a second-hand sewing-machine for Mrs. Hannah Knowles. Mr. Knowles, a year or two ago, was killed by falling from a roof; and his widow has been struggling ever since to support the family,—yes, struggling, and among all these Christians!
It would seem no more than fair that a home bereft in such a way should be provided with even more comforts than the happier homes around; that a heart thus grief-stricken should be relieved of every possible burden,—no more than fair, and no more than Christian-like. Christianity, it is said, is better than other religions, because it teaches that we are all brothers and sisters. Now, among a family of children, the rule is, when one has any thing good, “Give dear brother or sister some.” How often have I heard this at Mrs. Melendy’s! And another thing. Yesterday, while I was calling there, little Rosa Melendy fell, and bruised her head. The other children were around her in a moment,—one with a doll, one with a cooky, one with a kiss, one with a flower; all trying to comfort the child. Maybe we are all brothers and sisters, as our religion teaches; but I know that we are not willing, all of us, when we have any thing good, to “give dear brother or sister some,” or always eager to heap kindnesses on any member of the family whose heart has been bruised by sorrow.
Nanny Joe says there are very few people—that is, very few people in Tweenit (they are doubtless plenty elsewhere)—who are willing, really willing, to give away half a dollar right out and out. She asked five individuals to contribute that sum toward the sewing-machine, and they refused; they were unmarried men, too, earning daily wages, which were spent freely in tobacco, confectionery, horse-hire, and other gratifications. Nanny says that half a dollar to be spent on one’s self is a modest, insignificant little affair; but, if to be given away, it grows so big it can hardly be got out of the pocket.
I wonder how it would be if we all gave, not from pity, or from duty, but, as one may say, impersonally. For instance, I deny myself a pleasure that would cost two dollars, and bestow one costing the same sum upon Mrs. Knowles, saying to myself, “What matters it, since a pleasure is enjoyed, whether the individual Henry McKimber enjoys it, or the individual Hannah Knowles?” This, of course, is merely a hypothetical case.