There was an old lady present,—a frequent visitor in Tweenit,—one Mrs. Heath, commonly called “Aunt Mary,” a white-haired, sallow-faced, but, on the whole, a pleasant-looking old lady. When the storm had subsided, Aunt Mary remarked in her quiet way, that she could tell them a fact or two about law. Her fact or two was as follows. She married, at the age of twenty-six, a seafaring man five years older than herself. Her husband made only one voyage after they were married. He owned a house and a small piece of ground: another piece was bought, partly with her money, both together making quite a snug little farm. She kept boarders some of the time, and made a practice of taking in work (tailoring had been her trade) in order to help along, so that what money was raised from the place might be spent on the place. They had no children. After twenty-eight years of married life she became a widow. The law gave her one-half the personal property, and the improvement of one-third of the real estate: the rest went to her husband’s brother. “A share of the place was set off to me,” said Aunt Mary, “and rights of way ‘allowed me’ across my own premises. I had wine privileges in the house too, besides the rooms that were set off to me; the privilege, for instance, of going through my own front entry, and into my own sink-room. Every thing in the house was appraised. Samuel took half of the furniture, dishes, beds, and bedding; took some things made of inlaid work and of shell-work,—things I set a good deal o’ store by, because my husband brought them home to me before we were married. Li-zy kind o’ hated to take ’em; but she said, says she, ‘You know everybody likes to have what’s their own.’”
“Couldn’t he have made a will?” asked some one.
“Oh, yes! he could, and he did mean to make one. I was only speaking of the law. He meant to give it all to me.”
While Aunt Mary was telling her story, old Mr. Hale came in, father to the Mr. Hale who spoke in the meeting. The old man said he couldn’t help feeling an interest to know how the lawyers laid down the law.
After hearing the decision, and hearing Aunt Mary’s story, he said, “Wal, ladies, you womankind must make up your minds to let patience have her parfect work. The laws favor ye more than they did. Women have come up considerable since Paul’s day. I don’t believe there’s a minister in the land would stand up and preach a discourse in favor of that text, ‘Women, submit yourselves unto your husbands in every thing.’ He’d be laughed down. And suppose a writer should write an es-say to prove that wives ought to keep that command, and send it to that biggest New-York double newspaper. What would the editor do with that es-say? Put it into his head column?
“You jest wait. There’s a great to-do now about a woman’s gittin’ up to speak in a revival-meetin’. Wal, in my father’s day, there was a great to-do about their not wearin’ their veils into the meetin’-house. Ministers took sides, and arter a while it got into the Boston newspapers. The greatest ministers in the State preached for and agin it. There was a famous minister came to our town. I’ve heard my father tell the story many a time. Father said he was among the last of his teens then, and said he used to sit in a square pew in the gallery, back to the pulpit; and the girl he wanted to go with sat down below, jest far enough off, and not too near, for him to keep lookin’ at her, and she at him, now and then; and that kind o’ took up his mind in sermon-time. He had never durst to try to be her beau in earnest. He’d walked alongside once or twice, but never’d had the face to offer his arm; and he’d made dependence on his Sundays, and been steady to meetin’ for reasons aforesaid. Wal, when the veil question begun to make a stir, all the girls, and she among ’em, became persuaded in their minds they ought to wear their veils into the meetin’-house, and keep ’em down; and this caused a dreadful deprivation to him, and to others likewise.
“And, arter things had gone on so a spell, there came a famous preacher to town, one of the uncommon rare ones; and he preached a sermon with thirteen heads, all goin’ to show that women could keep their veils down, or not keep ’em down, jest as they pleased. That was in the forenoon. Father said, that, in the arternoon, every single girl in that meetin’-house sat all meetin’-time with her veil up. He said ’twas jest like light breakin’ in arter a cloudy shadow.”
“And what about the girl?” asked Martha Fennel. “Did he have the girl?”
“No. The girl had a young man that she didn’t look at, that sat over across in the other gallery.”
“But it can’t be true,” remarked Adeline Payne, “that ministers really did pretend to dictate whether women should wear veils, or not?”