The Late Mrs. Null

by Frank R. Stockton

Patsy had been much too old to act as nurse to the infant, Annie Peyton, then regarded as the daughter of the house, but she had always felt for the child the deepest affection; and now that she herself was so near the end of her career that she had little fear of being bewitched, she was willing to give up the safeguards she had so long possessed, in order that they might protect the man whom Miss Annie had loved and married. But they had failed, or rather it had been impossible to use them, and Miss Annie's husband had been stricken down. "It's pow'ful hard to git roun' ole miss," she groaned. "She too much fur ole folks like I is."

At this remark Uncle Isham fired up. Although the conduct of his mistress troubled him at times very much he was intensely loyal to her, and he instantly caught the meaning of this aspersion against her. "Now, look h'yar, Aun' Patsy," he exclaimed, "wot you talkin' 'bout? Wot ole miss got to do wid Mister Crof' sprainin' he ankle? Ole miss warn't dar; an' when I done fotch him up to de house, she cut roun' an' do more fur him dan anybody else. She got de hot water, an' she dipped de flannels in it, an' she wrop up de ankle all herse'f, an' when she got him all fixed comfable in de offis, she says to me, says she, 'Now, Isham, you wait on Mister Crof', an' you gib him eberything he want, an' when de cool ob de ebenin' comes on you make a fire in dat fireplace, an' stay whar he kin call you wheneber he wants you to wait on him.' I didn't eben come down h'yar till I axed him would he want me fur half an hour."

"Well," said Aunt Patsy, her eyes softening a little, "p'raps she didn't do it dis time. It mout a been his own orkardness. I hopes to mussiful goodness dat dat was so. But wot fur you call him Mister Crof'? Is dat he fus' name?"

"I reckon so," said Isham. "He one ob de fam'ly now, an' I reckon dey calls him by he fus' name. An' now, look h'yar, Aun' Patsy, I wants you not to disremember dis h'yar. Don' you go imaginin' ebery time anything happens to folks, that ole miss done been kunjerin' 'em. Dat ain't pious, an' 'taint suitable fur a ole pusson like you, Aun' Patsy, wot's jus' settin' on de poach steps ob heaben, a waitin' till somebody finds out you's dar, an' let's you in."

Aunt Patsy turned her great spectacles full upon him, and then she said: "You, Isham, ef eber you gits a call to preach to folks, you jus' sing out: 'Oh, Lor', I aint fit!' And den you go crack your head wid a mill-stone, fur fear you git called agin, fru mistake."

Uncle Isham made no answer to this piece of advice, but taking up some clothes which Aunt Patsy's great granddaughter had washed and ironed for him, he left the cabin. He was a man much given to attending to his own business, and paying very little attention to those affairs of his mistress's household, with which he had no personal concern. When Mr Croft first came to the house he, as well as Aunt Patsy, had been told that it was Mr Null, the husband of Miss Annie; and although not thinking much about it, he had always supposed this to be the case. But now it struck him as a very strange thing that Miss Annie did not attend to her husband, but allowed his mistress and himself to do everything that was done for him. It was a question which his mind was totally incapable of solving, but when he reached the house, he spoke to Letty on the subject. "Bress your soul!" exclaimed that well-nourished person, "dat's not Mister Null, wot married Miss Annie. Dat's Mister Crof', an' he aint married to nobody. Mister Null he aint come yet, but I reckon he'll be along soon."

"Well den," exclaimed Isham, much surprised, "how come Aun' Patsy to take he for Miss Annie's husband?"

"Oh, git out!" contemptuously exclaimed Letty, "don' you go put no 'count on dem fool notions wot Aun' Patsy got in she old head. Nobody knows how dey come dar, no more'n how dey eber manage to git out. 'Taint no use splainin nothin' to Aun' Patsy, an' if she b'lieves dat's Miss Annie's husband, you can't make her b'lieve it's anybody else. Jes' you lef her alone. Nuffin she b'lieves aint gwine to hurt her."

And Isham, remembering his frequent ill success in endeavoring to make Aunt Patsy think as she ought to think, concluded that this was good advice.

At the time of the conversation just mentioned, Lawrence was sitting in a large easy chair in front of the open door of the room of which he had been put in possession. His injured foot was resting upon a cushioned stool, a small table stood by him, on which were his cigar and match cases; a pitcher of iced water and a glass, and a late copy of a semi-weekly paper. Through the doorway, which was but two steps higher than the grass sward before it, his eyes fell upon a very pleasing scene. To the right was the house, with its vine-covered porch and several great oak trees overhanging it, which still retained their heavy foliage, although it was beginning to lose something of its summer green. In front of him, at the opposite end of the grassy yard, was the pretty little arbor in which he had told Mr Junius Keswick of the difficulties in the way of his speaking his mind to Miss March. Beyond the large garden, at the back of this arbor, stretched a wide field with a fringe of woods at its distant edge, gay with the colors of autumn. The sky was bright and blue, and fair white clouds moved slowly over its surface; the air was sunny and warm, with bumble-bees humming about some late-flowering shrubs; and, high in the air, floated two great turkey-buzzards, with a beauty of motion surpassed by no other flying thing, with never a movement of their wide-spread wings, except to give them the necessary inclination as they rose with the wind, and then turned and descended in a long sweep, only to rise again and complete the circle; sailing thus for hours, around and around, their shadows moving over the fields below them.