The Minister's Wooing

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Here our heroine spun for hours, and hours with intervals, when, crouched on a low seat in the window, she pored over her book, and then, returning again to her work, thought of what she had read to the lulling burr of the sounding wheel.

By chance a robin had built its nest so that from her retreat she could see the five little blue eggs whenever the patient brooding mother left them for a moment uncovered. And sometimes, as she sat in dreamy reverie, resting her small, round arms on the window-sill, she fancied that the little feathered watcher gave her familiar nods and winks of a confidential nature,—cocking the small head first to one side and then to the other, to get a better view of her gentle human neighbour.

I dare say it seems to you, reader, that we have travelled, in our story, over a long space of time, because we have talked so much, and introduced so many personages and reflections; but, in fact, it is only Wednesday week since James sailed, and the eggs which were brooded when he went are still unhatched in the nest, and the apple-tree has changed only in having now a majority of white blossoms over the pink buds.

This one week has been a critical one to our Mary: in it she has made the great discovery that she loves; and she has made her first step into the gay world; and now she comes back to her retirement to think the whole over by herself. It seems a dream to her, that she who sits there now reeling yarn in her stuff petticoat and white short-gown is the same who took the arm of Colonel Burr amid the blaze of wax-lights, and the sweep of silks and rustle of plumes. She wonders dreamily as she remembers the dark, lovely face of the foreign madame, so brilliant under its powdered hair and flashing gems,—the sweet, foreign accents of the voice,—the tiny, jewelled fan, with its glancing pictures and sparkling tassels, whence exhaled vague and floating perfumes; then she hears again that manly voice, softened to tones so seductive, and sees those fine eyes with the tears in them, and wonders within herself that he could have kissed her hand with such veneration, as if she had been a throned queen.

But here the sound of busy, pattering footsteps is heard on the old, creaking staircase, and soon the bows of Miss Prissy’s bonnet part the folds of the boudoir drapery, and her merry, May-day face looks in.

‘Well, really, Mary, how do you do, to be sure? You wonder to see me, don’t you? but I thought I must just run in a minute on my way up to Miss Marvyn’s. I promised her at least a half a day, though I didn’t see how I was to spare it,—for I tell Miss Wilcox I just run and run till it does seem as if my feet would drop off; but I thought I must just step in to say, that I, for my part, do admire the Doctor more than ever, and I was telling your mother we mus’n’t mind too much what people say. I ’most made Miss Wilcox angry, standing up for him; but I put it right to her, and says I, “Miss Wilcox, you know folks must speak what’s on their mind,—in particular ministers must; and you know, Miss Wilcox,” I says, “that the Doctor is a good man, and lives up to his teaching, if anybody in this world does, and gives away every dollar he can lay hands on to those poor negroes, and works over ’em and teaches ’em as if they were his brothers;” and says I, “Miss Wilcox, you know I don’t spare myself, night nor day, trying to please you and do your work to give satisfaction; but when it comes to my conscience,” says I, “Miss Wilcox, you know I always must speak out, and if it was the last word I had to say on my dying bed, I’d say that I think the Doctor is right.” Why! what things he told about the slave-ships, and packing those poor creatures so that they couldn’t move nor breathe!—why, I declare, every time I turned over and stretched in bed, I thought of it; and says I, “Miss Wilcox, I do believe that the judgments of God will come down on us, if something a’n’t done, and I shall always stand by the Doctor,” says I;—and if you’ll believe me, just then I turned round and saw the General; and the General, he just haw-hawed right out, and says he, “Good for you, Miss Prissy! that’s real grit,” says he, “and I like you better for it.”’—‘Laws,’ added Miss Prissy, reflectively, ‘I sha’n’t lose by it, for Miss Wilcox knows she never can get anybody to do the work for her that I will.’

‘Do you think,’ said Mary, ‘that there are a great many made angry?’

‘Why, bless your heart, child, haven’t you heard? Why, there never was such a talk in all Newport. Why, you know Mr. Simeon Brown is gone clear off to Doctor Stiles; and Miss Brown, I was making up her plum-coloured satin a’ Monday, and you ought to ’a’ heard her talk. But, I tell you, I fought her. She used to talk to me,’ said Miss Prissy, sinking her voice to a mysterious whisper, ‘’cause I never could come to it to say that I was willin’ to be lost, if it was for the glory of God; and she always told me folks could just bring their minds right up to anything they knew they must; and I just got the tables turned on her, for they talked and abused the Doctor till they fairly wore me out, and says I, “Well, Miss Brown, I’ll give in, that you and Mr. Brown do act up to your principles; you certainly act as if you were willing to be damned;”—and so do all those folks who will live on the blood and groans of the poor Africans, as the Doctor said; and I should think, by the way Newport people are making their money, that they were all pretty willing to go that way, though, whether it’s for the glory of God, or not, I’m doubting. But you see, Mary,’ said Miss Prissy, sinking her voice again to a solemn whisper, ‘I never was clear on that point; it always did seem to me a dreadful high place to come to, and it didn’t seem to be given to me; but I thought, perhaps, if it was necessary, it would be given, you know,—for the Lord always has been so good to me that I’ve faith to believe that, and so I just say, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;”’—and Miss Prissy hastily whisked a little drop out of her blue eye with her handkerchief.