At this moment Mrs. Scudder came into the boudoir with a face expressive of some anxiety.
‘I suppose Miss Prissy has told you,’ she said, ‘the news about the Browns. That’ll make a great falling off in the Doctor’s salary; and I feel for him, because I know it will come hard to him not to be able to help and do, especially for these poor negroes, just when he will. But then we must put everything on the most economical scale we can, and just try, all of us, to make it up to him. I was speaking to Cousin Zebedee about it, when he was down here, on Monday, and he is all clear;—he has made out three papers for Candace and Cato and Dinah, and they couldn’t, one of ’em, be hired to leave him; and he says, from what he’s seen already, he has no doubt but they’ll do enough more to pay for their wages.’
‘Well,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I haven’t got anybody to care for but myself. I was telling sister Elizabeth, one time (she’s married and got four children), that I could take a storm a good deal easier than she could, ’cause I hadn’t near so many sails to pull down; and now, you just look to me for the Doctor’s shirts, ’cause, after this, they shall all come in ready to put on, if I have to sit up till morning. And I hope, Miss Scudder, you can trust me to make them; for if I do say it myself, I a’n’t afraid to do fine stitching ’longside of anybody,—and hemstitching ruffles, too; and I haven’t shown you yet that French stitch I learned of the nuns;—but you just set your heart at rest about the Doctor’s shirts. I always thought,’ continued Miss Prissy, laughing, ‘that I should have made a famous hand about getting up that tabernacle in the wilderness, with the blue and the purple and fine-twined linen; it’s one of my favourite passages, that is;—different things, you know, are useful to different people.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs. Scudder, ‘I see that it’s our call to be a remnant small and despised, but I hope we sha’n’t shrink from it. I thought, when I saw all those fashionable people go out Sunday, tossing their heads and looking so scornful, that I hoped grace would be given me to be faithful.’
‘And what does the Doctor say?’ said Miss Prissy.
‘He hasn’t said a word; his mind seems to be very much lifted above all these things.’
‘La, yes,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘that’s one comfort; he’ll never know where his shirts come from; and besides that, Miss Scudder,’ she said, sinking her voice to a whisper, ‘as you know, I haven’t any children to provide for,—though I was telling Elizabeth t’other day, when I was making up frocks for her children, that I believed old maids, first and last, did more providing for children than married women: but still I do contrive to slip away a pound-note, now and then, in my little old silver teapot that was given to me when they settled old Mrs. Simpson’s property (I nursed her all through her last sickness, and laid her out with my own hands), and, as I was saying, if ever the Doctor should want money, you just let me know.’
‘Thank you, Miss Prissy,’ said Mrs. Scudder; ‘we all know where your heart is.’
‘And now,’ added Miss Prissy, ‘what do you suppose they say? Why, they say Colonel Burr is struck dead in love with our Mary; and you know his wife’s dead, and he’s a widower; and they do say that he’ll get to be the next President. Sakes alive! Well, Mary must be careful, if she don’t want to be carried off; for they do say that there can’t any woman resist him, that sees enough of him. Why, there’s that poor Frenchwoman, Madame —— what do you call her, that’s staying with the Vernons?—they say she’s over head and ears in love with him.’
‘But she’s a married woman,’ said Mary; ‘it can’t be possible!’