The Puddleford Papers; Or, Humors of the West

by Henry Hiram Riley

"How—you—do—talk!" ejaculated Mrs. Beagle, her eyes half started from her head. "I'd thought just as much, but dare not say so."

"Darsen't! darsen't!" popped Mrs. Bird, "Well, thank the Lord, I dare; I'll pull down the whole Longbow nest around her ears; I'll complain to the town officers; I'll have her taken up, and then let her show her hand; to think that the child of that dear, good woman we lov'd so much, should be starved! And that ain't all: old Longbow is one of the most miserablest men livin'; he don't have a minute's peace day nor night; he rolls and tumbles, and talks to himself—thinks, in his dreams, that his former wife is back agin, and he talks to her jest as if she was; he hain't had a full meal for a mouth. She is the stingiest of all mortals! She liv'd on nothin' afore she was married—why she counts the very coffee kernels she uses—she allers was afraid of goin' to the poor-house—pity she hadn't-er gone—but la-sa-me, you can't get one of the Longbows to say a word about it—they are as whist as mice—fairly caught—less said the better, you know—they are so everlastin' etarnal proud, the hull pack on 'em would die before they'd let anything out—but they can't deceive Mrs. Bird—murder will out—starve a child!" and here Mrs. Bird took another long breath.

Mrs. Beagle looked still wilder, if possible, than before. But she was a very cautious woman, as has been seen. There was a method in her malice. "She had thought for a long time," she said, "that affairs were all wrong-end-foremost at the Longbows. She could see some things too. But she didn't want to say a word agin nobody. She had allers tried to be a keerful woman—and she was a keerful woman—and although she said it, who had not orter say it, she was a keerful woman. She tried to live in peace and Christian charity with everybody—and she would put up with enymost anything rather than to have hard feelings 'gin anybody. She had allers been a friend of Mrs. Longbow, and was really glad when she heard she had at last got married, for she did think she would make a good wife—she had orter, for Squire Longbow had been the makin' on her, and had set her up in the world for sumthin'—but things warn't-er a-goin' right, that she know'd, and had know'd it for a long time; the old Squire looked as cowed-like as if he'd give all his old shoes to see his old wife back agin—he didn't look so chirck as he used to do—but then she didn't want-er say nothin' about it, for there was one thing she didn't do—she didn't talk about her neighbors—if there was any kind of people that she did hate, it was the slanderers—she never slandered nobody—but she allers did know that Mrs. Longbow was tighter than bark to a tree—she used to jest keep soul and body together 'fore she married—a leetle too tight to be honest—there wern't no slander in that—she hadn't said she was dishonest, nor she warn't a-goin' to say it—she would skin a copper the closest of anybody she ever see'd; such people can't be honest—they will cheat in the dark—not that she meant to say that Mrs. Longbow would cheat—she slandered nobody—but the child did look half-starved, and anybody could see it with one eye, and you can't learn old dogs new tricks—what's bred in the bone stays there—and the old Squire's darter, Livinny, looks like death, too—she's lost a mother, and it'll be a long time before that woman will fill her place—this is between you and me, Mrs. Bird—'twarn't no longer than t'other day that Mrs. Swipes told me that old Longbow wanted to marry Mary Jane Arabella, but Mrs. Swipes said she jest put her foot down and said No! and he's been cross-grained at her ever since. Well—well—so it goes."

Aunt Sonora dropped in "to take a breath," as she said. Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Beagle had to repeat to her the new developments in the Longbow family, with some new additions.

Aunt Sonora said she never did have any faith in second wives. "Depend upon't," said the old lady, "no good comes out on 'em. And the old maids were the very worst on 'em all. They were the awfullest dead-settest people she ever know'd. They will have their way. They allers rule the roost. She guessed that her old man knew when he was well off. He hated second marriages like pizen."

Finally, the women, after exhausting themselves, all agreed to adjourn to the house of Mrs. Swipes, to see what could be done to improve the domestic arrangements of the Longbow family. Mrs. Bird said at first she wouldn't move an inch, to see Mrs. Swipes or anybody else, for it wasn't no business of her'n, but then she know'd that, if it was her child, and she was dead, and Mrs. Longbow wasn't dead, Mrs. Longbow would do just as she did.

Mrs. Swipes was delighted to see such a crowd of her friends, but declared "she couldn't for the life of her tell what was up."

By the time the "ladies" had arrived at the house of Mrs. Swipes, they were very highly charged with electricity. They had lashed themselves into a very respectable sort of fury. Even Aunt Sonora, amiable as she was, muttered to herself, while crossing the road—"Starve a child!"

Nobody ever told Mrs. Swipes any news—that was not possible—she had always heard of it, seen it, or expected it; the most astounding development was no more than she had "allers known would come about." There was no story so large that it was unexpected, or beyond her power to add a little to it—no black so black, that she couldn't make it a little blacker—no slander so public, but that she had heard a little more than her neighbors of it. A piece of scandal melted like sugar in her mouth, and it seemed to send a glow over her whole being while she digested it; it braced her up for a whole day, and carried her through the most fiery domestic trials—no story, therefore, ever lost strength or sting while in her keeping—it gathered weight and power like a snowball—she paid it out with interest. Her husband, Zeb Swipes, she didn't like, for he did not care a pin about his neighbors, "'specially the women folks," as he said; and Mrs. Swipes declared she never could interest him in the wickedness of the place. Many a time she had talked him to sleep, flaring, and foaming, and fretting about Puddleford.

When Mrs. Bird, and Beagle, and Aunt Sonora entered Mrs. Swipes's room, the clap burst at once from the whole delegation.