This movement of Ike's was a masterly performance. He had actually danced with Mrs. Bird, one of his bitterest enemies. He had melted the two hostile cliques of Puddleford into one. His flattery and music had accomplished this, and it was productive of lasting good, for the war from this time began to decline in Puddleford, and the hostile cliques were finally dissolved.
Perhaps the reader is disposed to smile at my description of a Puddleford tea-party. Perhaps he thinks the ingenuousness of Aunt Sonora, the free-and-easy humor of Ike Turtle, the peevish jealousy of Mrs. Bird, are the fruit simply of what he terms "western vulgarity." Don't be too fast, my friend. You belong, perhaps, to a society that wears a mask—made up, nevertheless, of "envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness." Your Mrs. Bird is just as jealous, but for another reason, and with this difference, too, that she can smile upon her bitterest enemy, when and where the rules of fashionable life demand it. You've got a Squire Longbow or two with you in all probability—not dressed in homespun, but "broadcloth"—one who has been favored by fortune, and no god beside—one who hums and haws, and looks as wise and solemn as an owl, and to whom, perhaps, you unconsciously pay homage. We are all alike, dear reader—we look at your society through the telescope of education and refinement—at Puddleford, with the naked eye.
CHAPTER X.
Mrs. Longbow taken sick.—General Interest.—Dr. Teazle.—His Visit.—"The Rattles."—Scientific Diagnosis.—A Prescription.—Short and Dr. Dobbs.—"Pantod of the Heart."—Dismissal of Teazle.—Installation of Dobbs.—"Scyller and Charabides."—Ike's Views.—The Colonel's.—Bates's.—Mrs. Longbow dies.—Who killed her: conflicting Opinions.—Her Funeral.—Bigelow Van Slyck's Sermon.—Interment.
Not long after this jolly little gathering at my house, I heard that Mrs. Longbow was sick. Her symptoms were very alarming, and, as she was the wife of Squire Longbow, and as the Squire was the man of Puddleford, her critical condition was a matter of public concern.
"What is the matter with Squire Longbow's woman?" "How did she rest last night?" "Did she roll and tumble much?" "Is her fever brok't onto her?" were questions frequently put. Now Mrs. Longbow was a very worthy person, and entitled to all the sympathy she received; but that is not to be the subject of this chapter.
When Mrs. Longbow was first taken ill, Dr. Teazle was called—yes, reader, Dr. Teazle—who had been as good authority in medicine, as Longbow ever was in law. I say had been—"Things were different now."
Teazle was one of the pioneers of Puddleford. He was there when the first log-house was laid up—the first field cleared—the first child born. Teazle possessed a very little learning, a very great deal of impudence, and a never-ending flow of language. He was opinionated, and tolerated no practice but his own. (What physician ever did?) Teazle never let a doubt enter his mind—he intuitively read a case, as rapidly as though he were reading a printed statement of it. Teazle was about the size of Longbow, but he had two eyes.