The death of Mrs. Longbow created a great chasm in society. The "settlement" was so small, that the loss of any one was severely felt. In small places, every person has a great deal of individuality—in large, only here and there is one distinguished from "the crowd." Mrs. Longbow was certainly fortunate in one respect, if she was unfortunate in another. If the physicians of Puddleford hastened her end, its population have not forgotten her, nor her many virtues.
CHAPTER XI.
Squire Longbow in Mourning.—The Great Question.—Aunt Sonora's Opinion.—Other People's.—The Squire goes to Church.—His Appearance on that Occasion.—Aunt Graves, and her Extra Performance.—"Nux Vomica."—Anxious Mothers.—Mary Jane Arabella Swipes.—Sister Abigail.—Ike Turtle and his Designs.—He calls on Aunt Graves.—She'll go it.—Sister Abigail's Objection.—The Squire's First Love Letter.—The Wedding.—Great Getting-up.—Turtle's Examination.—The Squire runs the Risk of "the Staterts."—Bigelow's Ceremony.—General Break-Down.—Not Very Drunk.
Squire Longbow sincerely mourned the loss of his wife—internally and externally. Externally, he was one of the strongest mourners I ever saw. He wore a weed, floating from his hat, nearly a foot long. It was the longest weed that had ever been mounted at Puddleford; but our readers must not forget who Squire Longbow was—a magistrate, and leading man in community. And while the reader is about it, he may also recollect that the Squire is not the only man, east or west, who has ventured upon a little ostentation over the grave of the departed—nor woman either.
Who was to be the next Mrs. Longbow? That was the question. The public, indeed, asked it long before the Squire. Who was to have the honor of presiding at the Squire's table? What woman was to be placed at the head of society in Puddleford? The Swipeses and Beagles, Aunt Sonora, Aunt Graves, and Sister Abigail, and scores of others, all began to speculate upon this important subject. Even Turtle and Bates indulged in a few general remarks.
Aunt Sonora gave it as her mind, that "the Squire ought to be pretty skeery how he married anybody, kase if he got one of them flipper-ter-gibbet sort o' wimmin, she'd turn the whole house enside out, and he'd be one of the most miserablest of all men." She said, "if he know'd what was good for himself, he'd jest keep clear of all the young gals that were fussing and figeting round him, and go right in for some old stand-by of a woman, that know'd how to take the brunt of things—but, lors a-me," continued Aunt Sonora, "there's no doing nothing with these old widowers—they're all like my Uncle Jo, who married in a hurry, and repented arterwards—and the poor dear old soul arn't had a minute's peace since."
The Swipeses and Beagles, who, it will be recollected, belonged to a clique that had, in times past, warred against Longbow & Co., "tho't it would be shameful for the Squire to marry at all—it would be an insult agin the memory of poor old Mrs. Longbow, who was dead and gone." (Some people, you know, reader, abuse the living, but defend the dead.) "And if the Squire should marry, they should think, for their part, that she'd rise up out of her grave, and haunt him! She could never sleep easy, if she know'd that the Squire had got some other woman, who was eating her preserves, and wearing out her clothes, and lording it over the house like all possess'd."
Other opinions were expressed by other persons—in fact, the Squire's widowhood was the great concern of Puddleford. "He was so well on to do," as Aunt Sonora used to call it, that he was considered a great "catch."