"Oh, you needn't mind what she says," said Mrs. Van Horn, recovering herself a little, and the instinct of lying, as usual, coming uppermost. "Mrs. Trescott is queer at times," she added, in a mysterious whisper. "Very likely she will be all right to-morrow, and as good friends as ever. There is insanity in the family; and she has so many domestic troubles, it is no wonder."
"Well, now, I think I wouldn't say any more about Mrs. Trescott, if I was you," said plain-spoken Mrs. Clarke. "I have known all about her family for years, and there never was any such thing the matter with them. For my part, I take shame to myself for ever having listened to such stories about Mrs. Caswell; though I never did believe half of them. Suppose she had died this morning: how should some of us be feeling now about the way we have treated her lately,—a woman who has never done any thing but good to one of us? It will be a lesson to me for my whole life; and I hope, Martha, it may be the same to you."
It was so far a lesson to Martha that she lost no time in spreading the story of Mrs. Van Horn's defeat from one end of the street to the other, and several doors round the corner. A good many people chuckled over the lady's discomfiture, and declared that it served her right. Others felt sorry for her, and thought the lesson a severe one; as indeed it was.
Agnes declared that it was a shame all round, and that she did not believe Mrs. Van Horn meant any harm, or ever said half of what was attributed to her. She insisted that it was Mrs. De Witt who had made all the fuss, by telling Mrs. Trescott, and that it would have died out of itself if she had only held her tongue.
Letty heard nothing of the matter till very long afterwards; and John never heard of it at all.
Mrs. Van Horn kept herself very quiet for some time, and was never afterwards heard to boast of her acquaintances on the Avenue. She confided to Agnes that she would never speak to Mrs. Trescott again, as long as she lived,—a resolution which she was not likely to have much difficulty in keeping,—and that she would never again have any thing to do with the Myrtle Street people. It served her right for mixing herself up with such a low set, she said,—adding, pathetically, that she never did try to do people good without having cause to be sorry for it.
Letty's boy was rather a delicate little fellow, and was, indeed, not nearly so fine a baby as Madge; but, then, he was a boy, and Agnes thought she was somewhat injured. But Joe avowed himself perfectly satisfied, and declared, as he tossed the sturdy little thing up to the ceiling, that he would not change his Magpie for all the boys in the world,—all of which Agnes set down as want of sympathy.
But as the weeks went on, the little boy improved; and at two months old, though still small, was as plump and rosy as a mother could wish, while he already displayed, according to Letty, unusual sagacity.
Gatty De Witt was half out of her senses with delight. She had always longed for a little brother or sister; and Letty gave her full permission to call the new-comer her brother. She spent half her time out of school by his crib or holding him in her arms; and the daily task of sewing or knitting, which her mother rigorously exacted, no longer seemed tedious, if she might only sit where she could see the baby. Then came the grand question of his name. Gatty proposed all sorts of names; but Letty had long ago made up her mind that if a boy were given to her, he must be called Alexander Trescott, and Alexander Trescott it was.
"But that is such a long name for such a short baby," said Gatty.