But oh, what a plot Jenny Hart had in hand—her first plot and her last. She had acquainted Martin Barton and his wife, with the affection that was growing up between their daughters and the two excellent young clerks, Jasper Merry and Alfred Gray; and the good couple were very well content. The acme of bliss was to stand day in and day out, in the thread and needle shop, eat their three nice meals, count out their five long boxes of copper and silver and bank notes, rock themselves for a quarter of an hour in their high backed rocking chairs, and go lovingly to bed as innocent and happy as their “two” twins.
For one month did Jenny Hart toil as no woman ever did toil; for she had all sorts of work people to superintend, and all sorts of secrets to keep; and above all she had to repress Archy Campbell’s highly excited feelings, for he was as far as ever from coming to any understanding with her. Well, all was ready—the first of June came; Archy had been told in a quiet kind of way, that he was to be bride’s man to his two young companions; and that he must be ready at a minute’s warning, and to go on as if nothing was to happen, particularly on this their last day in the shop.
The last day came—the first of June, and the shop was unusually full; for quietly as Jenny Hart managed every thing, still something had leaked out, and as she was the most conspicuous person, the secret was attached to her. It was conjectured, that she was either to be married to Mr. Norton or to Archy Campbell, and in either case she would disappear from public eyes.
It will be a great loss to the shop when she goes, said one; a public loss said another; Jenny Hart ought never to marry said a young gentleman; for half the pleasure in life we young fellows have, is to get a look at her and hear her musical voice, so modest and so arch and gay as she is too. I have a great mind to choke old Norton, and shoot this Archy Campbell; and there he stands, looking as if no happiness awaited him. I think it must be old Norton after all; for no man could look so grave on the eve of marrying such a peerless creature as this Jenny Hart. Young and old caught a whisper of the news, but no one dared to banter her; in fact, there was no chance, she was so busy.
Tired and fagged they all were that day; and if you had looked down behind the counter, you would have seen Martin Barton, the much enduring creature, standing on one foot to rest the other. His wife had told him to do it years ago; and so, whenever he saw her standing on one foot, which was generally every Saturday, he thought it was high time to do the same. This day poor Jenny Hart did complain of fatigue, the first time Archy Campbell had ever heard her complain of any thing. “Are you tired, Jenny Hart?” said Martin Barton, “how sorry I am.” “Tired, are you?” said Mrs. Martin Barton, “stand on one foot as we do Jenny Hart, that will rest the other.” “Stand on one foot,” said Jenny Hart, laughing, “I have not a foot left to stand upon.”
“Oh, what a beautiful bunch of flowers,” said a lady, “where did they come from, and whom are they for?”
“They came from our new place Camperdown,” said Mrs. Martin Barton, “and they are for our two twins to-morrow.”—Jenny Hart pushed her.
“Ah! true,” said the lady, “I recollect you have twins; how old are they?”
“How old? let me see,” said Mrs. Martin Barton, who really had known the night before; but Jenny’s push had bewildered her—she was afraid that to tell their age, would be to tell the secret. “How old are they Jenny Hart?”
“Just seventeen, Mrs. Martin Barton, and the sun is down, you see. We shut up shop now at sundown,” said Mr. Martin Barton. Seeing that many of the customers lingered—we are going to the—Jenny gave him a push. “What ails them both to tell things now,” thought she, “just at this present moment, and never before?”