Millbank;

by Mary Jane Holmes

They were going West for a week or two, then back to Millbank for a few days, and then to Saratoga or the sea-side, just where the fancy led them. Mrs. Walter Scott returned to Millbank and sent out a few cards to the élite of the town, the Johnsons, and Markhams, and Woodburys, and the clergyman and her family physician. As for the nobodys, they were not expected to call, and they consoled themselves with invidious remarks and watching the proceedings.

On Sunday the Irving pew was graced by Mrs. Walter Scott, who wore a new bonnet and a silk which rustled with every step. She was very devout that day, and made a large thank-offering for her new daughter-in-law, a crisp ten-dollar bill, given so that all who cared could see and know it was a ten. She did not see Hester Floyd until service was out,—then she started a little as the old lady stepped into the aisle before her, but offered her hand cordially, and felt that she was very good, and very pious, and very democratic to walk out of church in close conversation with Hester, whom she invited to come and see the changes they had made in the house, and stop to tea, if she liked, with the housekeeper.

Mrs. Walter Scott had nothing to fear from Hester now, and could afford to be very gracious, but the old lady was neither deceived nor elated with her attention. She had been to the house, she said, rather crisply, and seen all she wanted to, and she did think they might have let some of the rooms alone and not fixed ’em up like a play-house, and she’d cover up that naked boy in Mrs. Franklin’s room before she got there, for if she was a modest woman, as was to be hoped, she’d feel ashamed. And then, having reached the new carriage, with its white-gloved driver, the two women said good-day to each other, and Mrs. Walter Scott’s dove-colored silk was put carefully into the carriage by the footman, and the door was closed and the two shining horses were off like the wind, leaving Hester to watch the cloud of dust and the flash of the wheels which marked the progress of the fast-moving vehicle.

The particulars of this interview were faithfully recorded for Magdalen’s benefit, the old lady breaking the Sabbath for the sake of “writing while the thing was fresh in her mind” and she could do it justice.

Ten days more went by, and then it was reported in the street that the workmen in the shoe-shop and factory were to have a holiday on Thursday in honor of their master’s return to Millbank with his bride. It was whispered, too, that in his letter to his foreman Frank had hinted that some kind of a demonstration on his arrival would be very appropriate and acceptable, and if his agents would see to it he would defray any expense they might incur for him. Some of the workmen laughed, and some sneered, and some said openly they had no demonstration to make, but all accepted the holiday willingly enough, and a few of the young men, with all the boys, decided to get up a bonfire and fireworks, on a large scale, inasmuch as the bill was to be paid by “the Gov.”

Accordingly a hundred dollars’ worth of fireworks were ordered from Springfield, and Frank, who came about eight o’clock, was greeted with a rocket which went hissing into the air and fell in sparks of fire just over his shoe-shop, the shingles of which were dry with age and the summer heat. There was a crowd after all to honor him, and an impromptu band, which played “Hail to the Chief,” and “Come, Haste to the Wedding,” and finished up with a grand flourish of “Dixie,” to which many bare feet kept time upon the lawn in front of Millbank. A collation, which Hester in her journal-letter called a “collection,” had been prepared for them on the grounds, and the small boys ate themselves almost sick on ice-cream and raisins, and then halloed with might and main for the bride, who appeared, leaning on her husband’s arm, smiling and bowing, and offering her hand to be shaken, while all the while she was wondering if “the miserable little wretches hadn’t warts or some worse disease which she would catch of them.”

The collation over, the bridal party returned to the house, and the crowd went back to their fireworks, to which the tired and slightly disgusted Bell hardly gave a look. She had the headache, and went early to her room, and closing her blinds to shut out the glare of the blue and red lights which annoyed her terribly, she fell asleep, and was dreaming of the missionary Fred when the cry of “Fire, Fire,” aroused her, and Frank looked in with a white, frightened face, telling her the large shoe-shop was on fire, and bidding her not to be alarmed. Some sparks from the first rocket sent up had fallen on the dry roof of the shoe-shop, and set it on fire, the flames creeping under the shingles, and making great headway before they were discovered. It was a long time since there had been a fire in Belvidere, and the excited people hardly knew how to act. Roger had always been tolerably well prepared for such an emergency, but matters at Millbank were managed differently now from what they were when he was master there. The rotary pump was out of order, the engine would not work well at all, and after half an hour or more of orders and counter-orders, of running to and fro, and accomplishing but little, it was certain that nothing could save the huge building, whose roof was one mass of flame, and from whose windows a light was shining brighter than any bonfire ever yet kindled in honor of a bride. When Frank had hinted at demonstrations, for which he would pay, he never dreamed of a bonfire like this, where jets of flame rose far into the sky and shone across the river upon the hills beyond, and made the village as light as day. Bell never went to fires, she said to Mrs. Walter Scott, who, in her dressing-gown, with her shawl over her head, looked in upon her daughter-in-law on her way to join the multitude in the streets. She was too thoroughly city bred to go to fires, and she saw every member of the household depart,—her bridesmaids, sister Grace and all; and then, as from her bed she could see the whole, she lay down among her pillows and rather enjoyed watching the flames, as they attacked first one part of the building and then another, making the sight every moment more beautiful and grand. It never occurred to her how much of her husband’s fortune might be consuming before her very eyes, and when toward morning he came up to her, pale, smoke-stained, and burned, she merely asked what time it was, and how he could bear to stay so long where he could do no good.

Frank’s first thought, when he saw the fire, was of Holt and the insurance. During his wedding tour, he had heard that the company in which his shop was insured had failed, and he had telegraphed at once to Holt “to see to it, and insure in another company.” Since his return he had not thought of the matter until now, when something told him that his orders had been neglected, and that if the building burned his loss would be heavy. Taking off his coat, he had worked like a hero, and done much to inspirit his men, who, encouraged by his intrepidity, had followed wherever he led and done whatever he bade them do. But it was all in vain, and Frank went back to Millbank a poorer man by many thousands than the setting of the sun had found him, while a hundred people or more were thrown out of employment, and suddenly found themselves with nothing to do.

In this emergency their thoughts turned to Roger. They had heard that a large shoe manufactory was in process of erection at Schodick, and that Roger was to have the superintendence of it, and never before had there been so heavy a mail sent from Belvidere as there was the day following the fire. More than forty men wrote to Roger, telling him of the disaster, asking for situations under him, and offering to work for less than they had been receiving. To many of these favorable answers were returned, and the consequence was that the tide of emigration from Belvidere to Schodick set in at once, and a number of Frank’s houses were left tenantless on his hands. The party, however, came off the following week, and servants were imported from New York, with cake and flowers and fruit, and a band came out from Springfield, and lights were hung in every tree upon the lawn and boys hired to watch them, for Frank had learned a lesson from the still smouldering ruins of his shop, and was exceedingly nervous and uncomfortable on the subject of fires and lights, and read a lesson on caution to his mother and the servants and all the family, save his wife. There was something in her black eyes which prevented his taking liberties with her, and her lamp was suffered to remain in close proximity to the lace curtains of her room, and he did not say a word.

Roger wrote to his nephew immediately after the fire, expressing his sorrow, and consoling him by saying he could afford to lose the shop and still be the richest man in the county. Frank thought of the piles and piles of money he had spent, and wondered what Roger would say could he know of all his extravagances. But Roger did not know, and his letter comforted Frank, who, after reading it, felt better than he had before since the fire, and who was quite like himself on the night when, with his bride, he stood to receive the congratulations of his dear four hundred friends who came from Boston and Worcester and Springfield and Hartford and New York, but not many from Belvidere. A few only of the citizens were considered good enough to enter the charmed presence and take the white hand on which a thousand-dollar ring was shining. Bell wore her diamonds that night, her husband’s bridal present, for which ten thousand dollars were paid, and she shone and flashed and sparkled, and turned her proud head proudly, and never spoke to Frank when she could help it, but talked instead with her old friends from Boston,—scholars and professors, whose discourse she found far more congenial than Frank’s commonplaces were.