"Holton needs them so much," said she, "and you are so kind as to offer your services, aunty; it would cost so much to hire them done, and his salary is so small now, you know, and boarding so expensive."
And to work we began; but the truth is that it is very little which Ann Sophia has done thus far. Well, what is a single woman good for unless to make herself generally useful? A precious sight of twaddle have I read first and last in the papers and magazines about the delights and privileges of old-maidery. Delights of a fiddlestick! Pulled hither and thither, perhaps—as I have been—at the beck of married brothers and sisters, and a score of idle nephews and nieces; if you have a home of your own, not allowed to stay at it in peace for more than one week together. Sister Julia's children have all got the measles, and Aunt Abigail must go and take care of them; or brother Peter's wife is dead, and Abigail must pack up and go to keep house for him till she becomes attached to the motherless tribe, and feels quite at home among them, when he gets a new wife, and Abigail departs just as she begins to be happy. To crown all, when she puts her own house in order, and has a nice lot of sweetmeats and pickles made up, along comes a troop of relations, male and female, young and old, to visit dear Aunt Abigail and eat up all her stores, to say nothing of completely kicking out the stair carpet. But I am wandering from my subject—a thing which I am apt to do.
The house is quiet now, and, having finished one of Holton Sparks's shirts this evening, I embrace the respite to retire to my own room. After all, I do not feel like scolding about Ann Sophia. The pleasant-tempered girl looks so much like her mother, brother Peter's first wife; I brought her up, too, at least till she was ten years old, when her father married again. Her chief fault is her youth, and she will get over that, dear child.
However, to return, I cannot sleep till I have expressed my indignation at the follies that have been perpetrated in honor—rather should I say, in dishonor—of All Fools' Day, hoping that you, Mr. Editor, will lift your voice in favor of putting a stop to such absurdities. In the first place, I had scarcely risen, when I was myself made the victim of imposition; for, while I was dressing, there was a rap at the door, and I heard Sparks's voice—
"Aunt Abigail, are you up? Here is a letter postmarked Wimpleton. It came by the night train, probably."
"As sure as fate," thought I, "there has something dreadful happened at home." And, being much agitated, I tore open the envelop in great haste, without observing that the superscription was not in brother Sam's hand, and wondering why Sparks did not wait to learn the nature of its tidings. As truly as I am a living woman, there was nothing inside but a great foolscap sheet, and on it these words, in staring capitals—
"APRIL FOOL."
I could have cried, so vexed was I at first. Then I felt thankful that no bad news had actually reached me; for, during the brief moment occupied in opening the letter, you can scarcely imagine the many terrible things that passed through my head. Mother had had a fit, fallen down and broken her leg, though brother Sam had promised me faithfully not to leave her alone while I was gone; or that stupid Dutch boy, who takes care of the cow and the fires, had left live coals in the ash-box, and the house was burned to the ground. Or Sam himself had got one of those severe attacks of inflammatory rheumatism, and nobody there but mother to take care of him, and take his fretting into the bargain, and she almost eighty years old. When I recovered myself a little, I took that wretched sheet of paper, and was on the point of penning a dignified expression of my sentiments below the odious words, and handing it in silent scorn to my nephew-in-law at the breakfast-table. But better feelings prevailed; I smoothed it nicely in my portfolio, and am now scratching this hasty epistle upon its surface, intending in the morning to write it more legibly on some of my own fair sheets of Bath.
A few among the follies of this tiresome day have, I must acknowledge, given me a certain sort of satisfaction. Holton Sparks has been come up with himself; not by any means of mine, I earnestly assure you, for, besides heartily despising it, I cannot in any shape perpetrate "April fooling." Sam often says that this is because I am so matter-of-fact; but, matter-of-fact or not, I trust that there is not enough matter-of-folly in my composition to attempt such performances. I always did abominate practical jokes, and Sam knows that; yet the jokes which that boy still puts upon me, though I am three years older than himself, would be deemed improbable.
Well, when the breakfast-bell rang this morning, I went down stairs with an air as erect and dignified as a woman of fif——no matter—with such a demeanor as one who has outlived the fooleries of early youth should make habitual. Holton Sparks is very fond of eggs, and invariably takes the biggest on the dish. I observed that our landlady directed the servant to hand them first to Mr. Sparks, who was too intent on securing his egg to notice her action. Indeed, he never hesitates to help himself first, quite regardless of the ladies who sit near, and even of Ann Sophia. Holton is a tremendous eater, seeming to think of nothing at table but disposing of his food as rapidly and in as large quantities as possible. The manner of this gentleman is to place a large piece of nicely buttered toast on his plate, pour the egg over it, pepper the whole thoroughly, and swallow it as if the preparation were some unpleasant dose that it is his duty to dispatch. Mrs. Mashum, who is altogether too much given to laughing, and too volatile for her station, sat behind the coffee urn shaking violently with suppressed mirth. He broke the shell of his egg as usual, when, behold, his plate was flooded with a dingy-looking liquid, which proved to be warm dish-water. On comprehending the joke, he sent it away with an offended air, and made his breakfast on beefsteak, without deigning to join in the universal laugh. It seems that last evening he laid a wager with Mrs. Mashum that she could not succeed in playing him a trick, he should be so constantly upon his guard during All Fools' Day. The affair of the egg has put him out of humor to such an extent that we have been saved the infliction of any more jokes at his hands. He has worn his dignity all day, not even Ann Sophia succeeding in laughing or coaxing him into laying it aside. I rather think that he grudges the dollar which he will have to lay out for the gloves, as Mrs. Mashum has won the bet, and Ann Sophia assures him that a pair of her own will not do by any means. He proposed that expedient to settle the matter. Holton is stingy. But his wife declared that such a good joke deserved a pair of Alexander's best. It is not because I approve of betting that I mention this, for I hold the practice in great abhorrence. It was only of a piece with the other follies of the day, and shows up Holton Sparks a little.