Jessie, in her conversation with her brother, had come very near to the true origin of Henry’s troubles, though she knew but little of the facts in the case. The truth was, he did not try to please his mistress, and it was mainly owing to this that he had become so unhappy. Mrs. Allen, like most other people, had her peculiarities. One of the most prominent of these was her extreme neatness. She carried this excellent virtue to excess. A grain of sand in the eye could hardly be more painful to her than was a grain of dirt on her floors. Everything about the premises that would bear contact with soap and water, had to undergo its regular ablution, even to the outside of the house. Her husband, sometimes, while witnessing the terrible scrubbings which were of almost daily occurrence, used pleasantly to remind her, by way of warning, of the good Dutch woman who scoured her floor until she tumbled through into the cellar. But her motto was, that “nothing is clean that can be made cleaner;” and so she patiently scrubbed on, in spite of the warning, wherever there was dirt, or even a “might, could, would or should have been,” upon which to hang a suspicion.
Now there can be no doubt that a boy thirteen years old is capable of bringing a vast deal of dirt into a house. So Mrs. Allen discovered, to her dismay, before Henry had been an inmate of her dwelling twelve hours. Not that he was unusually dirty or careless in his habits, for he was as neat as boys will average; but he had never been trained to that rigid observance of the laws of cleanliness which was the rule in Mrs. Allen’s family. He could scarcely stir an inch in the house, no matter how silently or secretly, but Mrs. Allen, with her keen sight, could track his every step. There would always be snow, ice, water or mud from his boots, hay-seed from his clothing, crumbs and litter from his pockets, or something else, to tell that he had been there, and call for the broom.
Mrs. Allen began at once to combat this alarming evil—at first kindly and hopefully, then despondingly, and then chidingly. Henry thought she made unnecessary trouble about a small matter, and soon began to feel provoked by the measures she deemed necessary to insure greater neatness on his part. Frequently hearing Mr. Allen good-naturedly rally his wife for being so over-nice, Henry soon came to think he had a right to set himself in opposition to this peculiarity of her character. So, after a few weeks, he grew more careless than at first, in regard to making dirt; and, when irritated by the scoldings that were sure to follow, he sometimes even took a sort of malicious satisfaction in the mischief he had done.
Mrs. Allen was really a kind-hearted woman, though everybody did not find it out at first sight. She readily assented to Mr. Allen’s proposal to give Henry a home, and she felt much sympathy for the boy on account of the misfortunes that had overtaken his family. But now her feelings towards him began to change. Henry little imagined that he was closing the door to her heart, and locking himself out; but this he was doing. Mrs. Allen could not help noticing that he took little or no pains to please her, and she soon came to feel that it was of little consequence whether she consulted his wishes and happiness, in her arrangements. So the unhappy antagonism between them grew from day to day.
When Henry reached his home, after his interview with Jessie, he found Mrs. Allen in a rather unamiable mood. She said nothing, but her looks indicated anything but peace within. She was getting supper. Henry usually “set the table,” and assisted in other ways in getting the meals, and clearing away after them; but the table was already spread, and seeing no chance to render assistance, he inquired, after sitting a few moments:—
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You can eat your supper, I suppose,” replied Mrs. Allen; “you’re always sure to be on hand for that. The work is of no consequence—I can do it all—yours and my own too. You haven’t brought a stick of wood into the house to-day—I’ve had to go out twice after some, this afternoon.”
“Oh, there! I forgot all about the wood—that’s too bad,” exclaimed Henry, with a feeling of real regret at his own heedlessness; and he started to get an armful of wood, but was called back by Mrs. Allen, who told him it was not wanted now.
“You went off, as usual,” continued Mrs. Allen, “leaving your coat on a chair, and your old muddy boots right in the passage-way, for everybody to tumble over. I think it is very strange that you should have to change your clothes every time you go out to play. Who do you think can afford to clothe you, if you put on your best clothes whenever you get a chance?”
“I haven’t been playing, this afternoon—I went over to see my sister,” replied Henry.