Frank Nash Westcott - Hepsey Burke

Jonathan sighed profoundly, knowing from past experience that Hepsey’s word carried more weight than all the vestry.

“I suppose I have, if you say so, Hepsey.”

“Yes sir, you’ve got to help me do it. No decent girl is goin’ into that house as it is, with my consent. It’s the worst old rat-trap I ever saw. I’ve got the 68 key, and I’m goin’ through it this afternoon, and then I’m goin’ to plan what ought to be done.”

“But it seems to me you’re venturin’ some. You don’t know they’re goin’ to be married.”

“No, but all the symptoms point that way, and we’ve got to be prepared for it.”

“But the people round town seem to think that Virginia has a first mortgage on the rector already.”

“No doubt she thinks she has; but it ’aint true. He’s made a blunder, though, not announcin’ his engagement, and I’m goin’ to tell him so the first chance I get. I don’t see why he should air his private affairs all over the town, but if he don’t announce his engagement before long, Virginia Bascom’ll make an awful row when he does.”

“Yes, and to the best of my knowledge and belief this’ll be her fifth row.”

“Well, you meet me at the rectory at two o’clock sharp.”

“But we ought to consult the vestry first,” the Junior Warden cautioned her.

“What for, I’d like to know?”

“’Cause they are the trustees of the property.”

“Then why don’t they ’tend to the property? The vestry are a lot of–” 69

“Sh! Hepsey, be careful. I’ll be there, I’ll be there!”

Mrs. Burke rose and started for the door; but Jonathan called out to her:

“Hepsey, can’t you stay to dinner? I’d like awful well to have you. It would seem so nice and homelike to see you sittin’ opposite me at the table.”

“Am I to consider this a proposal of marriage, Jonathan?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought of it in that light; but if you would, I’d be mighty thankful.”

But Hepsey was beating her retreat.

Jonathan stood for a minute or two in the middle of the room and looked very sober. Slowly he took off his coat and put on his dressing gown. Then he sat down, and cautiously put his feet in another chair. Next he lighted a cigar—gazing about the room as if his late wife might appear at any moment as an avenging deity, and drag him into the kitchen where he belonged. But nothing happened, and he began to feel a realization of his independence. He sat and thought for a long time, and a mighty hunger of the heart overwhelmed him. Before he knew it, a tear or two had fallen on the immaculate carpet; and then, suddenly recollecting himself, he stood up, saying to himself—such is the consistency of man: 70

“Sarah was a good soul accordin’ to her lights; but she’s dead, and I must confess I’m powerful reconciled. Hepsey Burke’s different. I wonder if–”

But he put he thought away from him with a “get thee behind me” abruptness, and putting on his coat, went out to water the stock.

“Hm!” Mrs. Burke remarked to Maxwell abruptly one day during supper. “We haven’t had a missionary tea since you came, and I think it’s high time we did.”

“What sort of a missionary tea do you mean?” the parson inquired.

“Well,” Mrs. Burke responded, “our missionary teas combine different attractions. We get together and look over each other’s clothes; that’s the first thing; then some one reads a paper reportin’ how 72 things is goin’ in Zanzibar, or what’s doin’ in Timbuctoo. Then we look over the old clothes sent in for missionaries, mend ’em up, and get ’em ready to send off. Then we have tea and cake. I’ve had my misgivin’ for some time that perhaps we cared more for the tea and cake than we did for the heathen; but of course I put such a wicked thought aside. If you value your reputation for piety, don’t you ever speak of a missionary tea here except in a whisper.”

“But I suppose the tea helps to get people together and be more sociable?”

“Certainly. The next best thing to religion is a cup of strong tea and a frosted cake, to make us country people friends. Both combined can’t be beat. But you ought to see the things that have been sent in this last week for the missionary box. There’s a smoking jacket, two pairs of golf-trousers, several pairs of mismated gloves, a wonderful lot of undarned stockings, bonnets and underclothes to burn, two jackets and a bathin’ suit. I wonder what people think missionaries are doin’ most of the time!”

On the day appointed for the missionary tea the ladies were to assemble at Thunder Cliff at four o’clock; and when Maxwell came home, before the advent of the first guest, he seemed somewhat depressed; and Mrs. Burke inquired: 73

“Been makin’ calls on your parishioners?”

“Yes, I have made a few visits.”

“Now you must look more cheerful, or somebody’ll suspect that you don’t always find parish calls the joy of your life.”

“It’s so difficult to find subjects of conversation that they are interested in. I simply couldn’t draw out Mrs. Snodgrass, for instance.”

“Well, when you’ve lived in the country as long as I have, you’ll find that the one unfailin’ subject of interest is symptoms—mostly dyspepsy and liver complaint. If you had known enough to have started right with Elmira Snodgrass, she would have thawed out at once. Elmira is always lookin’ for trouble as the sparks fly upwards, or thereabouts. She’d crawl through a barbed wire fence if she couldn’t get at it any other way. She always chews a pill on principle, and then she calls it a dispensation of Providence, and wonders why she was ever born to be tormented.”

“In that case,” laughed Maxwell, “I’d better get some medical books and read up on symptoms. By the by, is there any particular program for this missionary meeting, Mrs. Burke?”

“Yes, Virginia Bascom’s goin’ to read a paper called ‘The Christian Mother as a Missionary in her own Household.’ To be sure, Ginty’s no Christian 74 Mother, or any other kind of a mother; but she’s as full of enthusiasm as a shad is of bones. She’d bring up any child while you wait, and not charge a cent. There goes the bell, so please excuse me.”

The guests were received by Mrs. Burke. Miss Bascom entered the parlor with a portentous bundle of manuscript under her arm, and greeted Donald with a radiant smile. Pulling a pansy from a bunch in her dress, she adjusted it in his buttonhole with the happy shyness of a young kitten chasing its tail. After the others had assembled, they formed a circle to inspect the clothing which had been sent in. There was a general buzz of conversation.

As they were busily going through the garments, Virginia remarked, “Are all these things to go to the missionaries at Tien Tsin?” and she adjusted her lorgnette to inspect the heap.

“Yes,” Mrs. Burke responded wearily, “and I hope they’ll get what comfort they can out of ’em.”

“You don’t seem to be very appreciative, Mrs. Burke,” Virginia reproved.

“Well, I suppose I ought to be satisfied,” Hepsey replied. “But it does seem as if most people give to the Lord what they can’t use for themselves any longer—as they would to a poor relation that’s worthy, but not to be coddled by too much charity.” 75

“I think these things are quite nice enough for the missionaries,” Virginia retorted. “They are thankful for anything.”

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Burke replied calmly. “Missionaries and their families have no business to have any feelings that can’t be satisfied with second-hand clothes, and no end of good advice on how to spend five cents freely but not extravagantly.”