The Village Gossip CHAPTER 7.
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The week that followed the events already described, was one of no little excitement in Cedardale. Trouble was rife on every hand.
The morning that followed to the day on which Mary Green had demanded of Striker, the blacksmith, the payment of damages for injury done to her mare, found the latter sober in every sense of the word — sober in mind as well as body. He remembered distinctly the visits of both White the miller, and Mrs. Green; and the effect upon himself, in driving him to the bottle, which he had resolved, once more, to abandon. The sad eyes of his wife, that were occasionally bent on him in pleading silence, but too well assured him of the debasing results which had followed this speedy abandonment of a good resolution.
"Poor, miserable wretch!" Thus he sighed to himself; and as he sighed, he turned his face to the wall; and tightly closing his eyelids, sought vainly to expel from his mind a crowd of upbraiding images.
This sigh, and this sudden movement, did not escape the attention of his wife, who had already arisen, and was busying herself about the room in various household duties. She came at once to the bedside, and leaning over, said in a sad, yet tender voice —
"John."
The blacksmith made no answer.
"John," she repeated, with even increased tenderness in her voice.
A deep sigh — almost a groan — was the husband's only response.
"All may yet be well, John." How earnestly, affectionately, and encouragingly was this said! Almost heart-broken and discouraged, it was astonishing how the poor woman schooled her voice. She was, at heart, a true woman, or she could never have accomplished the task.
"Oh, Hannah! Don't speak to me so!" replied Striker, his tones betraying deep emotion. He did not move, nor turn his face from the wall.
"It is the truth, John," said his wife, encouragingly. "Haven't I always said it?"
The response to this was another long-drawn sigh.
"I have always said it, and I will hope on to the end," continued Mrs. Striker. "There were pleasant days for us in the past, John — very pleasant; and I cannot give up the hope of days to come as full of pleasantness."
"Hannah! Hannah!" Striker now turned his face to his wife, and she saw that it was almost distorted by struggling emotions. "May God sustain your hope — there is no strength in me! Yesterday, I vowed, in all sincerity, that I would be a changed man. But, oh, how quickly did I fail!"
"Why, why did you touch it, John?" answered his wife, her manner changing to one of great earnestness. "You are a free man."
"Ah, Hannah! You do not know how I was tempted. I had scarcely reached my shop, yesterday, after leaving you, when in came White. My blood boiled the moment I saw him. Knowing how scandalously he had talked about us, I could scarcely refrain from ordering him off the moment I set eyes on him. Before I could speak, he said in the most insolent manner — 'Look here! I've got a crow to pick with you!' — and then made some reference to you as a 'busy-tongued woman.' I couldn't stand this, nohow; and if he hadn't gone off mighty quick, I'd have pitched him into the road, neck and heels. Oh! I was terrible angry. In this state, all my good resolutions were forgotten, and I drank again."
"What had I done? What did he mean by calling me a busy-tongued woman?" asked Mrs. Striker, with a flushing face and trembling voice.
"Heaven knows! I gave him no time for explanation. I was too angry. But it is some of Nancy Wimble's work, no doubt. A dog that will fetch a bone — will carry one, you know. She had a long rigmarole to tell of White's abuse of us; and, no doubt, she had as much to say on the other side."
"But what could she say, John?"
"Liars and busybodies are never much at a loss, you know. Something, dropped from your lips in unguarded conversation, has been caught up and repeated in a way to provoke his anger."
Mrs. Striker now remembered what she had said to Nancy about her grist being deficient in weight; and she mentioned this, without disguise, to her husband.
"That is it, no doubt," said Striker. "Ah me!" he sighed, "that woman does more to make trouble in Cedardale, than any one else in the village. I've always said this."
"To think I should have been so unguarded!" sighed Mrs. Striker, in a self-upbraiding voice. "O dear! And so I am to blame for what has happened."
Oppressed by this thought, the poor woman buried her face in the bedclothes and sobbed aloud.
"Don't think that I blame you, Hannah," quickly spoke out the blacksmith. "There's no one to blame for my wrong-doing but myself. It will, however, be a warning to you, so far asNancy Wimble is concerned. As for White, let him take care of himself, and not cross my path again. If I'd got my hands on him yesterday, I can't say what would have been the consequences. One thing is certain, he'll grind no more grain for us. There's an honest miller over in Elderglen, and he shall have my business for the future."
Mrs. Striker still remained with her face buried in the bedclothes.
"But this wasn't all," continued her husband. "Not long after White went away, in came Mary Green."
"What did she want?" asked Mrs. Striker, looking up, and showing tears on her cheeks.
"Why, she came in, as angry as a viper, about her mare Fanny."
"That you lamed in shoeing?"
"Yes. And would you believe it, she wanted me to pay her twenty dollars damages."
"Twenty dollars!" exclaimed his wife.
"It's the truth. She would hear to no reason; and was dreadfully insolent. Of course, I got out of all patience with her, and, at last, unable to stand her sharp tongue any longer, I took her by the arm and led her from the shop. She stood in the road, and screamed out her abuse there for some time, when she went away, threatening all sorts of consequences. This knocked me right down. I remember but little afterward, except that I poured, like a mad fool, at least a pint of liquor down my throat. O dear! I wish I could control myself. But I had a strong provocation, Hannah — very strong. But, God helping me, I will make one more trial."
The light on Mrs. Striker's face was as if the sun had suddenly arisen, and poured his first beams into their chamber-window.
"God will help you, John," she quickly replied. "Oh, try again earnestly. I didn't expect this of Mary Green. I'm sure we both told her that she was welcome to old brown horse whenever she wished to ride. Twenty dollars! What could have given her that idea?"
"Nancy Wimble is at the bottom of it, I suppose. She does the mischief-making for the village. I wish to my heart we were well out of it. I've had no good luck since we came here."
The blacksmith then arose, and with more than ordinary calmness of mind, and a resolute purpose to do better, prepared to enter upon another day's work. Mrs. Striker felt again hopeful. Long, long had she looked for a brighter day, and there had often seemed to break in the dark — a precursor of morning; now the black curtain was lifted, she fondly hoped, and day about to dawn.
Thus it was with the blacksmith's family.
As for the miller, the rebuff which he had received from Striker fretted him the more, the longer he brooded over it. The outrage was one neither to be forgotten nor forgiven.
"It will cost him dear, or I'm mistaken," said he, as he meditated on schemes of retaliation. "One thing is certain, he gets no more work from me; and I think I've given him about as much as any two others in Cedardale. Elderglen has quite as good a blacksmith, and, I think, a little better. At any rate, he shall set all my picks and facing-hammers after this, and do all the repairs to machinery that I need. Threaten to pitch me, neck and heels, into the road, ha! If he isn't sorry for this before another six months, my name is not Stephen White!"
Although the miller's picks and facing hammers would have lasted him well enough, without calling in the blacksmith's skill, for a week or two longer, so anxious was he to let Striker know that he had lost one good customer, that on the day following the one on which the rebuff was given, he gathered together the dull hammers and broken and worn-out picks, and so arranging them in a meal-bag, that a practiced eye could easily guess what they were, slung them on the saddle-bow of his horse, and started for Elderglen. There were two ways from his mill leading to the Elderglen road; one past Striker's shop, and the other by the mill dam. White purposely chose the former, and was gratified, in passing the smithy, to see Striker standing at the door. The two men glared at each other, but made no signs of recognition.
Halfway to Elderglen, White met a person named Barker, whom he well knew, and also his vocation — that of constable.
"Good day, neighbor Barker — what news?" said he, checking his horse. "Oh, nothing very extraordinary," replied Barker, balancing himself obliquely on his saddle, and drawing one foot from the stirrup, so as to sit at ease while talking.
"We don't give you folks much work in Cedardale," remarked the miller.
"No. At least you haven't done so. But your time is to come yet," and he laughed to himself. "You're not all saints and angels by a mighty deal."
"Never man spoke truer words, friend Barker. We've got some pretty hard subjects, let me tell you; and if some of them aren't in hot water before long, then I'm no prophet. There is John Striker, for instance."
"Striker! He's a pretty hard case, is he?"
"You may well say so. About the hardest case we have."
"I'm just on my way to see him."
"You are!"
"That's my present business. I have a writ for him."
"Good! But what's the matter?"
"Some trouble with Mary Green."
"Ah, ha! He lamed her mare."
"And she has brought suit for damages."
"Good again! He ought to be made to pay well for crippling the poor beast. He was drunk when he did it, of course. But, if men will get drunk, let them pay for the harm they do."
"So say I, friend White. But it seems that Striker was not content with crippling the mare. When Mary called on him yesterday, to ask what he was going to do about it, he not only abused her up and down, right and left, like a blackguard, but actually thrust her out of his shop, bruising her person most shamefully in doing so."
"Well, if that don't beat everything!" exclaimed the miller, who had not yet heard of Mary Green's adventure with the blacksmith. "Threw her out into the road?"
"Yes, and with considerable force, I should conclude," answered the constable.
"He might have injured her for life."
"He may have done so as it is," said the constable. "If I understood aright, she is a good deal hurt."
"Dreadful! Why the man's got the very devil in him!"
"So it seems. But, I guess we'll bring the old 'varmint' out before we're done with him. There will be two suits against him."
"Two!" ejaculated the miller.
"Yes. One for crippling the mare, and one for assault and battery."
"Good!" This was a favorite ejaculation with the miller. "How he will stare when the writs are served! You must look out that he doesn't pitch you into the road. Ha! ha!"
"He'll hardly try that trick!" replied the constable a little gravely, and showing his teeth as he spoke. "But good day, friend White. I have no time to tarry." So, resuming his place in the saddle, Barker spoke to his horse and rode on.
The miller was especially pleased to hear that Striker had got himself into the hands of the law — so well pleased, that he actually drew up his horse several times, before reaching Elderglen; and debated the question, whether to keep on, or to return to Cedardale, and be among the first to spread the news. The calls of business were, however, permitted to hold in abeyance, the miller's inclinations. So he kept on, and in due time arrived at the Elderglen smithy, and made known to Marks, the smith, that in future he was going to patronize him.
"It will cost me more time and trouble, of course," said White. "But you see, friend Marks, Striker has got so drunken, worthless, and ill-natured, that there is no doing anything with him. You have heard, no doubt, how he crippled Mary Green's mare in shoeing her?"
"Oh yes," replied the gratified smith, "I've heard all about that. He must have been very careless."
"Say, rather, very drunk," returned the miller.
"As you please about that. In any case, the blunder is unpardonable, and he ought to be made to pay damages."
"Mary Green has sued him already," said the miller.
"Ah! has she?"
"Yes, indeed. I met Barker with the writ as I came over this morning."
"I'm sorry for him," remarked the smith. "But it's no more than just."
"I can't say that I'm sorry," rejoined the miller. "I'm sorry for Mary Green. Striker not only crippled her mare, but when she went to see him about it, he abused her shamefully — even going so far as to seize hold of her and throw her into the road. It is thought that she has sustained some bodily injury."
"Is it possible that he has become so outrageous?" said the smith. "Striker used to be a very clever man. But rum spoils everything."
"It has spoiled him, certainly. However, I mustn't be talking here. It takes some time to ride over from Cedardale and back; and no corn can be ground while I am away. When will the picks and facing-hammers be ready?"
"Day after tomorrow," answered Marks.
"Will it be possible for you to send them over?"
"I'm afraid not. Though, if there should be an opportunity, I will certainly embrace it."
"I wish you would. However, I can keep my Ben home from school an afternoon, and let him ride over and get them. It doesn't do for me to be away from the mill, you know; for, when people come with their grain, they expect me to grind it at once. So good day."
"Good day," replied the smith, returning to his forge. The miller left the shop, and mounting his horse, rode off with a brisk trot, not feeling altogether too well satisfied at the prospect of having to go or send a couple of miles every time he had blacksmith's work to do. As for Striker's skill as a mechanic, there was no question on that score; and the miller's tools had ever come from under his hands as perfect as he could ask them. The reputation of Marks did not stand so high by any means; and it rather unpleasantly occurred to the miller, that, possibly, he might lose in more ways than one by the change.
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