“Well, Mis. Hall, you have got your answer. Ruth won’t part with the children,” said the doctor, as he refolded Mr. Ellet’s letter.

“I believe you have lived with me forty years, come last January, haven’t you, doctor?” said his amiable spouse.

“What of that? I don’t see where that remark is going to fetch up, Mis. Hall,” said the doctor. “You are not as young as you might be, to be sure, but I’m no boy myself.”

“There you go again, off the track. I didn’t make any allusion to my age. It’s a thing I never do. It’s a thing I never wish you to do. I repeat, that I have lived with you these forty years; well, did you ever know me back out of anything I undertook? Did you ever see me foiled? That letter makes no difference with me; Harry’s children I’m determined to have, sooner or later. What can’t be had by force, must be had by stratagem. I propose, therefore, a compromise, (pro-tem.) You and Mr. Ellet had better agree to furnish a certain sum for awhile, for the support of Ruth and her children, giving her to understand that it is discretionary, and may stop at any minute. That will conciliate Ruth, and will look better, too.

“The fact is, Miss Taffety told me yesterday that she heard some hard talking about us down in the village, between Mrs. Rice and Deacon Gray (whose child Ruth watched so many nights with, when it had the scarlet fever). Yes, it will have a better look, doctor, and we can withdraw the allowance whenever the ‘nine days’ wonder’ is over. These people have something else to do than to keep track of poor widows.”

“I never supposed a useless, fine lady, like Ruth, would rather work to support her children than to give them up; but I don’t give her any credit for it now, for I’m quite sure it’s all sheer obstinacy, and only to spite us,” continued the old lady.

“Doctor!” and the old lady cocked her head on one side, and crossed her two forefingers, “whenever—you—see—a—blue-eyed—soft-voiced—gentle—woman,—look—out—for—a—hurricane. I tell you that placid Ruth is a smouldering volcano.”

“That tells the whole story,” said the doctor. “And speaking of volcanoes, it won’t be so easy to make Mr. Ellet subscribe anything for Ruth’s support; he thinks more of one cent than of any child he ever had. I am expecting him every moment, Mis. Hall, to talk over our proposal about Ruth. Perhaps you had better leave us alone; you know you have a kind of irritating way if anything comes across you, and you might upset the whole business. As to my paying anything towards Ruth’s board unless he does his full share, you needn’t fear.”

“Of course not; well, I’ll leave you,” said the old lady, with a sly glance at the china closet, “though I doubt if you understand managing him alone. Now I could wind him round my little finger in five minutes if I chose, but I hate to stoop to it, I so detest the whole family.”

“I’ll shake hands with you there,” said the doctor; “but that puppy of a Hyacinth is my especial aversion, though Ruth is bad enough in her way; a mincing, conceited, tip-toeing, be-curled, be-perfumed popinjay—faugh! Do you suppose, Mis. Hall, there can be anything in a man who wears fancy neck-ties, a seal ring on his little finger, and changes his coat and vest a dozen times a day? No; he’s a sensuous fop, that tells the whole story; ought to be picked up with a pair of sugar-tongs, and laid carefully on a rose-leaf. Ineffable puppy!”

“They made a great fuss about his writings,” said the old lady.

“Who made a fuss? Fudge—there’s that piece of his about ‘The Saviour’; he describes him as he would a Broadway dandy. That fellow is all surface, I tell you; there’s no depth in him. How should there be? Isn’t he an Ellet? but look, here comes his father.”

“Good day, doctor. My time is rather limited this morning,” said Ruth’s father nervously; “was it of Ruth you wished to speak to me?”

“Yes,” said the doctor; “she seems to feel so badly about letting the children go, that it quite touched my feelings, and I thought of allowing her something for awhile, towards their support.”

“Very generous of you,” said Mr. Ellet, infinitely relieved; “very.”

“Yes,” continued the doctor, “I heard yesterday that Deacon Gray and Mrs. Rice, two very influential church members, were talking hard of you and me about this matter; yes, as you remarked, Mr. Ellet, I am generous, and I am willing to give Ruth a small sum, for an unspecified time, provided you will give her the same amount.”

“Me?” said Mr. Ellet; “me?—I am a poor man, doctor; shouldn’t be surprised any day, if I had to mortgage the house I live in: you wouldn’t have me die in the almshouse, would you?”

“No; and I suppose you wouldn’t be willing that Ruth should?” said the doctor, who could take her part when it suited him to carry a point.

“Money is tight, money is tight,” said old Mr. Ellet, frowning; “when a man marries his children, they ought to be considered off his hands. I don’t know why I should be called upon. Ruth went out of my family, and went into yours, and there she was when her trouble came. Money is tight, though, of course, you don’t feel it, doctor, living here on your income with your hands folded.”

“Yes, yes,” retorted the doctor, getting vexed in his turn; “that all sounds very well; but the question is, what is my ‘income’? Beside, when a man has earned his money by riding six miles of a cold night, to pull a tooth for twenty-five cents, he don’t feel like throwing it away on other folks’ children.”

“Are not those children as much your grand-children as they are mine?” said Mr. Ellet, sharply, as he peered over his spectacles.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the doctor, taking an Æsculapian view of the case; “shouldn’t think they were—blue eyes—sanguine temperament, like their mother’s—not much Hall blood in ’em I fancy; more’s the pity.”

“It is no use being uncivil,” said Mr. Ellet, reddening. “I never am uncivil. I came here because I thought you had something to say; if you have not, I’ll go; my time is precious.”

“You have not answered my question yet,” said the doctor; “I asked you, if you would give the same that I would to Ruth for a time, only a short time?”

“The fact is, Mr. Ellet,” continued the doctor, forced to fall back at last upon his reserved argument; “we are both church members; and the churches to which we belong have a way (which I think is a wrong way, but that’s neither here nor there) of meddling in these little family matters. It would not be very pleasant for you or me to be catechised, or disciplined by a church committee; and it’s my advice to you to avoid such a disagreeable alternative: they say hard things about us. We have a Christian reputation to sustain, brother Ellet,” and the doctor grew pietistic and pathetic.

Mr. Ellet looked anxious. If there was anything he particularly prided himself upon, it was his reputation for devoted piety. Here was a desperate struggle—mammon pulling one way, the church the other. The doctor saw his advantage, and followed it.

“Come, Mr. Ellet, what will you give? here’s a piece of paper; put it down in black and white,” said the vigilant doctor.

“Never put anything on paper, never put anything on paper,” said Mr. Ellet, in a solemn tone, with a ludicrously frightened air; “parchments, lawyers, witnesses, and things, make me nervous.”

“Ha! ha!” chuckled the old lady from her hiding-place in the china-closet.

“Well, then, if you won’t put it on paper, tell me what you will give,” said the persistent doctor.

“I’ll think about it,” said the frenzied Mr. Ellet, seizing his hat, as if instant escape were his only safety.

The doctor followed him into the hall.

“Did you make him do it?” asked the old lady, in a hoarse whisper, as the doctor entered.

“Yes; but it was like drawing teeth,” replied the doctor. “It is astonishing how avaricious he is; he may not stick to his promise now, for he would not put it on paper, and there was no witness.”

“Wasn’t there though?” said the old lady, chuckling. “Trust me for that.”