A few weeks after Donald’s conversational duel with Mrs. Burke he started on a six-weeks’ vacation, which he had certainly earned; and as he busied himself with his packing,—Hepsey assisting,—he announced:

“When I come back, Mrs. Burke, I probably shall not come alone.”

He was strapping up his suit-case when he made this rather startling announcement, and the effect seemed to send the blood to his head. Mrs. Burke 112 did not seem to notice his confusion as she remarked calmly:

“Hm! That’s a good thing. Your grandmother can have the room next to yours, and we’ll do all we can to make the old lady comfortable. I’m sure she’ll be a great comfort to you, though she’ll get a bit lonesome at times, unless she’s active on her feet.”

Donald laughed, as he blushed more furiously and stuttered:

“No, I am not going to bring my grandmother here, and I strongly suspect that you know what I mean. I’m going to be married.”

“So you are going to get married, are you?” Hepsey remarked with due amazement, as if the suspicion of the fact had never entered her head before. “Well, I am mighty glad of it. I only wish that I was goin’ to be present to give you away. Yes, I’m mighty glad. She’ll make a new man of you up here, so long as she isn’t a new woman.”

“No, not in the slang sense of the word; although I think you will find her very capable, and I hope with all my heart that you’ll like her.”

“I’m sure I shall. The question is whether she’ll like me.”

Hepsey Burke looked rather sober for a moment, and Donald instantly asserted: 113

“She can’t help liking you.”

“We-ell now, I could mention quite a number of people who find it as easy as rolling off a log to dislike, me. But that doesn’t matter much. I have found it a pretty good plan not to expect a great deal of adoration, and to be mighty grateful for the little you get. Be sure you let me know when to expect you and your grandmother back.”

“Most certainly I shall,” he laughed. “It will be in about six weeks, you know. Good-by, and thank you a thousand times for all your kindness to me.”

There was considerable moisture in Hepsey’s eyes as she stood and watched Maxwell drive down the road. Then wiping her eyes furtively with one corner of her apron she remarked to herself:

“Well, I suppose I am glad, mighty glad; but somehow it isn’t the jolliest thing in the world to have one’s friends get married. They are never the same again; and in ten times out of six the lady in the case is jealous of her husband’s friends, and tries to make trouble. It takes a lady saint to share her husband’s interests with anybody, and maybe she ’aint to blame. Well, the next thing in order is to fix up the rectory in six weeks. The best way to repair that thing is with a match and some real good kerosene and a few shavings; however, we’ll have to do the 114 best we can. I think I’ll set Jonathan Jackson to work this afternoon, and go around and interview the vestry myself.”

Jonathan proved resignedly obedient to Hepsey’s demands, but the vestry blustered and scolded, because they had not been consulted in the matter, until Hepsey said she would be glad to receive any contribution they might choose to offer; then they relapsed into innocuous desuetude and talked crops.

As soon as the repairs were well under way, the whole town was wild with gossip about Maxwell and Miss Bascom. If he were going to occupy the rectory, the necessary inference was that he was going to be married, as he surely would not contemplate keeping bachelor’s hall by himself. At last Virginia had attained the height of her ambition and captured the rector! Consequently she was the center of interest in every social gathering, although, as the engagement had not been formally announced, no one felt at liberty to congratulate her. To any tentative and insinuating advances in this direction Virginia replied by non-committal smiles, capable of almost any interpretation; and the seeker after information was none the wiser.

Mrs. Roscoe-Jones, by virtue of her long intimacy with Hepsey and her assured social position in Durford’s 115 thirty gentry, felt that she was entitled to some definite information; and so, as they walked back from church one Wednesday afternoon, she remarked:

“I hear that the parish is going to repair the rectory, and that you are taking a great interest in it. You must be on very intimate terms with Mr. Bascom and the vestry!”

“Well, not exactly. Bascom and I haven’t held hands in the dark for some time; but I am going to do what I can to get the house in order for Mr. Maxwell.”

“I wonder where the money is coming from to complete the work? It seems to me that the whole parish ought to be informed about the matter, and share in the work; but I suppose Mr. Bascom’s shouldering it all, since there’s been no effort to raise money by having a fair.”

“I really don’t know much about it as yet, Sarah. Of course Bascom’s charitable work is mostly done in secret, so that nobody ever finds it out. He is a modest man and wouldn’t like to be caught in the act of signing a check for anybody else. It might seem showy.”

“Yes, I understand,” Mrs. Roscoe-Jones retorted dryly; “but under the circumstances, that is––” 116

“Under what circumstances?” Mrs. Burke inquired quickly.

“Oh, considering that Mr. Bascom is Virginia’s father and would want to make her comfortable, you know––”

“No, I don’t know. I’m awful stupid about some things. You must have discovered that before.”

“Now Hepsey, what is the use of beating around the bush like this? You must know the common gossip of the town, and you must be in Mr. Maxwell’s confidence. What shall I say when people ask me if he is engaged to Virginia Bascom?”

“Tell ’em you don’t know a blessed thing about it. What else can you tell ’em? You might tell ’em that you tried to pump me and the pump wouldn’t work ’cause it needed packin’.”

After this, Mrs. Roscoe-Jones felt that there was nothing left for her to do but retire from the scene; so she crossed the road.

When Mrs. Burke began the actual work on the rectory she quickly realized what she had to cope with. The workmen of Durford had a pleasing habit of accepting all offers of work, and promising anything, and making a start so as to get the job; and then, having upset the whole premises, they promptly “lit out” for parts unknown in order to get another 117 job, and no mortal knew when they would return. It always seemed promising and hopeful to see a laboring man arrive in his overalls with his dinner-pail and tools at seven; but when two hours later he had vanished, not to return, it was a bit discouraging. Mrs. Burke was not in a very good humor when, arriving at the rectory, she met Tom Snyder the plumber, at ten-thirty, walking briskly away from his job. She planted herself squarely across the walk and began:

“Good morning, Thomas; where are you going, if I may ask?”

“I am going back for my tools, Mrs. Burke.”

“Excuse me, Thomas, but you were never more mistaken in your life. You put the kitchen pipes out of business two weeks ago, and you must have been goin’ back for your tools ever since. I suppose you’re chargin’ me by the hour for goin’ backwards.”

Thomas looked sheepish and scratched his head with his dirty fingers.

“No, but I have to finish a little job I begun for Elias Warden on the hill. I’ll be back again right away.”

“None of that, Thomas. You’re goin’ back to the rectory with me now, and if the job isn’t finished by six o’clock, you’ll never get your hands on it again.”

The crestfallen Thomas reluctantly turned around 118 and accompanied Hepsey back to the rectory and finished his work in half an hour.

After much trial and tribulation the rectory was duly repaired, replastered, and papered. The grass had been cut; the bushes were trimmed; and the house had been painted. Then Mrs. Burke obtained a hayrack with a team, and taking Nickey and Jonathan Jackson with her, made a tour of the parish asking for such furniture as individual parishioners were willing to give. Late in the afternoon she arrived at the rectory with a very large load, and the next day Jonathan was made to set to work with his tools, and she started in with some paint and varnish, and the result seemed eminently satisfactory to her, even though her hands were stained, she had had no dinner, and her hair was stuck to her head here and there in shiny spots. As they were leaving the house to return home for supper, she scowled severely at Jonathan as she remarked:

“Jonathan, I do believe you’ve got more red paint on the top of your head than you left on the kitchen chairs. Do for mercy sake wash the end of your nose. I don’t care to be seen comin’ out of here with you lookin’ like that,” she added scathingly.

After that, it was, as Mrs. Burke remarked, just fun to finish the rectory; and though so much had 119 been given by the people of the parish, there were many new pieces of furniture delivered, for which no one could account. As neither Mr. Bascom nor Miss Bascom had sent anything, and as neither had appeared on the scene, excitement was at fever heat. Rumor had it that Virginia had gone to the city for a week or so, to buy her trousseau. Presently the report circulated that Maxwell was going to bring his bride back with him when he returned from his vacation.

The day before the one set for Maxwell’s arrival Mrs. Burke confessed the truth, and suggested that the rectory be stocked with provisions, so that the bride and groom should have something to eat when they first got home. The idea seemed to please the parish, and provisions began to arrive and were placed in the cellar, or on the newly painted pantry shelves, or in the neat cupboards. Mrs. Talbot sent a bushel of potatoes, Mrs. Peterson a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Andrews two loaves of bread; Mrs. Squires donated a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Johnson some frosted cake, and Mrs. Marlow two bushels of apples. Mrs. Hurd sent a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Waldorf three dozen eggs, and a sack of flour; Mrs. Freyburg sent a pan of soda biscuit, Mrs. Jones a boiled ham, Mrs. Orchardson two bushels 120 of turnips and half a pan of soda biscuit.

Mrs. Burke received the provisions as they arrived, and put them where they belonged. Just about supper time Mrs. Loomis came with a large bundle under her arm and remarked to Hepsey:

“I thought I’d bring something nobody else would think of—something out of the ordinary that perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell would relish.”

“I’m sure that was real thoughtful of you, Mrs. Loomis,” Hepsey replied. “What have you got?”

“Well,” Mrs. Loomis responded, “I thought I’d bring ’em two pans of my nice fresh soda biscuit.”

Mrs. Burke kept her face straight, and responded cheerfully:

“That was awful nice of you, Mrs. Loomis.”

“Oh, that’s all right. And if you want any more, just let me know.”

Finally, when the door was closed on the last contributor, Mrs. Burke dropped into a chair and called:

“Jonathan Jackson, come here quick.”

Jonathan responded promptly, and anxiously inquired:

“Hepsey, be you ill?”

“No, I’m not sick; but we have ten pans of soda biscuit. They are in the pantry, down cellar, in the woodshed, on the parlor table. For mercy’s sake 121 take eight pans out to the chickens or stick ’em on the picket fence. I just loathe soda biscuit; and if any more come I shall throw ’em at the head of the woman that brings ’em.”