Cousin Ernestine, a cousin three times removed of the late Captain
MacComber, but still, as Aunt Kate used to reflect, much too close,
had walked in from Lowvale that afternoon for a visit to Windy
Poplars. It cannot be said that either of the widows had welcomed
her very heartily, in spite of the sacred ties of family. Cousin
Ernestine was not an exhilarating person, being one of those
unfortunates who are constantly worrying not only about their own
affairs but everybody else's as well and will not give themselves
or others any rest at all. The very look of her, Rebecca Dew
declared, made you feel that life was a vale of tears.
Certainly Cousin Ernestine was not beautiful and it was extremely
doubtful if she ever had been. She had a dry, pinched little face,
faded, pale blue eyes, several badly placed moles and a whining
voice. She wore a rusty black dress and a decrepit neck-piece of
Hudson seal which she would not remove even at the table, because
she was afraid of draughts.
Rebecca Dew might have sat at the table with them had she wished,
for the widows did not regard Cousin Ernestine as any particular
"
company." But Rebecca always declared she couldn't "savor her
victuals" in that old kill-joy's society. She preferred to "eat
her morsel" in the kitchen, but that did not prevent her from
saying her say as she waited on the table.
"Likely it's the spring getting into your bones," she remarked
unsympathetically.
"Ah, I hope it's only that, Miss Dew. But I'm afraid I'm like poor
Mrs. Oliver Gage. She et mushrooms last summer but there must-a
been a toadstool among them, for she's never felt the same since.
"But you can't have been eating mushrooms as early as this," said
Aunt Chatty.
"No, but I'm afraid I've et something else. Don't try to cheer me
up, Charlotte. You mean well, but it ain't no use. I've been
through too much. Are you sure there ain't a spider in that cream
jug, Kate? I'm afraid I saw one when you poured my cup."
"We never have spiders in OUR cream jugs," said Rebecca Dew
ominously, and slammed the kitchen door.
"Mebbe it was only a shadder," said Cousin Ernestine meekly. "My
eyes ain't what they were. I'm afraid I'll soon be blind. That
reminds me . . . I dropped in to see Martha MacKay this afternoon
and she was feeling feverish and all out in some kind of a rash.
'Looks to me as though you had the measles,' I told her. 'Likely
they'll leave you almost blind. Your family all have weak eyes.'
I thought she ought to be prepared. Her mother isn't well either.
The doctor says it's indigestion, but I'm afraid it's a growth.
'And if you have to have an operation and take chloroform,' I told
her, 'I'm afraid you'll never come out of it. Remember you're a
Hillis and the Hillises all had weak hearts. Your father died of
heart-failure, you know.'"
"At eighty-seven!" said Rebecca Dew, whisking away a plate.
"And you know three score and ten is the Bible limit," said Aunt
Chatty cheerfully.
Cousin Ernestine helped herself to a third teaspoonful of sugar and
stirred her tea sadly.
"So King David said, Charlotte, but I'm afraid David wasn't a very
nice man in some respects."
Anne caught Aunt Chatty's eye and laughed before she could help
herself.
Cousin Ernestine looked at her disapprovingly.
"I've heerd you was a great girl to laugh. Well, I hope it'll
last, but I'm afraid it won't. I'm afraid you'll find out all too
soon that life's a melancholy business. Ah well, I was young
myself once."
"Was you really?" inquired Rebecca Dew sarcastically, bringing in
the muffins. "Seems to me you must always have been afraid to be
young. It takes courage, I can tell you that, Miss Bugle."
"Rebecca Dew has such an odd way of putting things," complained
Cousin Ernestine. "Not that I mind her of course. And it's well
to laugh when you can, Miss Shirley, but I'm afraid you're tempting
Providence by being so happy. You're awful like our last minister's
wife's aunt . . . she was always laughing and she died of a
parralattic stroke. The third one kills you. I'm afraid our new
minister out at Lowvale is inclined to be frivolous. The minute I
saw him I sez to Louisy, 'I'm afraid a man with legs like that must
be addicted to dancing.' I s'pose he's give it up since he turned
minister, but I'm afraid the strain will come out in his family.
He's got a young wife and they say she's scandalously in love with
him. I can't seem to git over the thought of any one marrying a
minister for love. I'm afraid it's awful irreverent. He preaches
pretty fair sermons, but I'm afraid from what he said of Elijah the
Tidbit last Sunday that he's far too liberal in his views of the
Bible."
"I see by the papers that Peter Ellis and Fanny Bugle were married
last week," said Aunt Chatty.
"Ah, yes. I'm afraid that'll be a case of marrying in haste and
repenting at leisure. They've only known each other three years.
I'm afraid Peter'll find out that fine feathers don't always make
fine birds. I'm afraid Fanny's very shiftless. She irons her
table napkins on the right side first and only. Not much like her
sainted mother. Ah, she was a thorough woman if ever there was
one. When she was in mourning she always wore black nightgowns.
Said she felt as bad in the night as in the day. I was down at
Andy Bugle's, helping them with the cooking, and when I come
downstairs on the wedding morning if there wasn't Fanny eating an
egg for her breakfast . . . and her gitting married that day. I
don't s'pose you'll believe that . . . I wouldn't if I hadn't a-
seen it with my own eyes. My poor dead sister never et a thing for
three days afore she was married. And after her husband died we
was all afraid she was never going to eat again. There are times
when I feel I can't understand the Bugles any longer. There was a
time when you knew where you was with your own connection, but it
ain't that way now."
"Is it true that Jean Young is going to be married again?" asked
Aunt Kate.
"I'm afraid it is. Of course Fred Young is supposed to be dead,
but I'm dreadful afraid he'll turn up yet. You could never trust
that man. She's going to marry Ira Roberts. I'm afraid he's only
marrying her to make her happy. His Uncle Philip once wanted to
marry me, but I sez to him, sez I, 'Bugle I was born and Bugle I
will die. Marriage is a leap in the dark,' sez I, 'and I ain't
going to be drug into it.' There's been an awful lot of weddings
in Lowvale this winter. I'm afraid there'll be funerals all summer
to make up for it. Annie Edwards and Chris Hunter were married
last month. I'm afraid they won't be as fond of each other in a
few years' time as they are now. I'm afraid she was just swept off
her feet by his dashing ways. His Uncle Hiram was crazy . . . he
belieft he was a dog for years."
"If he did his own barking nobody need have grudged him the fun of
it," said Rebecca Dew, bringing in the pear preserves and the layer
cake.
"I never heerd that he barked," said Cousin Ernestine. "He
just
gnawed bones and buried them when nobody was looking. His wife
felt it."
"Where is Mrs. Lily Hunter this winter?" asked Aunt Chatty.
"She's been spending it with her son in San Francisco and I'm awful
afraid there'll be another earthquake afore she gits out of it. If
she does, she'll likely try to smuggle and have trouble at the
border. If it ain't one thing, it's another when you're traveling.
But folks seem to be crazy for it. My cousin Jim Bugle spent the
winter in Florida. I'm afraid he's gitting rich and worldly. I
said to him afore he went, sez I . . . I remember it was the night
afore the Colemans' dog died . . . or was it? . . . yes, it was . . .
'Pride goeth afore destruction and a haughty spirit afore a fall,'
sez I. His daughter is teaching over in the Bugle Road school and
she can't make up her mind which of her beaus to take. 'There's one
thing I can assure you of, Mary Annetta,' sez I, 'and that is you'll
never git the one you love best. So you'd better take the one as
loves you . . . if you kin be sure he does.' I hope she'll make a
better choice than Jessie Chipman did. I'm afraid she's just going
to marry Oscar Green because he was always round. 'Is that what
you've picked out?' I sez to her. His brother died of galloping
consumption. 'And don't be married in May,' sez I, 'for May's awful
unlucky for a wedding.'"
"How encouraging you always are!" said Rebecca Dew, bringing in
a
plate of macaroons.
"Can you tell me," said Cousin Ernestine, ignoring Rebecca Dew and
taking a second helping of pears, "if a calceolaria is a flower or
a disease?"
"A flower," said Aunt Chatty.
Cousin Ernestine looked a little disappointed.
"Well, whatever it is, Sandy Bugle's widow's got it. I heerd her
telling her sister in church last Sunday that she had a calceolaria
at last. Your geraniums are dreadful scraggy, Charlotte. I'm
afraid you don't fertilize them properly. Mrs. Sandy's gone out of
mourning and poor Sandy only dead four years. Ah well, the dead
are soon forgot nowadays. My sister wore crape for her husband
twenty-five years."
"Did you know your placket was open?" said Rebecca, setting a
coconut pie before Aunt Kate.
"I haven't time to be always staring at my face in the glass," said
Cousin Ernestine acidly. "What if my placket is open? I've got
three petticoats on, haven't I? They tell me the girls nowadays
only wear one. I'm afraid the world is gitting dreadful gay and
giddy. I wonder if they ever think of the judgment day."
"Do you s'pose they'll ask us at the judgment day how many
petticoats we've got on?" asked Rebecca Dew, escaping to the
kitchen before any one could register horror. Even Aunt Chatty
thought Rebecca Dew really had gone a little too far.
"I s'pose you saw old Alec Crowdy's death last week in the paper,"
sighed Cousin Ernestine. "His wife died two years ago, lit'rally
harried into her grave, poor creetur. They say he's been awful
lonely since she died, but I'm afraid that's too good to be true.
And I'm afraid they're not through with their troubles with him
yet, even if he is buried. I hear he wouldn't make a will and I'm
afraid there'll be awful ructions over the estate. They say
Annabel Crowdy is going to marry a jack-of-all-trades. Her
mother's first husband was one, so mebbe it's heredit'ry.
Annabel's had a hard life of it, but I'm afraid she'll find it's
out of the frying-pan into the fire, even if it don't turn out he's
got a wife already."
"What is Jane Goldwin doing with herself this winter?" asked Aunt
Kate. "She hasn't been in to town for a long time."
"Ah, poor Jane! She's just pining away mysteriously. They don't
know what's the matter with her, but I'm afraid it'll turn out to
be an alibi. What is Rebecca Dew laughing like a hyenus out in
the kitchen for? I'm afraid you'll have her on your hands yet.
There's an awful lot of weak minds among the Dews."
"I see Thyra Cooper has a baby," said Aunt Chatty.
"Ah, yes, poor little soul. Only one, thank mercy. I was afraid
it would be twins. Twins run so in the Coopers."
"Thyra and Ned are such a nice young couple," said Aunt Kate, as
if
determined to salvage something from the wreck of the universe.
But Cousin Ernestine would not admit that there was any balm in
Gilead much less in Lowvale.
"Ah, she was real thankful to git him at last. There was a time
she was afraid he wouldn't come back from the west. I warned her.
'You may be sure he'll disappoint you,' I told her. 'He's always
disappointed people. Every one expected him to die afore he was a
year old, but you see he's alive yet.' When he bought the Holly
place I warned her again. 'I'm afraid that well is full of
typhoid,' I told her. 'The Holly hired man died of typhoid there
five years ago.' They can't blame me if anything happens. Joseph
Holly has some misery in his back. He calls it lumbago, but I'm
afraid it's the beginning of spinal meningitis."
"Old Uncle Joseph Holly is one of the best men in the world," said
Rebecca Dew, bringing in a replenished teapot.
"Ah, he's good," said Cousin Ernestine lugubriously. "Too good!
I'm afraid his sons will all go to the bad. You see it like that
so often. Seems as if an average has to be struck. No, thank you,
Kate, I won't have any more tea . . . well, mebbe a macaroon. They
don't lie heavy on the stomach, but I'm afraid I've et far too
much. I must be taking French leave, for I'm afraid it'll be dark
afore I git home. I don't want to git my feet wet; I'm so afraid
of ammonia. I've had something traveling from my arm to my lower
limbs all winter. Night after night I've laid awake with it.
Ah, nobody knows what I've gone through, but I ain't one of the
complaining sort. I was determined I'd git up to see you once
more, for I may not be here another spring. But you've both failed
terrible, so you may go afore me yet. Ah well, it's best to go
while there's some one of your own left to lay you out. Dear me,
how the wind is gitting up! I'm afraid our barn roof will blow off
if it comes to a gale. We've had so much wind this spring I'm
afraid the climate is changing. Thank you, Miss Shirley . . ." as
Anne helped her into her coat . . . "Be careful of yourself. You
look awful washed out. I'm afraid people with red hair never have
real strong constitutions."
"I think my constitution is all right," smiled Anne, handing Cousin
Ernestine an indescribable bit of millinery with a stringy ostrich
feather dripping from its back. "I have a touch of sore throat
tonight, Miss Bugle, that's all."
"Ah!" Another of Cousin Ernestine's dark forebodings came to her.
"
You want to watch a sore throat. The symptoms of diptheria and
tonsillitis are exactly the same till the third day. But there's
one consolation . . . you'll be spared an awful lot of trouble if
you die young."