"Debby Beasley!" he cried. "I know who she is! I've got a cousin in Trumet. Debby Beasley! Aunt Debby, they call her. Why! she's old enough to be Methusalem's grandmarm, and--""If I recollect right," interrupted Bailey, with dignity, "Cy never said he wanted a YOUNG woman--a frivolous, giddy critter, always riggin' up and chasin' the fellers. He wanted a sot, sober housekeeper.""Godfrey! Aunt Debby ain't frivolous! She couldn't chase a lame clam--and catch it. And DEEF! Godfrey--scissors! she's deefer 'n one of them cast-iron Newfoundlands in Heman's yard! Do you mean to say, Bailey Bangs, that you went ahead, on your own hook, and hired that old relic to--""I did. And I had my authority, didn't I, Whit? You told me you'd leave it in my hands, now didn't you?"The captain smiled somewhat ruefully, and scratched his head.
"Why, to be honest, Bailey, I believe I did," he admitted. "Still, I hardly expected--Humph! is she deef, as Ase says?""I understand she's a little mite hard of hearin'," replied Mr. Bangs, with dignity; "but that ain't any drawback, the way I look at it. Fact is, I'd call it an advantage, but you folks seem to be hard to please. I ruther imagined you'd thank me for gettin' her, but I s'pose that was too much to expect. All right, pitch her out! Don't mind MY feelin's! Poor homeless critter comin' to--""Homeless!" repeated Asaph. "What's that got to do with it? Cy ain't runnin' the Old Woman's Home.""Well, well!" observed the captain resignedly. "There's no use in rowin' about what can't be helped. Bailey says he shipped her for a month's trial, and here comes the depot wagon now. That's her on the aft thwart, I judge. She AIN'T what you'd call a spring pullet, is she!"She certainly was not. The occupant of the depot wagon's rear seat was a thin, not to say scraggy, female, wearing a black, beflowered bonnet and a black gown. A black knit shawl was draped about her shoulders and she wore spectacles.
"Whoa!" commanded Mr. Lumley, piloting the depot wagon to the side door of the Whittaker house. Dan'l Webster came to anchor immediately. Gabe turned and addressed his passenger.
"Here we be!" he shouted.
"Hey?" observed the lady in black.
"Here--we--be!" repeated Gabe, raising his voice.
"See? See what?"
"Oh, heavens to Betsey! I'm gettin' the croup from howlin'. I--say--HERE--WE--BE! GET OUT!"
He accompanied the final bellow with an expressive pantomime indicating that the passenger was expected to alight. She seemed to understand, for she opened the door of the carriage and slowly descended. Mr. Bangs advanced to meet her.
"How d'ye do, Mrs. Beasley!" he said. "Glad to see you all safe and sound."Mrs. Beasley shook his hand; hers were covered, as far as the knuckles, by black mitts.
"How d'ye do, Cap'n Whittaker?" she said, in a shrill voice. "You pretty smart?"Bailey hastened to explain.
"I ain't Cap'n Whittaker," he roared. "I'm Bailey Bangs, the one that wrote to you.""Hey?"
Mr. Lumley and Asaph chuckled. Bailey colored and tried again.
"I ain't the cap'n," he whooped. "Here he is--here!"He led her over to her prospective employer and tapped the latter on the chest.
"How d'ye do, sir?" said the housekeeper. "I don't know's I just caught your name."In five minutes or so the situation was made reasonably clear.
Mrs. Beasley then demanded her trunk and carpet bag. The grinning Lumley bore them into the house. Then he drove away, still grinning. Bailey looked fearfully at Captain Cy.
"She IS kind of hard of hearin', ain't she?" he said reluctantly.
"You remember I said she was."
The captain nodded.
"Yes," he answered, "you're a truth-tellin' chap, Bailey, I'll say that for you. You don't exaggerate your statements.""Hard of hearin'!" snapped Mr. Tidditt. "If the last trump ain't a steam whistle she'll miss Judgment Day. I'll stop into Simmons's on my way along and buy you a bottle of throat balsam, Cy; you're goin' to need it."The captain needed more than throat balsam during the fortnight which followed. The widow Beasley's deafness was not her only failing. In fact she was altogether a failure, so far as her housekeeping was concerned. She could cook, after a fashion, but the fashion was so limited that even the bill of fare at the perfect boarding house looked tempting in retrospect.
"Baked beans again, Cy!" exclaimed Asaph, dropping in one evening after supper. "'Tain't Saturday night so soon, is it?""No," was the dismal rejoinder. "It's Tuesday, if my almanac ain't out of joint. But we had beans Saturday and they ain't all gone yet, so I presume we'll have 'em till the last one's swallowed.
Aunt Debby's got what the piece in the Reader used to call a 'frugal mind.' She don't intend to waste anything. Last Thursday I spunked up courage enough to yell for salt fish and potatoes--fixed up with pork scraps, you know, same's we used to have when Iwas a boy. We had 'em all right, and if beans of a Saturday hadn't been part of her religion we'd be warmin' 'em up yet. I took in a cat for company 'tother day, but the critter's run away. To see it look at the beans in its saucer and then at me was pitiful; I felt like handin' myself over to the Cruelty to Animals' folks.""Is she neat?" inquired Mr. Tidditt.
"I don't know. I guess so--on the installment plan. It takes her a week to scrub up the kitchen, and then one end of it is so dirty she has to begin again. Consequently the dust is so thick in the rest of the house that I can see my tracks. If 'twan't so late in the season I'd plant garden stuff in the parlor--nice soil and lots of shade, with the curtains down."From the rooms in the rear came the words of a gospel hymn sung in a tremulous soprano and at concert pitch.
"Music with my meals, just like a high-toned restaurant," commented Captain Cy.
"But what makes her sing so everlastin' LOUD?""Can't hear herself if she don't. I could stand her deefness, because that's an affliction and we may all come to it; but--"The housekeeper, still singing, entered the room and planted herself in a chair.
