The Guests of Mrs. Timms

I.

Mrs. Persis Flagg stood in her front doorway taking leave of Miss Cynthia Pickett, who had been making a long call. They were not intimate friends. Miss Pickett always came formally to the front door and rang when she paid her visits, but, the week before, they had met at the county conference, and happened to be sent to the same house for entertainment, and so had deepened and renewed the pleasures of acquaintance.

It was an afternoon in early June; the syringa-bushes were tall and green on each side of the stone doorsteps, and were covered with their lovely white and golden flowers. Miss Pickett broke off the nearest twig, and held it before her prim face as she talked. She had a pretty childlike smile that came and went suddenly, but her face was not one that bore the marks of many pleasures. Mrs. Flagg was a tall, commanding sort of person, with an air of satisfaction and authority.

“Oh, yes, gather all you want,” she said stiffly, as Miss Pickett took the syringa without having asked beforehand; but she had an amiable expression, and just now her large countenance was lighted up by pleasant anticipation.

“We can tell early what sort of a day it’s goin’ to be,” she said eagerly. “There ain’t a cloud in the sky now. I’ll stop for you as I come along, or if there should be anything unforeseen to detain me, I’ll send you word. I don’t expect you’d want to go if it wa’n’t so that I could?”

“Oh my sakes, no!” answered Miss Pickett discreetly, with a timid flush. “You feel certain that Mis’ Timms won’t be put out? I shouldn’t feel free to go unless I went ‘long o’ you.”

“Why, nothin’ could be plainer than her words,” said Mrs. Flagg in a tone of reproval. “You saw how she urged me, an’ had over all that talk about how we used to see each other often when we both lived to Longport, and told how she’d been thinkin’ of writin’, and askin’ if it wa’n’t so I should be able to come over and stop three or four days as soon as settled weather come, because she couldn’t make no fire in her best chamber on account of the chimbley smokin’ if the wind wa’n’t just right. You see how she felt toward me, kissin’ of me comin’ and goin’? Why, she even asked me who I employed to do over my bonnet, Miss Pickett, just as interested as if she was a sister; an’ she remarked she should look for us any pleasant day after we all got home, an’ were settled after the conference.”

Miss Pickett smiled, but did not speak, as if she expected more arguments still.

“An’ she seemed just about as much gratified to meet with you again. She seemed to desire to meet you again very particular,” continued Mrs. Flagg. “She really urged us to come together an’ have a real good day talkin’ over old times—there, don’t le’ ‘s go all over it again! I’ve always heard she’d made that old house of her aunt Bascoms’ where she lives look real handsome. I once heard her best parlor carpet described as being an elegant carpet, different from any there was round here. Why, nobody couldn’t be more cordial, Miss Pickett; you ain’t goin’ to give out just at the last?”

“Oh, no!” answered the visitor hastily; “no, ‘m! I want to go full as much as you do, Mis’ Flagg, but you see I never was so well acquainted with Mis’ Cap’n Timms, an’ I always seem to dread putting myself for’ard. She certain was very urgent, an’ she said plain enough to come any day next week, an’ here ‘tis Wednesday, though of course she wouldn’t look for us either Monday or Tuesday. ‘Twill be a real pleasant occasion, an’ now we’ve been to the conference it don’t seem near so much effort to start.”

“Why, I don’t think nothin’ of it,” said Mrs. Flagg proudly. “We shall have a grand good time, goin’ together an’ all, I feel sure.”

Miss Pickett still played with her syringa flower, tapping her thin cheek, and twirling the stem with her fingers. She looked as if she were going to say something more, but after a moment’s hesitation she turned away.

“Good-afternoon, Mis’ Flagg,” she said formally, looking up with a quick little smile; “I enjoyed my call; I hope I ain’t kep’ you too late; I don’t know but what it’s ‘most tea-time. Well, I shall look for you in the mornin’.”

“Good-afternoon, Miss Pickett; I’m glad I was in when you came. Call again, won’t you?” said Mrs. Flagg. “Yes; you may expect me in good season,” and so they parted. Miss Pickett went out at the neat clicking gate in the white fence, and Mrs. Flagg a moment later looked out of her sitting-room window to see if the gate were latched, and felt the least bit disappointed to find that it was. She sometimes went out after the departure of a guest, and fastened the gate herself with a loud, rebuking sound. Both of these Woodville women lived alone, and were very precise in their way of doing things.

II.

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and Miss Pickett rose even earlier than usual. She found it most difficult to decide which of her dresses would be best to wear. Summer was still so young that the day had all the freshness of spring, but when the two friends walked away together along the shady street, with a chorus of golden robins singing high overhead in the elms, Miss Pickett decided that she had made a wise choice of her second-best black silk gown, which she had just turned again and freshened. It was neither too warm for the season nor too cool, nor did it look overdressed. She wore her large cameo pin, and this, with a long watch-chain, gave an air of proper mural decoration. She was a straight, flat little person, as if, when not in use, she kept herself, silk dress and all, between the leaves of a book. She carried a noticeable parasol with a fringe, and a small shawl, with a pretty border, neatly folded over her left arm. Mrs. Flagg always dressed in black cashmere, and looked, to hasty observers, much the same one day as another; but her companion recognized the fact that this was the best black cashmere of all, and for a moment quailed at the thought that Mrs. Flagg was paying such extreme deference to their prospective hostess. The visit turned for a moment into an unexpectedly solemn formality, and pleasure seemed to wane before Cynthia Pickett’s eyes, yet with great courage she never slackened a single step. Mrs. Flagg carried a somewhat worn black leather handbag, which Miss Pickett regretted; it did not give the visit that casual and unpremeditated air which she felt to be more elegant.

“Sha’n’t I carry your bag for you?” she asked timidly. Mrs. Flagg was the older and more important person.

“Oh, dear me, no,” answered Mrs. Flagg. “My pocket’s so remote, in case I should desire to sneeze or anything, that I thought ‘twould be convenient for carrying my handkerchief and pocket-book; an’ then I just tucked in a couple o’ glasses o’ my crabapple jelly for Mis’ Timms. She used to be a great hand for preserves of every sort, an’ I thought ‘twould be a kind of an attention, an’ give rise to conversation. I know she used to make excellent drop-cakes when we was both residin’ to Longport; folks used to say she never would give the right receipt, but if I get a real good chance, I mean to ask her. Or why can’t you, if I start talkin’ about receipts—why can’t you say, sort of innocent, that I have always spoken frequently of her drop-cakes, an’ ask for the rule? She would be very sensible to the compliment, and could pass it off if she didn’t feel to indulge us. There, I do so wish you would!”

“Yes, ‘m,” said Miss Pickett doubtfully; “I’ll try to make the opportunity. I’m very partial to drop-cakes. Was they flour or rye, Mis’ Flagg?”

“They was flour, dear,” replied Mrs. Flagg approvingly; “crisp an’ light as any you ever see.”

“I wish I had thought to carry somethin’ to make it pleasant,” said Miss Pickett, after they had walked a little farther; “but there, I don’t know’s ‘twould look just right, this first visit, to offer anything to such a person as Mis’ Timms. In case I ever go over to Baxter again I won’t forget to make her some little present, as nice as I’ve got. ‘Twas certain very polite of her to urge me to come with you. I did feel very doubtful at first. I didn’t know but she thought it behooved her, because I was in your company at the conference, and she wanted to save my feelin’s, and yet expected I would decline. I never was well acquainted with her; our folks wasn’t well off when I first knew her; ‘twas before uncle Cap’n Dyer passed away an’ remembered mother an’ me in his will. We couldn’t make no han’some companies in them days, so we didn’t go to none, an’ kep’ to ourselves; but in my grandmother’s time, mother always said, the families was very friendly. I shouldn’t feel like goin’ over to pass the day with Mis’ Timms if I didn’t mean to ask her to return the visit. Some don’t think o’ these things, but mother was very set about not bein’ done for when she couldn’t make no return.”

“‘When it rains porridge hold up your dish,’” said Mrs. Flagg; but Miss Pickett made no response beyond a feeble “Yes, ‘m,” which somehow got caught in her pale-green bonnet-strings.