Laura, and Helen used to run to and fro a dozen times a day. The females of the Doctors family made nothing of scudding, bareheaded, across to the parsonage by this convenient back-way, and bolting into the kitchen without so much as knocking at the door; and Laura’s habits at the Bugbee mansion were still more familiar. Mrs. Jaynes, though not the most affable of womankind, gave this close intimacy much favor and encouragement; for she bore in mind that Cornelia’s father was the richest and most influential member of her husband’s church and parish.
At first, Laura was a little shy of the plain-spoken old maid, for whose person, manners, and opinions she had often heard Mrs. Jaynes express, in private, a most bitter dislike. But Statira had been regnant in the Bugbee mansion less than a week, when Laura began to make timid advances towards a mutual good understanding, of which for a while Statira affected to take no heed for having formed a resolution to maintain a strict reserve towards every inmate of the parsonage she was not disposed to break it so soon, even in favor of Laura, whose winsome overtures she found it difficult to resist.
“If it w’a’nt for her bein’ Miss Jaynes’s sister,” said she, one day, to Cornelia, who had been praising her friend,—“if it want for that one thing, I should like her remarkable well,—a good deal more’n common.”
“Pray, what have you got such a spite against the Jayneses for?” asked Cornelia.
“What do you mean by askin’ such a question as that, Cornele?” said Tira, in a tone of stern reproof. “Who’s got a spite against ’em? Not I, by a good deal! As for the parson himself, he’s a well-meanin’ man, and does as near right as he knows how. If you could say as much as that for everybody, there wouldn’t be any need of parsons any more.”
“But you don’t like Mrs. Jaynes,” persisted Cornelia.
“I ha’n’t got a spite against her, Cornele,—though, I confess, I don’t love the woman,” replied Statira. “But I always treat her well; though, to be sure, I don’t curchy so low and keep smilin’ so much as most folks do, when they meet a ministers wife and have talk with her. Even when she comes here a-borrowin’ things she knows will be giv’ to her when she asks for ’em, which makes it so near to beggin’ that she ought to be ashamed on’t, which I only give to her because it’s your father’s wish for me to do so, and the things are his’n; but I always treat her well, Cornele.”
“But why don’t you like her, Tira?” asked Helen.
“My dear, I’ll tell you, said Statira; for I don’t want you to think I’m set against any person unreasonable and without cause. You see Miss Jaynes is a nateral-born beggar. I don’t say it with any ill-will, but it’s a fact. She takes to beggin’ as naterally as a goslin’ takes to a puddle; and when she first come to town she commenced a-beggin’, and has kep’ it up ever since. She used to tackle me the same as she does everybody else, askin’ me to give somethin’ to this, and to that, and to t’other pet humbug of her’n, but I never would do it and when she found she couldn’t worry me into it, like the rest of ’em, it set her very bitter against me; and I heard of her tellin’ I’d treated her with rudeness, which I’d always treated her civilly, only when I said ‘No,’ she found coaxin’ and palaverin’ wouldn’t stir me. So it went on for a year or two, till, one fall, I was stayin’ here to your ma’s,—Cornele, I guess you remember the time,—helpin’ of her make up her quinces and apples. We was jest in the midst of bilin’ cider, with one biler on the stove and the biggest brass kittle full in the fireplace, when in comes boltin’ Miss Jaynes, dressed up as fine as a fiddle. She set right down in the kitchen, and your ma rolled her sleeves down and took off her apurn, lookin’ kind o’ het and worried. After a few words, Miss Jaynes took a paper out of her pocket, and says she to
