CHAPTER II.
AN EXPLOSION.
It was settled that August was to be quietly discharged at the end ofhis month, which was Saturday night. Neither he nor Julia must suspectany opposition to their attachment, nor any discovery of it, indeed.This was settled by Mrs. Anderson. She usually settled things. First,she settled upon the course to be pursued. Then she settled her husband.He always made a show of resistance. His dignity required a show ofresistance. But it was only a show. He always meant to surrender in theend. Whenever his wife ceased her fire of small-arms and herself hungout the flag of truce, he instantly capitulated. As in every otherdispute, so in this one about the discharge of the "miserable, impudentDutchman," Mrs. Anderson attacked her husband at all his weak points,and she had learned by heart a catalogue of his weak points. Then, whenhe was sufficiently galled to be entirely miserable; when she hadexpressed her regret that she hadn't married somebody with some heart,and that she had ever left her father's house, for her _father_ was_always_ good to her; and when she had sufficiently reminded him of thelover she had given up for him, and of how much _he_ had loved her, andhow miserable she had made _him_ by loving Samuel Anderson--when she hadconducted the quarrel through all the preliminary stages, she alwayscarried her point in the end by a _coup de partie_ somewhat inthis fashion:
"That's just the way! Always the way with you men! I suppose I must giveup to you as usual. You've lorded it over me from the start. I can'teven have the management of my own daughter. But I do think that afterI've let you have your way in so many things, you might turn off thatfellow. You might let me have my way in one little thing, and you_would_ if you cared for me. You know how liable I am to die at anymoment of heart-disease, and yet you will prolong this excitement inthis way."
Now, there is nothing a weak man likes so much as to be consideredstrong, nothing a henpecked man likes so much as to be regarded atyrant. If you ever hear a man boast of his determination to rule hisown house, you may feel sure that he is subdued. And a henpecked husbandalways makes a great show of opposing everything that looks toward theenlargement of the work or privileges of women. Such a man insists onthe shadow of authority because he can not have the substance. It is agreat satisfaction to him that his wife can never be president, and thatshe can not make speeches in prayer-meeting. While he retains thesebadges of superiority, he is still in some sense head of the family.
So when Mrs. Anderson loyally reminded her husband that she had alwayslet him have his own way, he believed her because he wanted to, thoughhe could not just at the moment recall the particular instances. Andknowing that he must yield, he rather liked to yield as an act ofsovereign grace to the poor oppressed wife who begged it.
"Well, if you insist on it, of course, I will not refuse you," he said;"and perhaps you are right." He had yielded in this way almost every dayof his married life, and in this way he yielded to the demand thatAugust should he discharged. But he agreed with his wife that Juliashould not know anything about it, and that there must be noleave-taking allowed.
The very next day Julia sat sewing on the long porch in front of thehouse. Cynthy Ann was getting dinner in the kitchen at the other end ofthe hall, and Mrs. Anderson was busy in her usual battle with dirt. Shekept the house clean, because it gratified her combativeness and herdomineering disposition to have the house clean in spite of theever-encroaching dirt. And so she scrubbed and scolded, and scolded andscrubbed, the scrubbing and scolding agreeing in time and rhythm. Thescolding was the vocal music, the scrubbing an accompaniment. Theconcordant discord was perfect. Just at the moment I speak of there wasa lull in her scolding. The symphonious scrubbing went on as usual.Julia, wishing to divert the next thunder-storm from herself, erectedwhat she imagined might prove a conversational lightning-rod, by askinga question on a topic foreign to the theme of the last march her motherhad played and sung so sweetly with brush and voice.
"Mother, what makes Uncle Andrew so queer?"
"I don't know. He was always queer." This was spoken in a staccato,snapping-turtle way. But when one has lived all one's life with asnapping-turtle, one doesn't mind. Julia did not mind. She was curiousto know what was the matter with her uncle, Andrew Anderson. Soshe said:
"I've heard that some false woman treated him cruelly; is that so?"
Julia did not see how red her mother's face was, for she was notregarding her.
"Who told you that?" Julia was so used to hearing her mother speak in anexcited way that she hardly noticed the strange tremor in this question.
"August."
The symphony ceased in a moment. The scrubbing-brush dropped in the pailof soapsuds. But the vocal storm burst forth with a violence thatstartled even Julia. "August said _that_, did he? And you listened, didyou? You listened to _that? You_ listened to that? _You listened_ to_that_? Hey? He slandered your mother. You listened to him slander yourmother!" By this time Mrs. Anderson was at white heat. Julia wasspeechless. "_I_ saw you yesterday flirting with that _Dutchman_, andlistening to his abuse of your mother! And now you _insult_ me! Well,to-morrow will be the last day that that Dutchman will hold a plow onthis place. And you'd better look out for yourself, miss! You--"
Here followed a volley of epithets which Julia received standing. Butwhen her mother's voice grew to a scream, Julia took the word.
"Mother, hush!"
It was the first word of resistance she had ever uttered. The agonywithin must have been terrible to have wrung it from her. The mother wasstunned with anger and astonishment. She could not recover herselfenough to speak until Jule had fled half-way up the stairs. Then hermother covered her defeat by screaming after her, "Go to your own room,you impudent hussy! You know I am liable to die of heart-disease anyminute, and you want to kill me!"