Rudder Grange

  CHAPTER VI. THE NEW RUDDER GRANGE.

  I have before given an account of the difficulties we encountered whenwe started out house-hunting, and it was this doleful experience whichmade Euphemia declare that before we set out on a second search for aresidence, we should know exactly what we wanted.

  To do this, we must know how other people live, we must examine into theadvantages and disadvantages of the various methods of housekeeping, andmake up our minds on the subject.

  When we came to this conclusion we were in a city boarding-house, andwere entirely satisfied that this style of living did not suit us atall.

  At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had boardedwith us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the previous fall,he had married a widow lady with two children, and was now keeping housein a French flat in the upper part of the city. We had called upon thehappy couple soon after their marriage, and the letter, now received,contained an invitation for us to come and dine, and spend the night.

  "We'll go," said Euphemia. "There's nothing I want so much as to see howpeople keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it. And I mustsee those children." So we went.

  The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was very tallindeed--the tallest house in the neighborhood. We entered the vestibule,the outer door being open, and beheld, on one side of us, a rowof bell-handles. Above each of these handles was the mouth of aspeaking-tube, and above each of these, a little glazed frame containinga visiting-card.

  "Isn't this cute?" said Euphemia, reading over the cards. "Here's hisname and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first, ring orblow?"

  "My dear," said I, "you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring thebell, just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and instead ofcoming to the door, some one will call down the tube to us."

  I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at thetube said:

  "Well?"

  Then I told our names, and in an instant the front door opened.

  "Why, their flat must be right here," whispered Euphemia. "How quicklythe girl came!"

  And she looked for the girl as we entered. But there was no one there.

  "Their flat is on the fifth story," said I. "He mentioned that in hisletter. We had better shut the door and go up."

  Up and up the softly carpeted stairs we climbed, and not a soul we sawor heard.

  "It is like an enchanted cavern," said Euphemia. "You say the magicword, the door in the rock opens and you go on, and on, through thevaulted passages--"

  "Until you come to the ogre," said the boarder, who was standing at thetop of the stairs. He did not behave at all like an ogre, for he wasvery glad to see us, and so was his wife. After we had settled downin the parlor and the boarder's wife had gone to see about somethingconcerning the dinner, Euphemia asked after the children.

  "I hope they haven't gone to bed," she said, "for I do so want to seethe dear little things."

  The ex-boarder, as Euphemia called him, smiled grimly.

  "They're not so very little," he said. "My wife's son is nearly grown.He is at an academy in Connecticut, and he expects to go into a civilengineer's office in the spring. His sister is older than he is. My wifemarried--in the first instance--when she was very young--very young indeed."

  "Oh!" said Euphemia; and then, after a pause, "And neither of them is athome now?"

  "No," said the ex-boarder. "By the way, what do you think of this dado?It is a portable one; I devised it myself. You can take it away with youto another house when you move. But there is the dinner-bell. I'll showyou over the establishment after we have had something to eat."

  After our meal we made a tour of inspection. The flat, which includedthe whole floor, contained nine or ten rooms, of all shapes and sizes.The corners in some of the rooms were cut off and shaped up into closetsand recesses, so that Euphemia said the corners of every room were insome other room.

  Near the back of the flat was a dumb-waiter, with bells andspeaking-tubes. When the butcher, the baker, or the kerosene-lamp maker,came each morning, he rang the bell, and called up the tube to know whatwas wanted. The order was called down, and he brought the things in theafternoon.

  All this greatly charmed Euphemia. It was so cute, so complete. Therewere no interviews with disagreeable trades-people, none of the ordinaryannoyances of housekeeping. Everything seemed to be done with a bell, aspeaking-tube or a crank.

  "Indeed," said the ex-boarder, "if it were not for people trippingover the wires, I could rig up attachments by which I could sit in theparlor, and by using pedals and a key-board, I could do all the work ofthis house without getting out of my easy-chair."

  One of the most peculiar features of the establishment was the servant'sroom. This was at the rear end of the floor, and as there was not muchspace left after the other rooms had been made, it was very small; sosmall, indeed, that it would accommodate only a very short bedstead.This made it necessary for our friends to consider the size of theservant when they engaged her.

  "There were several excellent girls at the intelligence office where Icalled," said the ex-boarder, "but I measured them, and they were alltoo tall. So we had to take a short one, who is only so so. There wasone big Scotch girl who was the very person for us, and I would havetaken her if my wife had not objected to my plan for her accommodation.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "Well," said he, "I first thought of cutting a hole in the partitionwall at the foot of the bed, for her to put her feet through."

  "Never!" said his wife, emphatically. "I would never have allowed that."

  "And then," continued he, "I thought of turning the bed around, andcutting a larger hole, through which she might have put her head intothe little room on this side. A low table could have stood under thehole, and her head might have rested on a cushion on the table verycomfortably."

  "My dear," said his wife, "it would have frightened me to death to gointo that room and see that head on a cushion on a table--"

  "Like John the Baptist," interrupted Euphemia.

  "Well," said our ex-boarder, "the plan would have had its advantages."

  "Oh!" cried Euphemia, looking out of a back window. "What a lovelylittle iron balcony! Do you sit out there on warm evenings?"

  "That's a fire-escape," said the ex-boarder. "We don't go out thereunless it is very hot indeed, on account of the house being on fire.You see there is a little door in the floor of the balcony and an ironladder leading to the balcony beneath, and so on, down to the firststory."

  "And you have to creep through that hole and go down that dreadful steepladder every time there is a fire?" said Euphemia.

  "Well, I guess we would never go down but once," he answered.

  "No, indeed," said Euphemia; "you'd fall down and break your neck thefirst time," and she turned away from the window with a very graveexpression on her face.

  Soon after this our hostess conducted Euphemia to the guest-chamber,while her husband and I finished a bed-time cigar.

  When I joined Euphemia in her room, she met me with a mysteriousexpression on her face. She shut the door, and then said in a veryearnest tone:

  "Do you see that little bedstead in the corner? I did not notice ituntil I came in just now, and then, being quite astonished, I said,'Why here's a child's bed; who sleeps here?' 'Oh,' says she, 'that'sour little Adele's bedstead. We have it in our room when she's here.''Little Adele!' said I, 'I didn't know she was little--not small enoughfor that bed, at any rate.' 'Why, yes,' said she, 'Adele is only fouryears old. The bedstead is quite large enough for her.' 'And she is nothere now?' I said, utterly amazed at all this. 'No,' she answered, 'sheis not here now, but we try to have her with us as much as we can, andalways keep her little bed ready for her.' 'I suppose she's with herfather's people,' I said, and she answered, 'Oh yes,' and bade megood-night. What does all this mean? Our boarder told us that thedaughter is grown up, and here his wife declares that she is onl
y fouryears old! I don't know what in the world to make of this mystery!"

  I could give Euphemia no clue. I supposed there was some mistake, andthat was all I could say, except that I was sleepy, and that we couldfind out all about it in the morning. But Euphemia could not dismiss thesubject from her mind. She said no more,--but I could see--until I fellasleep--that she was thinking about it.

  It must have been about the middle of the night, perhaps later, whenI was suddenly awakened by Euphemia starting up in the bed, with theexclamation:

  "I have it!"

  "What?" I cried, sitting up in a great hurry. "What is it? What have yougot? What's the matter?"

  "I know it!" she said, "I know it. Our boarder is a GRANDFATHER! LittleAdele is the grown-up daughter's child. He was quite particular to saythat his wife married VERY young. Just to think of it! So short a timeago, he was living with us--a bachelor--and now, in four short months,he is a grandfather!"

  Carefully propounded inquiries, in the morning, proved Euphemia'sconclusions to be correct.

  The next evening, when we were quietly sitting in our own room, Euphemiaremarked that she did not wish to have anything to do with French flats.

  "They seem to be very convenient," I said.

  "Oh yes, convenient enough, but I don't like them. I would hate to livewhere everything let down like a table-lid, or else turned with a crank.And when I think of those fire-escapes, and the boarder's grandchild, itmakes me feel very unpleasantly."

  "But the grandchild don't follow as a matter of course," said I.

  "No," she answered, "but I shall never like French flats."

  And we discussed them no more.

  For some weeks we examined into every style of economic and respectablehousekeeping, and many methods of living in what Euphemia called"imitation comfort" were set aside as unworthy of consideration.

  "My dear," said Euphemia, one evening, "what we really ought to do is tobuild. Then we would have exactly the house we want."

  "Very true," I replied; "but to build a house, a man must have money."

  "Oh no!" said she, "or at least not much. For one thing, you might joina building association. In some of those societies I know that you onlyhave to pay a dollar a week."

  "But do you suppose the association builds houses for all its members?"I asked.

  "Of course I suppose so. Else why is it called a building association?"

  I had read a good deal about these organizations, and I explained toEuphemia that a dollar a week was never received by any of them inpayment for a new house.

  "Then build yourself," she said; "I know how that can be done."

  "Oh, it's easy enough," I remarked, "if you have the money."

  "No, you needn't have any money," said Euphemia, rather hastily. "Justlet me show you. Supposing, for instance, that you want to build a houseworth--well, say twenty thousand dollars, in some pretty town near thecity."

  "I would rather figure on a cheaper house than that for a countryplace," I interrupted.

  "Well then, say two thousand dollars. You get masons, and carpenters,and people to dig the cellar, and you engage them to build your house.You needn't pay them until it's done, of course. Then when it's allfinished, borrow two thousand dollars and give the house as security.After that you see, you have only to pay the interest on the borrowedmoney. When you save enough money to pay back the loan, the house isyour own. Now, isn't that a good plan?"

  "Yes," said I, "if there could be found people who would build yourhouse and wait for their money until some one would lend you its fullvalue on a mortgage."

  "Well," said Euphemia, "I guess they could be found if you would onlylook for them."

  "I'll look for them, when I go to heaven," I said.

  We gave up for the present, the idea of building or buying a house, anddetermined to rent a small place in the country, and then, as Euphemiawisely said, if we liked it, we might buy it. After she had dropped herbuilding projects she thought that one ought to know just how a housewould suit before having it on one's hands.

  We could afford something better than a canal-boat now, and therefore wewere not so restricted as in our first search for a house. But, theone thing which troubled my wife--and, indeed, caused me much anxiousthought, was that scourge of almost all rural localities--tramps. Itwould be necessary for me to be away all day,--and we could not affordto keep a man,--so we must be careful to get a house somewhere off theline of ordinary travel, or else in a well-settled neighborhood, wherethere would be some one near at hand in case of unruly visitors.

  "A village I don't like," said Euphemia: "there is always so muchgossip, and people know all about what you have, and what you do. Andyet it would be very lonely, and perhaps dangerous, for us to liveoff somewhere, all by ourselves. And there is another objection to avillage. We don't want a house with a small yard and a garden at theback. We ought to have a dear little farm, with some fields for corn,and a cow, and a barn and things of that sort. All that would belovely. I'll tell you what we want," she cried, seized with a suddeninspiration; "we ought to try to get the end-house of a village. Thenour house could be near the neighbors, and our farm could stretch out alittle way into the country beyond us. Let us fix our minds upon such ahouse and I believe we can get it."

  So we fixed our minds, but in the course of a week or two we unfixedthem several times to allow the consideration of places, which otherwisewould have been out of range; and during one of these intervals ofmental disfixment we took a house.

  It was not the end-house of a village, but it was in the outskirts ofa very small rural settlement. Our nearest neighbor was within vigorousshouting distance, and the house suited us so well in other respects,that we concluded that this would do. The house was small, but largeenough. There were some trees around it, and a little lawn in front.There was a garden, a small barn and stable, a pasture field, and landenough besides for small patches of corn and potatoes. The rent was low,the water good, and no one can imagine how delighted we were.

  We did not furnish the whole house at first, but what mattered it? Wehad no horse or cow, but the pasture and barn were ready for them. Wedid not propose to begin with everything at once.

  Our first evening in that house was made up of hours of unalloyed bliss.We walked from room to room; we looked out on the garden and the lawn;we sat on the little porch while I smoked.

  "We were happy at Rudder Grange," said Euphemia; "but that was onlya canal-boat, and could not, in the nature of things, have been apermanent home."

  "No," said I, "it could not have been permanent. But, in many respects,it was a delightful home. The very name of it brings pleasant thoughts."

  "It was a nice name," said Euphemia, "and I'll tell you what we mightdo: Let us call this place Rudder Grange--the New Rudder Grange! Thename will do just as well for a house as for a boat."

  I agreed on the spot, and the house was christened.

  Our household was small; we had a servant--a German woman; and we hadourselves, that was all.

  I did not do much in the garden; it was too late in the season. Theformer occupant had planted some corn and potatoes, with a few othervegetables, and these I weeded and hoed, working early in the morningand when I came home in the afternoon. Euphemia tied up the rose-vines,trimmed the bushes, and with a little rake and hoe she prepared aflower-bed in front of the parlor-window. This exercise gave us splendidappetites, and we loved our new home more and more.

  Our German girl did not suit us exactly at first, and day by day shegrew to suit us less. She was a quiet, kindly, pleasant creature, anddelighted in an out-of-door life. She was as willing to weed in thegarden as she was to cook or wash. At first I was very much pleased withthis, because, as I remarked to Euphemia, you can find very few girlswho would be willing to work in the garden, and she might be made veryuseful.

  But, after a time, Euphemia began to get a little out of patience withher. She worked out-of-doors entirely too much. And what she did there,as well as some of her
work in the house, was very much like certainGerman literature--you did not know how it was done, or what it was for.

  One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed.

  "Look here," she said, "and see what that girl has been at work at,nearly all this afternoon. I was upstairs sewing and thought she wasironing. Isn't it too provoking?"

  It WAS provoking. The contemplative German had collected a lot of shortham-bones--where she found them I cannot imagine--and had made of thema border around my wife's flower-bed. The bones stuck up straight a fewinches above the ground, all along the edge of the bed, and the marrowcavity of each one was filled with earth in which she had planted seeds.

  "'These,' she says, 'will spring up and look beautiful,'" said Euphemia;"they have that style of thing in her country."

  "Then let her take them off with her to her country," I exclaimed.

  "No, no," said Euphemia, hurriedly, "don't kick them out. It would onlywound her feelings. She did it all for the best, and thought itwould please me to have such a border around my bed. But she is tooindependent, and neglects her proper work. I will give her a week'snotice and get another servant. When she goes we can take these horridbones away. But I hope nobody will call on us in the meantime."

  "Must we keep these things here a whole week?" I asked.

  "Oh, I can't turn her away without giving her a fair notice. That wouldbe cruel."

  I saw the truth of the remark, and determined to bear with the bones andher rather than be unkind.

  That night Euphemia informed the girl of her decision, and the nextmorning, soon after I had left, the good German appeared with her bonneton and her carpet-bag in her hand, to take leave of her mistress.

  "What!" cried Euphemia. "You are not going to-day?"

  "If it is goot to go at all it is goot to go now," said the girl.

  "And you will go off and leave me without any one in the house, after myputting myself out to give you a fair notice? It's shameful!"

  "I think it is very goot for me to go now," quietly replied the girl."This house is very loneful. I will go to-morrow in the city to see yourhusband for my money. Goot morning." And off she trudged to the station.

  Before I reached the house that afternoon, Euphemia rushed out to tellthis story. I would not like to say how far I kicked those ham-bones.

  This German girl had several successors, and some of them suited asbadly and left as abruptly as herself; but Euphemia never forgot theungrateful stab given her by this "ham-bone girl," as she alwayscalled her. It was her first wound of the kind, and it came in thevery beginning of the campaign when she was all unused to this domesticwarfare.