Chapter XLI: The Baby—conclusion

IT is July, nearly a year after Mr. and Mrs. Bishop began the experiment of keeping house in Mrs. Winfield’s cottage, which has become very dear to them both, although in three months they are to leave it and go into one of their own. So charmed had Mr. Bishop, senior, become with Harry’s home that he had been a frequent visitor during the summer, and sometimes Mrs. Bishop, too, came; but society engagements took her time, and when May came, she fled with her daughters to a fashionable watering-place, and Mr. Bishop, instead of staying as usual in his city house, came out to stay with his son, and went in with him to business daily. The result was that Harry was reinstated in his father’s favor, and it seemed as if the elder gentleman was going to make amends for his past mistake; for he told Harry he would now do what he always had meant to do until he found he was bent on making a fool of himself.

“Not that your luck is anything to your credit,” he persisted; “it’s a mere fluke your getting such a wife as Molly; but you’ll come into the firm as junior at Christmas.”

This was what Harry had been brought up to expect, and the prospect that he had to give up on marrying Molly. He was grateful to his father, for after all, pleasant as life was for him even with his narrow income, it was likely to be a great deal pleasanter when he would not have to count every cent so closely.

“Yes, yes, you are one who has the luck to ‘eat his cake and have it too,’” said the old gentleman irritably; “but I’m doing it just as much for Molly and the baby as for you.”

Yes, there was a baby,—a baby just thirty-six hours old when Mr. Bishop announced his intention to the young father; and Harry carried back to Molly that evening a very glad heart. The baby was a girl, and Molly’s only shadow was that Harry did not seem to admire it so much as she thought it deserved.

“You mean to say you don’t think it’s pretty, Harry?” she had asked when she exhibited the little red, squirming thing in its nest of flannel.

Harry shook his head doubtfully. “I may see some beauty later when, when it gets into some sort of shape, and its head is screwed tighter; at present I don’t admire it, but, as Mark Twain says, ‘I’ve a certain respect for it, for its father’s sake.’”

“Oh, Harry!”

This was in the morning before he left home, and when he returned at night he went up to Molly’s room and kissed her. He thought she must certainly see the good news in his face, so accustomed was he to her reading his countenance.

“Well, Molly, don’t you want to know the news?”

“But you haven’t asked after the baby;—don’t you want to kiss it?”

“My dear Molly, your serenity told me how the baby was,—and—and I wouldn’t disturb it to kiss it.”

“You never saw such a sleeper as she is; she won’t wake, and _I’ve_ hardly seen her eyes yet!”

“I hope she’ll continue such good habits; but now, Molly, I have great news—news I expected some time, of course, but not quite so soon.”

Then he told the news, and Molly responded only by a closer pressure of his hand.

“And that is not all; my father has decided to buy the Framley cottage and rent it to us, and says he meant to give my wife a check as a wedding present, had I married Miss Vanderpool, and now he sends it to you.”

“Oh, Harry, how good of him! how much is it? That sounds greedy; but if it is enough we can furnish with it.”

Harry opened his pocketbook and took out a check for $1,000. “You must lay this by, Molly, for yourself; you know I have $3,000 which we agreed never to touch except for some emergency; but now that my prospects are assured I prefer to furnish for you, Molly, rather than you for me.”

“What will be your income, Harry?”

“Oh, nothing very splendid, for I am only junior with a fifth interest, but it is the certainty of the future that delights me.”

“Yes, and the proof of your father’s affection.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“You remember, Harry, what we promised each other,—that even with a better income our expenses were not to be increased?”

“Not while I was on a salary, dear; but I am quite contented with the last year of our life; I want nothing grander or better, but I do want to see you in your own house furnished with your own taste, and replete with all the conveniences that will make the housekeeping you love, easy to you; and I shall insist on providing you with such assistance as will save your health and strength. But I am not anxious for style or show, and we will waste no money upon it.”

Nor did they.

Mr. Framley had built one of the handsomest houses in Greenfield, and the charming Queen Anne cottage they had hitherto lived in had been for sale. Molly had often pointed it out to her father-in-law and admired its beautiful lawn and expatiated on the fruits and kitchen garden, little supposing it would soon be her own home.

The only crumple in Molly’s rose leaves was Mrs. Bishop, senior’s, views with regard to the baby. Molly had had no babies: her mother-in-law had had eight, five of whom had lived and flourished. But Molly had known other people’s babies, and had made their experience her own, so far as observation enabled her to do it, and she had read all the good writing there was on the baby question, and, as may be expected, had her views and naturally wished to carry them out in the person of her own baby. If a woman can’t do what she likes with her _own_ baby, when is she to do it?

But, strange to say, the dowager, Mrs. Bishop, seemed to feel the new comer was even more Harry’s baby and her own grandchild than Molly’s child, and being her first “posterity,” she was very much interested in it, and she and Mr. Bishop had come to the Greenfield hotel in order to be at hand.

Very soon Molly, with her latter-day views of baby training, and Mrs. Bishop, with her experience of eight, clashed. For days the struggle was silent, for she was Harry’s mother; and all the directions for giving anise-seed tea and gin and water, and paregoric, were quietly disregarded,—but the tug of war came when Molly refused to nurse it before the appointed hour.

“And you mean to say you will not feed that little creature till the time _you_ think it needs it? Can _you_ judge of a baby’s hunger?”

“Mamma, I asked the doctor to guide me, and all the best writers say”—

“There it is!” cried Mrs. Bishop, triumphantly. “You are such a theorist, Molly; but you can’t bring up a child by books, and it may cost you this one’s life or health to find that out. I am surprised a woman of your sense should not see that you can’t set up your book experience against the practical knowledge of a mother of eight.”

Molly made no reply: she could not be cruel enough to hint that three of the eight had died.

Happily for Molly and the carrying out of her views, Mrs. Lennox, who had become a very dear friend, was with her very much, and it was her nurse, an intelligent woman, who was in attendance; and between them they had been able to save Molly much anxiety. She knew that her own orders, and no one’s else, would be carried out; this otherwise would have been a terrible anxiety; for her doctor had said to her, in one of her talks with him before the birth of the child, “Half the babies’ stomachs are ruined in the first month, and the poor baby becomes a victim to colic and indigestion through that month’s mistakes. Some babies are born to it, but these are few compared with the many that are made to suffer by bad habits.”

Mrs. Bishop, senior, disapproved of the nurse, and openly derided the doctor, and audibly scorned the idea of putting a baby a fortnight old in “training” and freely told her daughter that Molly was not fit to be a mother; that she ought to have remained single and become a doctress, or screeched for woman’s rights from a platform.

The excitement of the contention on Molly had to be stopped, and, unknown to his wife, Harry, instigated by Mrs. Lennox, had to warn his mother that she must leave Molly to her own ideas, even if they were mistaken; and Mrs. Bishop had contented herself afterwards with expressing her opinions and her fears. But when, in spite of all, the baby flourished and grew fat, and seemed freer from the ills of babyhood than the average, she averred it was owing to the cast-iron constitution it had inherited from its father. She declared that “to point to Molly’s child as a proof that the new ideas of bringing up babies are better than the old is as reasonable as to point to the health and strength of the Germans as a proof that babies ought to be swaddled and bound on to boards for the first months of their lives, in order to become so strong and straight. One forgets the number who die under the process, and it is only the very strong who survive.”

And this, strangely enough, was exactly what Molly also said to herself when she heard that Harry “actually owed his life to soothing syrup,” which had enabled him to survive his teething troubles.

And so with a beautiful, healthy baby (whom, by the bye, Harry now dandles with great pride), a new house, and the delightful task of furnishing it, in these days of pretty furniture and dainty devices, we leave Molly with as bright a future before her as a loving husband, good health, good prospects and a resolve to be a good, true wife and mother could give to any woman.

Of Marta there are a few words to be said. Those of Molly’s friends who are not very often at the house consider Mrs. Bishop a very fortunate woman in having such a treasure. Molly herself thinks so; but I doubt if half those who so speak would have been satisfied with Marta’s moderate gifts. She was a treasure because she was true and faithful in everything. Her service was not better than that of any clean, strong, willing girl, under the eye of an intelligent mistress.

“But Marta was such a wonderful cook!” some would say. Marta would never be a good cook unguided; it was not in her; she had had the exceptional advantage of training under a woman who, if she had needed it, had qualified herself to teach cooking professionally; who cooked scientifically from precise rules, and who herself had very little to learn when she began with Marta, and who had patience as well as knowledge.

How few girls have such a chance! We send girls to a cooking-school to take twelve or twenty-four lessons, and we know that if they are of the right material (and if not we should hardly send them), they leave the school vastly improved, with quite different ideas from those who have been through no such training; and Marta had been at such a school daily for many months, yet, at the end of them, her accomplishments were not many. She could fry, stew, roast, and make soup to perfection. She could not be trusted to do anything that depended on _flavor_ or _taste_; she never seemed to learn that one clove may be pleasant, half a dozen detestable; that herbs should only lend a vague savoriness, never be so strong as to make one feel they were partaking of marjoram soup or parsley stew. But Molly knew her limitations and knew—take her all in all—she was not likely to better herself by changing. A girl of quicker wits might have been less faithful, or, if so bright as to learn all Molly could teach, she would naturally and rightly wish to take a place as professed cook, with her thirty or forty dollars a month wages, and no washing. So Marta remained, a very devoted servant; very exasperating sometimes, but at all times valuable.

Mrs. Lennox has only one thing to say; she does not regret taking Maggie; she is no worse off in her pocket, and is better off in nerves and muscles; the tired, overworked look is no longer conspicuous. She is still overworked and overworried, but she has a strong pair of arms to call upon, and they are willing to do the appointed task which Mrs. Lennox always remembers she must otherwise have done herself. Maggie needed watching at every turn the first few months; she now knows the ways and does the work fairly well. She is no paragon, and if Mrs. Lennox had no children she would rather be without her, but when she gets out of patience she looks back and remembers how she had not even time “to think” before she came; when she did sit down her muscles ached and tingled so that even rest was a dull void, simply cessation from exertion. Mrs. Lennox now does the cooking and the sewing; Maggie does the work. She will never do more in the cooking way than boil potatoes, make mush and bread (the latter well, for she knows only one way and that is the way she does it), and burn or smoke a beefsteak. But Mrs. Lennox will soon have either to pay her more, or take another new arrival; that is inevitable.

It must not be thought that all Molly’s neighbors were as fond of her as Mrs. Lennox. No one can live up to a higher ideal than the average (even when the ideal is only cooking), without hurting some one’s corns. Several ladies disapproved of her, thought she set a very bad example by making men expect too much of their wives, and those who lived very badly on double Harry’s income felt personally injured.

But all this Molly did not know; she did not suspect that her affairs were known or discussed, but before leaving Greenfield Mrs. Winfield had spoken, with the best intentions in the world, of this young couple’s romantic marriage, and the bravery required of a young wife to face life on $100 a month, with a husband brought up, as Harry had been, in such splendor and luxury. This was naturally discussed till the story became public property, unknown to the heroine of it, who had no thought of setting an example, good or bad, or of shining brightly by comparison with less clever or energetic women; indeed, she was rather conscious of shortcomings of her own. She looked hopelessly on the piles of sewing some of her friends got through, with very many calls on their time besides, and could only comfort herself with the thought that her abilities did not lie in that direction, and that she could only do the best that was in her.

Another pleasure in store for Molly is that Mrs. Welles is soon to be her neighbor; for Mr. Welles had promised to build a house near them, in consequence of which Harry predicts that Greenfield will soon have a rival to Soyer’s celebrated symposium.

INDEX.

Bacon and liver, 98.
Bananas, frozen, 179.
Beans, Lima, 48.
Bean soup, 173, 182.
Beef à la mode, 74.
Beef au gratin, 76.
Beef, braised, 97.
Beef, boiled corned, 126.
Beef, corned, hash, 122.
Beef, Dutch, 262.
Beef-heart, roast, 260.
Beef, miroton of, 169.
Beef pot-pie, 58.
Beef, red, for slicing cold, 263.
Beef, Soyer’s roast-braise, 159.
Beefsteak, broiled, 51.
Beefsteak pudding, 211.
Beefsteak, rolled, 128.
Beefsteak, stewed, 236.
Beef, stewed cannelon of, 128.
Beets, boiled, 126.
Biscuit, 10.
Bisque of clams, 102.
Bisque of oysters, 102.
Bouillon, 227.
Bouillon, to clear, 238.
Bread, 31, 32.
Bread, rye, 106.
Brown thickening, 93.
Butter thickening, 203.

Cabbage, 24.
Cake, cup, 38.
Cake, iced tablets, 231.
Cake, Madeleine, 168.
Cakes, various, 164.
Calf’s brains, 250.
Calf’s head, 242.
Calf’s head en tortue, 251.
Calf’s head with Hollandaise sauce, 251.
Calf’s tongue, stewed, 249.
Caper sauce, 199.
Caramel, 94.
Carrots, cones of, 74.
Cheese cakes, 210.
Cheese canapées, 47.
Cheese fondue, 84.
Cheese fritters, 75.
Cheese macaroni, 199.
Chicken, cleansing and preparing, 131.
Chicken croquettes, 72.
Chicken drumsticks, 83.
Chicken, fricasseed, 173.
Chicken, fried fricasseed, 192.
Chicken fritters, 73.
Chicken giblets, 131.
Chicken pie, 77, 83.
Chicken salad, 13.
Chicken sandwiches, 239.
Chops, breaded, 33.
Clams, bisque of, 102.
Clams, scalloped, 75.
Cochineal coloring, 229.
Codfish, boiled, 185.
Coffee, 14.
Coffee, iced cream, 167.
Consommé, 232.
Consommé à la royale, 191.
Corn muffins, 34.
Corned beef, boiled, 126.
Cream, whipped, 167.
Croquettes, chicken, 72.
Croquettes, lamb, 101.
Croquettes, potato, 175.
Croquettes, veal, 113.
Crumpets, English, 259.
Custard, boiled, 176.
Custard pie, 76.
Custard, royal, for soup, 191.

Dresden patties, 202.

Egg balls, 245.
Eggs, to preserve, in lime, 212.

Fish balls, 190.
Flounders, filet de sole, 127.
Flour thickening, 99.
Forcemeat balls, 208.
Fowl, fried fricasseed, 192.
Fowl, to make tender, 136.
French icing, 173, 177.
Fritters, cheese, 75.
Fritters, chicken, 73.
Fritters, Old English, 201.
Fritters, peach, 74.
Frying, instructions for, 35.

Gravy, 25.
Grisini, or pipe bread, 222.

Hash, corned beef, 122.
Heart, baked, 260.
Heart, lamb’s, baked, 125.
Hollandaise sauce, 186.
Hominy muffins, 190.
Honey, lemon, 172.
Hotch-potch, 103.

Iced cream coffee, 167.
Icing, French, 173, 177.
Irish stew, 233.

Jumbles, 227.

Kidneys, broiled, 117.
Kidneys, stewed, 62.

Lamb, breast of, roasted, 72.
Lamb chops, 33.
Lamb, hashed, 71.
Lamb’s heart, baked, 125.
Lamb ragout, 45.
Lamb, roast shoulder, 21-23.
Lamb, stewed, with peas, 223.
Lamb, to divide the fore-quarter, 20.
Lemon honey, 172.
Lemon-peel, candied, 166.
Lima beans, 48.
Liver and bacon, 98.
Liver, baked, 103.
Lobster, to boil and prepare, 234-236.

Macaroni, cheese, 199.
Macaroni, Italian mode, 22.
Macaroons, 225.
Mackerel, soused, 264.
Méringues, 224.
Mayonnaise, 12.
Mint sauce, 25.
Mock brawn of soup meat, 248.
Muffins, corn, 34.
Muffins, English, 259.
Muffins, hominy, 190.
Mutton, boiled leg of, 198.
Mutton, cold fricassee of, 89.
Mutton hams, 263.

Olives, to stone, 11.
Omelet, cauliflower, 76.
Omelet, plain, 15.
Omelet soufflé, 239.
Onions, boiled, 185.
Oysters, bisque of, 102.
Oysters cooked in the shell, 182.
Oyster patties, 79.
Oysters, roast, 182.
Oysters, with brown butter, 203.

Pastry, 41.
Pastry, Genoese, 226.
Patties, Dresden, 202.
Patties, oyster, 109.
Peach fritters, 74.
Pickling meat, 262.
Pie, chicken, 77, 83.
Pie, custard, 76.
Pie, lemon, 46.
Pie, pigeon, 246.
Pie, veal and ham, 207.
Pigeon pie, 246.
Potato balls, 170.
Potatoes browned under meat, 21.
Potatoes, fried, 162.
Potatoes, scalloped, 185.
Potatoes, stuffed, 51.
Pot-roast, 97.
Pudding, amber, 75.
Pudding, apple, 97.
Pudding, beefsteak, 211.
Pudding, jam roly-poly, 200.
Pudding, King William’s, 174, 182.
Pudding, peach, 73.
Pudding, plain bread, 149.
Pudding, polka, 156.
Pudding, trifle, 211.
Pudding, vanilla soufflé, 193.

Rice cake, French, 242.
Rissoles, 73.
Rolls, 82, 100.

Salad, chicken, 13.
Salting meat, rules for, 261.
Sandwiches, chicken, 239.
Sausages, Worcestershire, 263.
Sauce, caper, 199.
Sauce, English or Wow Wow, 244.
Sauce, Hollandaise, 186.
Sauce, mint, 25.
Sauce, polka, 162.
Simmering, instructions for, 47.
Smelts, fried, 74.
Soufflé, bread, 71.
Soufflé, omelet, 239.
Soufflé, vanilla, 193.
Soup, bean, 173, 182.
Soup, bisque of clams, 75.
Soup, bisque of oysters, 102.
Soup, bouillon, 227.
Soup, clear, 76.
Soup, consommé, 232.
Soup, German, 198.
Soup, mock-turtle, 245.
Soup, ox-tail, 220.
Soup, tomato cream, 72.
Soup, white, 115.
Soup, to clear, 238.
Soup-meat hash, 81.
Stew, Irish, 233.
Stewing, instructions for, 59.
Suet crust, 59, 200.
Sweetbreads, 192.

Thickening, 93, 94, 99, 203.
Trifle, 211.
Turbans of sole, 169.
Turnips, cones of, 74.

Veal and ham pie, 207.
Veal cutlets, breaded, 64.
Veal, knuckle of, 109.
Veal stuffing, 260.

White thickening, 94.
Wow Wow, or English sauce, 244.

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 52, “revolving” changed to “resolving” (Molly was resolving other)

Page 74, “throughly” changed to “thoroughly” (Butter a bowl thoroughly)

Page 94, “Pnt” changed to “Put” (Put in it a cup)

Page 170, “than” changed to “then” (then to chop some)

Page 217, “if” changed to “is” (if, as is often the case)

Page 217, repeated word “she” removed from text (when she can do my)

Page 262, “throughly” changed to “thoroughly” (has thoroughly penetrated)