Marie | Page 7

Boss, who

was like a barrel, but not bad, when she could see through the fat, not
bad in every way; and there was Old Billy, who took care of the horses
and dogs, and he was her friend, and she loved him, and he had always
the good word for her even when he was very drunk, too drunk to speak
to any one else. And then there was the daughter of Le Boss, who
would in all probability never die, for she was so ugly that she would
not be admitted into the other world, where, Mere Jeanne said, even
Monsieur the Great Devil himself was good-looking, save for his
expression. Also there were the boys who tumbled and rode on the
ponies, and--and--and ozer people. And with this Mane's head dropped
forward, and she was asleep.
It seemed a pity to wake her when supper was ready, but Abby knew
just how good her rolls were, and knew that the child must be famished;
and sure enough, after a little nap, Marie was ready to wake and sit up
at the little round table, and be fed like a baby with everything good
that Abby could think of. The fare had not been dainty in the travelling
troupe of Le Boss. The fine white bread, the golden butter, the bit of
broiled fish, smoking hot, seemed viands of paradise to the hungry girl.
She laughed for pleasure, and her eyes shone like stars. It was like the
chateau, she said, where everything was gold and silver,--the chateau
where Madame la Comtesse lived. As for Abby herself, Marie gravely
informed her that she was an angel. Abby laughed, not ill pleased. "I
don't look special like angels," she said; "that is, if the pictures I've seen
are correct. Not much wings and curls and white robes about me,
Maree. And who ever heard of an angel in a check apurn, I want to
know?"
But Marie was not to be turned aside. It was well known, she said, that
angels could not come to earth undisguised in these days. It had
something to do with the Jews, she did not know exactly what. Mere
Jeanne had told her, but she forgot just how it was. But as to their not
coming at all, that would be out of the question, for how would the
good God know what was going on down here, or know who was
behaving well and meriting a crown of glory, and who should go down
into the pit? Did not Abby see that?

Abby privately thought that here was strange heathen talk to be going
on in her kitchen; but she said nothing, only gave her guest more jam,
and said she was eating nothing,--the proper formula for a good hostess,
no matter how much the guest may have devoured.
It was true, as has been said before, that Abby Rock was not fair to
outward view. Nature had been in a crabbed mood when she fashioned
this gaunt, angular form, these gnarled, unlovely features. An
uncharitable neighbour, in describing Abby, once said that she looked
as if she had swallowed an old cedar fence-rail and shrunk to it; and the
description was apt enough so far as the body went. Her skin, eyes, and
hair were of different shades (yet not so very different) of greyish
brown; her nose was long and knotty, her mouth and chin apparently
taken at random from a box of misfits. Yes, the cedar fence-rail came
as near to it as anything could. Yet somehow, no one who had seen the
light of kindness in those faded eyes, and heard the sweet, cordial tones
of that quiet voice, thought much about their owner's looks. People said
it was a pity Abby wasn't better favoured, and then they thought no
more about it, but were simply thankful that she existed.
She had led the life that many an ugly saint leads, here in New England,
and the world over. Nurse and drudge for the pretty younger sister, the
pride and joy of her heart, till she married and went away to live in a
distant State; then drudge and nurse for the invalid mother, broken
down by unremitting toil. No toil would ever break Abby down, for she
was a strong woman; she had never worked too hard that she was aware
of; but--she had always worked, and never done anything else. No lover
had ever looked into her eyes or taken her hand tenderly. Not likely!
she would say to herself with a scornful sniff, eyeing her homely face
in the glass. Men weren't such fools as they looked.
One or two had wanted to marry her house, as she expressed it, and had
asked for herself into the