The Black Creek Stopping-House | Page 5

I am not saying you can help it," Mrs. Corbett went on,
ignoring his question. "I suppose, maybe, you do the best you can. I
believe everybody does, if we only knew it, and you haven't had a very
good chance either, piratin' among the black heathen in the islands of
the sea; but the Bible speaks plain, and old Captain Coombs often told
us not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers, and I can't encourage
Sunday-breakin' by cookin' for them that do it!"
"We weren't breakin', really we were only back-settin'," interposed
Reginald, quickly.
"I don't wish to encourage Sabbath-breakin'," repeated Mrs. Corbett,
raising her voice a little to prevent interruptions, "by bakin' for people
who do it, or neighborin' with people who do it. Of course there are
some who say that the amount of work that you and your brother do
any day would not break the Sabbath." Here she looked hard at her man,
John Corbett, who stirred uneasily. "But there is no mistakin' your
meanin', and besides," Mrs. Corbett went on, "we have others besides
ourselves to think of--there's the child," indicating the lanky Peter
Rockett.
The "child" thus alluded to closed one eye--the one farthest from Mrs.
Corbett--for a fraction of a second, and kept on softly teasing the
Jew's-harp.
"Now you need not glare at me so fierce, you twin." Mrs. Corbett's
voice was still full of Sunday calm. "I do not know which one of you
you are, but anyway what I say applies to you both. Now take that look
off your face and stay and eat. I'll send something home to your other
one, too."

Having delivered her ultimatum on the subject of Sunday work, Mrs.
Corbett became quite genial. She heaped Reginald's plate with cold
chicken and creamed potatoes, and, mellowed by them and the comfort
of her well-appointed table, he was prepared to renounce the devil and
all his works if Mrs. Corbett gave the order.
CHAPTER III.
THE SAILORS' REST.
When Reginald reached home he found his brother in a state of mind
bordering on frenzy, but when he shoved the basket which Mrs. Corbett
had filled for him toward Randolph with the unnecessary injunction to
"stow it in his hold," the lion's mouth was effectively closed. When he
had finished the last crumb Reginald told him Mrs. Corbett's decree
regarding Sunday work, and found that Randolph was prepared to
abstain from all forms of labor on all days in the week if she wished it.
That night, after the twins had washed the accumulated stock of dishes,
and put patches on their overalls with pieces of canvas and a sail needle,
and performed the many little odd jobs which by all accepted rules of
ethics belong to Sunday evening's busy work, they sat beside the fire
and indulged in great depression of spirits!
"She can't live forever," Reginald broke out at last with apparent
irrelevance. But there was no irrelevance--his remark was perfectly in
order.
He was referring to a dear aunt in Bournemouth. This lady, who was
possessed of "funds," had once told her loving nephews--the twins--that
if they would go away and stay away she might--do something for
them-- by and by. She had urged them so strongly to go to Canada that
they could not, under the circumstances, do otherwise. Aunt Patience
Brydon shared the delusion that is so blissfully prevalent among
parents and guardians of wayward youth in England, that to send them
to Canada will work a complete reformation, believing that Canada is a
good, kind wilderness where iced tea is the strongest drink known, and
where no more exciting game than draughts is ever played.

Aunt Patience, though a frail-looking little white-haired lady, had, it
seemed, a wonderful tenacity of life.
"She'll slip her cable some day," Reginald declared soothingly. "She
can't hold out much longer--you know the last letter said she was failin'
fast."
"Failin' fast!" Randolph broke in impatiently. "It's us that's failin' fast!
And maybe when we've waited and waited, and stayed away for 'er,
she'll go and leave it all to some Old Cats' 'Ome or Old Hens' Roost, or
some other beastly charity. I don't trust 'er--'any woman that 'olds on to
life the way she does--'er with one foot in the grave, and 'er will all
made and everything ready."
"Well, she can't last always," Reginald declared, holding firmly to this
one bit of comfort.
The next news they got from Bournemouth was positively alarming!
She was getting better. Then the twins lost hope entirely and decided to
treat Aunt Patience as one already dead--figuratively speaking, to turn
her picture to the wall.
"Let her live as long as she likes," Reginald declared, "if she's so jolly
keen on it!"
When they decided to trust no