The Village Watch-Tower | Page 6

Bascom, though she was "all skin, bones,
and tongue," as the neighbors said; for nobody needed to go into the
Bascoms' to brighten up aunt Lucinda a bit, or take her the news; one
went in to get a bit of brightness, and to hear the news.
"I should get lonesome, I s'pose," she was wont to say, "if it wa'n't for
the way this house is set, and this chair, and this winder, 'n' all. Men
folks used to build some o' the houses up in a lane, or turn 'em back or
side to the road, so the women folks couldn't see anythin' to keep their
minds off their churnin' or dish-washin'; but Aaron Dunnell hed
somethin' else to think about, 'n' that was himself, first, last, and all the
time. His store was down to bottom of the hill, 'n' when he come up to
his meals, he used to set where he could see the door; 'n' if any cust'mer
come, he could call to 'em to wait a spell till he got through eatin'. Land!
I can hear him now, yellin' to 'em, with his mouth full of victuals! They
hed to wait till he got good 'n' ready, too. There wa'n't so much
comp'tition in business then as there is now, or he'd 'a' hed to give up
eatin' or hire a clerk. . . . I've always felt to be thankful that the house
was on this rise o' ground. The teams hev to slow up on 'count o' the
hill, 'n' it gives me consid'ble chance to see folks 'n' what they've got in
the back of the wagon, 'n' one thing 'n' other. . . . The neighbors is
continually comin' in here to talk about things that's goin' on in the
village. I like to hear 'em, but land! they can't tell me nothing'! They
often say, `For massy sakes, Lucindy Bascom, how d' you know that?'
`Why,' says I to them, `I don't ask no questions, 'n' folks don't tell me
no lies; I just set in my winder, 'n' put two 'n' two together,--that's all I
do.' I ain't never ben in a playhouse, but I don't suppose the play-actors
git down off the platform on t' the main floor to explain to the folks
what they've ben doin', do they? I expect, if folks can't understand their
draymas when the're actin' of 'em out, they have to go ignorant, don't
they? Well, what do I want with explainin', when everythin' is acted out
right in the road?"

There was quite a gathering of neighbors at the Bascoms' on this
particular July afternoon. No invitations had been sent out, and none
were needed. A common excitement had made it vital that people
should drop in somewhere, and speculate about certain interesting
matters well known to be going on in the community, but going on in
such an underhand and secretive fashion that it well-nigh destroyed
one's faith in human nature.
The sitting-room door was open into the entry, so that whatever breeze
there was might come in, and an unusual glimpse of the new foreroom
rug was afforded the spectators. Everything was as neat as wax, for
Diadema was a housekeeper of the type fast passing away. The great
coal stove was enveloped in its usual summer wrapper of purple calico,
which, tied neatly about its ebony neck and portly waist, gave it the
appearance of a buxom colored lady presiding over the assembly. The
kerosene lamps stood in a row on the high, narrow mantelpiece, each
chimney protected from the flies by a brown paper bag inverted over its
head. Two plaster Samuels praying under the pink mosquito netting
adorned the ends of the shelf. There were screens at all the windows,
and Diadema fidgeted nervously when a visitor came in the mosquito
netting door, for fear a fly should sneak in with her.
On the wall were certificates of membership in the Missionary Society;
a picture of Maidens welcoming Washington in the Streets of
Alexandria, in a frame of cucumber seeds; and an interesting document
setting forth the claims of the Dunnell family as old settlers long before
the separation of Maine from Massachusetts,--the fact bein' established
by an obituary notice reading, "In Saco, December 1791, Dorcas,
daughter of Abiathar Dunnell, two months old of Fits unbaptized."
"He may be goin' to marry Eunice, and he may not," observed Almira
Berry; "though what she wants of Reuben Hobson is more 'n I can
make out. I never see a widower straighten up as he has this last year. I
guess he's been lookin' round pretty lively, but couldn't find anybody
that was fool enough to give him any encouragement."
"Mebbe she wants to get married," said Hannah