A RIVERMOUTH ROMANCE. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901 I. At five o'clock on the morning of the tenth of July, 1860, the frontdoor of a certain house on Anchor Street, in the ancient seaport townof Rivermouth, might have been observed to open with great caution. Thisdoor, as the least imaginative reader may easily conjecture, did notopen itself. It was opened by Miss Margaret Callaghan, who immediatelyclosed it softly behind her, paused for a few seconds with anembarrassed air on the stone step, and then, throwing a furtive glanceup at the second-story windows, passed hastily down the street towardsthe river, keeping close to the fences and garden walls on her left. There was a ghost-like stealthiness to Miss Margaret's movements, thoughthere was nothing whatever of the ghost about Miss Margaret herself. Shewas a plump, short person, no longer young, with coal-black hair growinglow on the forehead, and a round face that would have been nearlymeaningless if the features had not been emphasized--italicized, so tospeak--by the small-pox. Moreover, the brilliancy of her toilet wouldhave rendered any ghostly hypothesis untenable. Mrs. Solomon (we referto the dressiest Mrs. Solomon, whichever one that was) in all her glorywas not arrayed like Miss Margaret on that eventful summer morning. Shewore a light-green, shot-silk frock, a blazing red shawl, and a yellowcrape bonnet profusely decorated with azure, orange, and magentaartificial flowers. In her hand she carried a white parasol. The newlyrisen sun, ricocheting from the bosom of the river and striking pointblank on the top-knot of Miss Margaret's gorgeousness, made her animposing spectacle in the quiet street of that Puritan village. But, inspite of the bravery of her apparel, she stole guiltily along by gardenwalls and fences until she reached a small, dingy frame-house nearthe wharves, in the darkened doorway of which she quenched her burningsplendor, if so bold a figure is permissible. Three quarters of an hour passed. The sunshine moved slowly up AnchorStreet, fingered noiselessly the well-kept brass knockers on eitherside, and drained the heeltaps of dew which had been left from therevels of the fairies overnight in the cups of the morning-glories. Not a soul was stirring yet in this part of the town, though theRivermouthians are such early birds that not a worm may be said toescape them. By and by one of the brown Holland shades at one of theupper windows of the Bilkins mansion--the house from which Miss Margarethad emerged--was drawn up, and old Mr. Bilkins in spiral nightcap lookedout on the sunny street. Not a living creature was to be seen, save thedissipated family cat--a very Lovelace of a cat that was not allowed anight-key--who was sitting on the curbstone opposite, waiting forthe hall door to be opened. Three quarters of an hour, we repeat, hadpassed, when Mrs. Margaret O'Rourke, _née_ Callaghan, issued from thesmall, dingy house by the river, and regained the door-step of theBilkins mansion in the same stealthy fashion in which she had left it. Not to prolong a mystery that must already oppress the reader, Mr. Bilkins's cook had, after the manner of her kind, stolen out ofthe premises before the family were up, and got herselfmarried--surreptitiously and artfully married, as if matrimony were anindictable offence. And something of an offence it was in this instance. In the firstplace Margaret Callaghan had lived nearly twenty years with the Bilkinsfamily, and the old people--there were no children now--had rewardedthis long service by taking Margaret into their affections. It was apiece of subtile ingratitude for her to marry without admitting theworthy couple to her confidence. In the next place, Margaret had marrieda man some eighteen years younger than herself. That was the young man'slookout, you say. We hold it was Margaret that was to blame. What doesa young blade of twenty-two know? Not half so much as he thinks he does. His exhaust-less ignorance at that age is a discovery which is left forhim to make in his prime. "Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, Billing and cooing is all your cheer; Sighing and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window panes, -- Wait till you come to Forty Year!" In one sense Margaret's husband _had_ come to forty year--she was fortyto a day. Mrs. Margaret O'Rourke, with the baddish cat following close at herheels, entered the Bilkins mansion, reached her chamber in the atticwithout being intercepted, and there laid aside her finery. Two or threetimes, while arranging her more humble attire, she paused to take a lookat the marriage certificate, which she had deposited between the leavesof her Prayer-Book, and on each occasion held that potent documentupside down; for Margaret's literary culture was of the severest order, and excluded the art of reading. The breakfast was late that morning. As Mrs. O'Rourke set the coffee-urnin front of Mrs. Bilkins and flanked Mr. Bilkins with the broiledmackerel and buttered toast, Mrs. O'Rourke's conscience smote her. She afterwards declared that when she saw the two sitting there soinnocent-like, not dreaming of the _comether_ she had put upon them, she secretly and unbeknownst let a few tears fall into the cream-pitcher. Whether or not it was this material expression of Margaret's penitencethat spoiled the coffee does not admit of inquiry; but the coffee wasbad. In fact, the whole breakfast was a comedy of errors. It was a blessed relief to Margaret when the meal was ended. She retiredin a cold perspiration to the penetralia of the kitchen, and it wasremarked by both Mr. And Mrs. Bilkins that those short flights ofvocalism--apropos of the personal charms of one Kate Kearney who livedon the banks of Killarney--which ordinarily issued from the direction ofthe scullery were unheard that forenoon. The town clock was striking eleven, and the antiquated timepiece on thestaircase (which never spoke but it dropped pearls and crystals, likethe fairy in the story) was lisping the hour, when there came threetremendous knocks at the street door. Mrs. Bilkins, who was dustingthe brass-mounted chronometer in the hall, stood transfixed, witharm uplifted. The admirable old lady had for years been carrying ona guerilla warfare with itinerant venders of furniture polish, andpain-killer, and crockery cement, and the like. The effrontery of thetriple knock convinced her the enemy was at her gates--possibly thatdissolute creature with twenty-four sheets of note-paper and twenty-fourenvelopes for fifteen cents. Mrs. Bilkins swept across the hall, and opened the door with a jerk. Thesuddenness of the movement was apparently not anticipated by theperson outside, who, with one arm stretched feebly towards the recedingknocker, tilted gently forward, and rested both hands on the thresholdin an attitude which was probably common enough with our ancestors ofthe Simian period, but could never have been considered graceful. Byan effort that testified to the excellent condition of his muscles, theperson instantly righted himself, and stood swaying unsteadily on histoes and heels, and smiling rather vaguely on Mrs. Bilkins. It was a slightly-built but well-knitted young fellow, in the notunpicturesque garb of our marine service. His woollen cap, pitchedforward at an acute angle with his nose, showed the back part of a headthatched with short yellow hair, which had broken into innumerablecurls of painful tightness. On his ruddy cheeks a sparse sandy beard wasmaking a timid _début_. Add to this a weak, good-natured mouth, a pairof devil-may-care blue eyes, and the fact that the man was very drunk, and you have a pre-Raphaelite portrait--we may as well say it atonce--of Mr. Larry O'Rourke of Mullingar, County Westmeath, and late ofthe United States sloop-of-war Santee. The man was a total stranger to Mrs. Bilkins; but the instant she caughtsight of the double white anchors embroidered on the lapels of hisjacket, she unhesitatingly threw back the door, which with greatpresence of mind she had partly closed. A drunken sailor standing on the step of the Bilkins mansion was nonovelty. The street, as we have stated, led down to the wharves, andsailors were constantly passing. The house abutted directly on thestreet; the granite door-step was almost flush with the sidewalk, andthe huge old-fashioned brass knocker--seemingly a brazen hand that hadbeen cut off at the wrist, and nailed against the oak as a warning tomalefactors--extended itself in a kind of grim appeal to everybody. Itseemed to possess strange fascinations for all seafaring folk; and whenthere was a man-of-war in port the rat-tat-tat of that knocker wouldfrequently startle the quiet neighborhood long after midnight. Thereappeared to be an occult understanding between it and the blue-jackets. Years ago there was a young Bilkins, one Pendexter Bilkins--a sad losel, we fear--who ran away to try his fortunes before the mast, and felloverboard in a gale off Hatteras. "Lost at sea, " says the chubby marbleslab in the Old South Burying-Ground, "ætat 18. " Perhaps that is whyno blue-jacket, sober or drunk, was ever repulsed from the door of theBilkins mansion. Of course Mrs. Bilkins had her taste in the matter, and preferred themsober. But as this could not always be, she tempered her wind, so tospeak, to the shorn lamb. The flushed, prematurely old face that nowlooked up at her moved the good lady's pity. "What do you want?" she asked kindly. "Me wife. " "There 's no wife for you here, " said Mrs. Bilkins, somewhat takenaback. "His wife!" she thought; "it's a mother the poor boy stands inneed of. " "Me wife, " repeated Mr. O'Rourke, "for betther or for worse. " "You had better go away, " said Mrs. Bilkins, bridling up, "or it will bethe worse for you. " "To have and to howld, " continued Mr. O'Rourke, wanderingretrospectively in the mazes of the marriage service, "to have and tohowld, till death--bad luck to him!--takes one or the ither of us. " "You 're a blasphemous creature, " said Mrs. Bilkins, severely. "Thim 's the words his riverince spake this mornin', standin' foreninstus, " explained Mr. O'Rourke. "I stood here, see, and me jew'l stoodthere, and the howly chaplain beyont. " And Mr. O'Rourke with a wavering forefinger drew a diagram of theinteresting situation on the door-step. "Well, " returned Mrs. Bilkins, "if you 're a married man, all I have tosay is, there's a pair of fools instead of one. You had better be off;the person you want does n't live here. " "Bedad, thin, but she does. " "Lives here?" "Sorra a place else. " "The man's crazy, " said Mrs. Bilkins to herself. While she thought him simply drunk she was not in the least afraid; butthe idea that she was conversing with a madman sent a chill over her. She reached back her hand preparatory to shutting the door, whenMr. O'Rourke, with an agility that might have been expected from hisprevious gymnastics, set one foot on the threshold and frustrated thedesign. "I want me wife, " he said sternly. Unfortunately, Mr. Bilkins had gone up town, and there was no one in thehouse except Margaret, whose pluck was not to be depended on. The casewas urgent. With the energy of despair Mrs. Bilkins suddenly placedthe toe of her boot against Mr. O'Rourke's invading foot, and pushed itaway. The effect of this attack was to cause Mr. O'Rourke to describe acomplete circle on one leg, and then sit down heavily on the threshold. The lady retreated to the hat-stand, and rested her hand mechanicallyon the handle of a blue cotton umbrella. Mr. O'Rourke partly turned hishead and smiled upon her with conscious superiority. At this juncture athird actor appeared on the scene, evidently a friend of Mr. O'Rourke, for he addressed that gentleman as "a spalpeen, " and told him to gohome. "Divil an inch, " replied the spalpeen; but he got himself off thethreshold, and returned his position on the step. "It's only Larry, mum, " said the man, touching his forelock politely;"as dacent a lad as iver lived, when he 's not in liquor; an' I 'veknown him to be sober for days to-gither, " he added, reflectively. "Hedon't mane a ha'p'orth o' harum, but jist now he's not quite in hisright moind. " "I should think not, " said Mrs. Bilkins, turning from the speaker toMr. O'Rourke, who had seated himself gravely on the scraper, and wasweeping. "Hasn't the man any friends?" "Too many of 'em, mum, an' it's along wid dhrinkin' toasts wid 'em thatLarry got throwed. The punch that spalpeen has dhrunk this day wouldamaze ye. He give us the slip awhiles ago, bad 'cess to him, an' comeup here. Did n't I tell ye, Larry, not to be afther ringin' at the owldgintleman's knocker? Ain't ye got no sinse at all?" "Misther Donnehugh, " responded Mr. O'Rourke with great dignity, "ye 'redhrunk agin. " Mr. Donnehugh, who had not taken more than thirteen ladles of rum-punch, disdained to reply directly. "He's a dacent lad enough"--this to Mrs. Bilkins--"but his head is wake. Whin he's had two sups o' whiskey he belaves he's dhrunk a bar'l full. A gill o' wather out of a jimmy-john 'd fuddle him, mum. " "Is n't there anybody to look after him?" "No, mum, he's an orphan; his father and mother live in the owldcounthry, an' a fine hale owld couple they are. " "Has n't he any family in the town"-- "Sure, mum, he has a family; was n't he married this blessed mornin'?" "He said so. " "Indade, thin, he was--the pore divil!" "And the--the person?" inquired Mrs. Bilkins. "Is it the wife, ye mane?" "Yes, the wife: where is she?" "Well, thin, mum, " said Mr. Donnehugh, "it's yerself can answer that. " "I?" exclaimed Mrs. Bilkins. "Good heavens! this man's as crazy as theother!" "Begorra, if anybody's crazy, it's Larry, for it's Larry has marriedMargaret. " "What Margaret?" cried Mrs. Bilkins, with a start. "Margaret Callaghan, sure. " "_Our_ Margaret? Do you mean to say that OUR Margaret has marriedthat--that good-for-nothing, inebriated wretch!" "It's a civil tongue the owld lady has, any way, " remarked Mr. O'Rourke, critically, from the scraper. Mrs. Bilkins's voice during the latter part of the colloquy had beenpitched in a high key; it rung through the hall and penetrated to thekitchen, where Margaret was thoughtfully wiping the breakfast things. She paused with a half-dried saucer in her hand, and listened. In amoment more she stood, with bloodless face and limp figure, leaningagainst the banister, behind Mrs. Bilkins. "Is it there ye are, me jew'l!" cried Mr. O'Rourke, discovering her. Mrs. Bilkins wheeled upon Margaret. "Margaret Callaghan, _is_ that thing your husband?" "Ye-yes, mum, " faltered Mrs. O'Rourke, with a woful lack of spirit. "Then take it away!" cried Mrs. Bilkins. Margaret, with a slight flush on either cheek, glided past Mrs. Bilkins, and the heavy oak door closed with a bang, as the gates of Paradise musthave closed of old upon Adam and Eve. "Come!" said Margaret, taking Mr. O'Rourke by the hand; and the twowandered forth upon their wedding journey down Anchor Street, with allthe world before them where to choose. They chose to halt at the small, shabby tenement-house by the river, through the doorway of whichthe bridal pair disappeared with a reeling, eccentric gait; forMr. O'Rourke's intoxication seemed to have run down his elbow, andcommunicated itself to Margaret. O Hymen! who burnest precious gums andscented woods in thy torch at the melting of aristocratic hearts, withwhat a pitiful penny-dip thou hast lighted up our little back-streetromance! II. It had been no part of Margaret's plan to acknowledge the marriage sosoon. Though on pleasure bent, she had a frugal mind. She had investedin a husband with a view of laying him away for a rainy day--that is tosay, for such time as her master and mistress should cease to need herservices; for she had promised on more than one occasion to remain withthe old people as long as they lived. Indeed, if Mr. O'Rourke had cometo her and said in so many words, "The day you marry me you must leavethe Bilkins family, " there is very little doubt but Margaret wouldhave let that young sea-monster slip back unmated, so far as she wasconcerned, into his native element. The contingency never entered intoher calculations. She intended that the ship which had brought Ulyssesto her island should take him off again after a decent interval ofhoneymoon; then she would confess all to Mrs. Bilkins, and be forgiven, and Mr. Bilkins would not cancel that clause supposed to exist in hiswill bequeathing two first-mortgage bonds of the Squedunk E. B. Co. To acertain faithful servant. In the mean while she would add each month toher store in the coffers of the Rivermouth Savings Bank; for Calypso hada neat sum to her credit on the books of that provident institution. But this could not be now. The volatile bridegroom had upset thewisely conceived plan, and "all the fat was in the fire, " as Margaretphilosophically put it. Mr. O'Rourke had been fully instructed in thepart he was to play, and, to do him justice, had honestly intended toplay it; but destiny was against him. It may be observed that destinyand Mr. O'Rourke were not on very friendly terms. After the ceremony had been performed and Margaret had stolen back tothe Bilkins mansion, as related, Mr. O'Rourke with his own skilful handshad brewed a noble punch for the wedding guests. Standing at the head ofthe table and stirring the pungent mixture in a small wash-tub purchasedfor the occasion, Mr. O'Rourke came out in full flower. His flow ofwit, as he replenished the glasses, was as racy and seemingly asinexhaustible as the punch itself. When Mrs. McLaughlin held out herglass, inadvertently upside down, for her sixth ladleful, Mr. O'Rourkegallantly declared it should be filled if he had to stand on his headto do it. The elder Miss O'Leary whispered to Mrs. Connally that Mr. O'Rourke was "a perfic gintleman, " and the men in a body pronouncedhim a bit of the raal shamrock. If Mr. O'Rourke was happy in brewing apunch, he was happier in dispensing it, and happiest of all in drinkinga great deal of it himself. He toasted Mrs. Finnigan, the landlady, andthe late lamented Finnigan, the father, whom he had never seen, and MissBiddy Finnigan, the daughter, and a young toddling Finnigan, who was atlarge in shockingly scant raiment. He drank to the company individuallyand collectively, drank to the absent, drank to a tin-peddler whochanced to pass the window, and indeed was in that propitiatory moodwhen he would have drunk to the health of each separate animal that cameout of the Ark. It was in the midst of the confusion and applause whichfollowed his song, "The Wearing of the Grane, " that Mr. O'Rourke, thepunch being all gone, withdrew unobserved, and went in quest of Mrs. O'Rourke--with what success the reader knows. ***** According to the love-idyl of the period, when Laura and CharlesHenry, after unheard-of obstacles, are finally united, all cares andtribulations and responsibilities slip from their sleek backs likeChristian's burden. The idea is a pretty one, theoretically, but, likesome of those models in the Patent Office at Washington, it fails towork. Charles Henry does not go on sitting at Laura's feet and readingTennyson to her forever: the rent of the cottage by the sea falls duewith prosaic regularity; there are bakers, and butchers, and babies, andtax-collectors, and doctors, and undertakers, and sometimes gentlemenof the jury, to be attended to. Wedded life is not one long amatory poemwith recurrent rhymes of love and dove, and kiss and bliss. Yet whenthe average sentimental novelist has supplied his hero and heroine withtheir bridal outfit and arranged that little matter of the marriagecertificate, he usually turns off the gas, puts up his shutters, andsaunters off with his hands in his pockets, as if the day's businesswere over. But we, who are honest dealers in real life and disdain togive short weight, know better. The business is by no means over; it isjust begun. It is not Christian throwing off his pack for good and all, but Christian taking up a load heavier and more difficult than any hehas carried. If Margaret Callaghan, when she meditated matrimony, indulged in anyroseate dreams, they were quickly put to flight. She suddenly foundherself dispossessed of a quiet, comfortable home, and face to face withthe fact that she had a white elephant on her hands. It is not likelythat Mr. O'Rourke assumed precisely the shape of a white elephant to hermental vision; but he was as useless and cumbersome and unmanageable asone. Margaret and Larry's wedding tour did not extend beyond Mrs. Finnigan's establishment, where they took two or three rooms and set uphousekeeping in a humble way. Margaret, who was a tidy housewife, keptthe floor of her apartments as white as your hand, the tin plates onthe dresser as bright as your lady-love's eyes, and the cooking-stove asneat as the machinery on a Sound steamer. When she was not rubbing thestove with lamp-black she was cooking upon it some savory dish to temptthe palate of her marine monster. Naturally of a hopeful temperament, she went about her work singing softly to herself at times, and wouldhave been very happy that first week if Mr. O'Rourke had known a sobermoment. But Mr. O'Rourke showed an exasperating disposition to keepup festivities. At the end of ten days, however, he toned down, andat Margaret's suggestion that he had better be looking about for someemployment he rigged up a fishing-pole, and set out with an injured airfor the wharf at the foot of the street, where he fished for the rest ofthe day. To sit for hours blinking in the sun, waiting for a cunner tocome along and take his hook, was as exhaustive a kind of labor as hecared to engage in. Though Mr. O'Rourke had recently returned from along cruise, he had not a cent to show. During his first three daysashore he had dissipated his three years' pay. The housekeeping expensesbegan eating a hole in Margaret's little fund, the existence of whichwas no sooner known to Mr. O'Rourke than he stood up his fishing-rod inone corner of the room, and thenceforth it caught nothing but cobwebs. "Divil a sthroke o' work I 'll do, " said Mr. O'Rourke, "whin we can liveat aise on our earnin's. Who 'd be afther frettin' hisself, wid money inthe bank? How much is it, Peggy darlint?" And divil a stroke more of work did he do. He lounged down on thewharves, and, with his short clay pipe stuck between his lips and hishands in his pockets, stared off at the sail-boats on the river. He saton the door-step of the Finnigan domicile, and plentifully chaffed thepassers-by. Now and then, when he could wheedle some fractional currencyout of Margaret, he spent it like a crown-prince at The Wee Drop aroundthe corner. With that fine magnetism which draws together birds of afeather, he shortly drew about him all the ne'er-do-weels of Rivermouth. It was really wonderful what an unsuspected lot of them there was. Fromall the frowzy purlieus of the town they crept forth into the sunlightto array themselves under the banner of the prince of scallawags. It wasedifying of a summer afternoon to see a dozen of them sitting in a row, like turtles, on the string-piece of Jedediah Rand's wharf, with theirtwenty-four feet dangling over the water, assisting Mr. O'Rourke incontemplating the islands in the harbor, and upholding the scenery, asit were. The rascal had one accomplishment, he had a heavenly voice--quite in therough, to be sure--and he played, on the violin like an angel. He didnot know one note from another, but he played in a sweet natural way, just as Orpheus must have played, by ear. The drunker he was themore pathos and humor he wrung from the old violin, his sole piece ofpersonal property. He had a singular fancy for getting up at two orthree o'clock in the morning, and playing by an open casement, tothe distraction of all the dogs in the immediate neighborhood andinnumerable dogs in the distance. Unfortunately, Mr. O'Rourke's freaks were not always of so innocent acomplexion. On one or two occasions, through an excess of animal andother spirits, he took to breaking windows in the town. Among hisnocturnal feats he accomplished the demolition of the glass in the doorof The Wee Drop. Now, breaking windows in Rivermouth is an amusementnot wholly disconnected with an interior view of the police-station(bridewell is the local term); so it happened that Mr. O'Rourke woke upone fine morning and found himself snug and tight in one of the cells inthe rear of the Brick Market. His plea that the bull's-eye in the glassdoor of The Wee Drop winked at him in an insult-in' manner as he waspassing by did not prevent Justice Hackett from fining the delinquentten dollars and costs, which made sad havoc with the poor wife's bankaccount. So Margaret's married life wore on, and all went merry as afuneral knell. After Mrs. Bilkins, with a brow as severe as that of one of the Parcæ, had closed the door upon the O'Rourkes that summer morning, she sat downon the stairs, and, sinking the indignant goddess in the woman, burstinto tears. She was still very wroth with Margaret Callaghan, as shepersisted in calling her; very merciless and unforgiving, as the gentlersex are apt to be--to the gentler sex. Mr. Bilkins, however, after thefirst vexation, missed Margaret from the household; missed her singing, which was in itself as helpful as a second girl; missed her hand inthe preparation of those hundred and one nameless comforts which arenecessities to the old, and wished in his soul that he had her backagain. Who could make a gruel, when he was ill, or cook a steak, whenhe was well, like Margaret? So, meeting her one morning at thefish-market--for Mr. O'Rourke had long since given over the onerouslabor of catching dinners--he spoke to her kindly, and asked her how sheliked the change in her life, and if Mr. O'Rourke was good to her. "Troth, thin, sur, " said Margaret, with a short, dry laugh, "he 's thedivil's own!" Margaret was thin and careworn, and her laugh had the mild gayety ofchampagne not properly corked. These things were apparent even to Mr. Bilkins, who was not a shrewd observer. "I 'm afraid, Margaret, " he remarked sorrowfully, "that you are notmaking both ends meet. " "Begorra, I 'd be glad if I could make one ind meet!" returned Margaret. With a duplicity quite foreign to his nature, Mr. Bilkins gradually drewfrom her the true state of affairs. Mr. O'Rourke was a very bad caseindeed; he did nothing towards her support; he was almost constantlydrunk; the little money she had laid by was melting away, and wouldnot last until winter. Mr. O'Rourke was perpetually coming home with asprained ankle, or a bruised shoulder, or a broken head. He had brokenmost of the furniture in his festive hours, including the cooking-stove. "In short, " as Mr. Bilkins said in relating the matter afterwards toMrs. Bilkins, "he had broken all those things which he should n't havebroken, and failed to break the one thing he ought to have broken longago--his neck, namely. " The revelation which startled Mr. Bilkins most was this: in spiteof all, Margaret loved Larry with the whole of her warm Irish heart. Further than keeping the poor creature up waiting for him until everso much o'clock at night, it did not appear that he treated herwith personal cruelty. If he had beaten her, perhaps she would haveworshipped him. It needed only that. Revolving Margaret's troubles in his thoughts as he walked homeward, Mr. Bilkins struck upon a plan by which he could help her. When this planwas laid before Mrs. Bilkins, she opposed it with a vehemence thatconvinced him she had made up her mind to adopt it. "Never, never will I have that ungrateful woman under this roof!" criedMrs. Bilkins; and accordingly the next day Mr. And Mrs. O'Rourke tookup their abode in the Bilkins mansion--Margaret as cook, and Larry asgardener. "I 'm convanient if the owld gintleman is, " had been Mr. O'Rourke'sremark, when the proposition was submitted to him. Not that Mr. O'Rourkehad the faintest idea of gardening. He did n't know a tulip from atomato. He was one of those sanguine people who never hesitate toundertake anything, and are never abashed by their herculean inability. Mr. Bilkins did not look to Margaret's husband for any great botanicalknowledge; but he was rather surprised one day when Mr. O'Rourke pointedto the triangular bed of lilies-of-the-valley, then out of flower, andremarked, "Thim 's a nate lot o' pur-taties ye 've got there, sur. " Mr. Bilkins, we repeat, did not expect much from Mr. O'Rourke's skill ingardening; his purpose was to reform the fellow if possible, and in anycase to make Margaret's lot easier. Reestablished in her old home, Margaret broke into song again, andMr. O'Rourke himself promised to do very well; morally, we mean, notagriculturally. His ignorance of the simplest laws of nature, if naturehas any simple laws, and his dense stupidity on every other subjectwere heavy trials to Mr. Bilkins. Happily, Mr. Bilkins was not withouta sense of humor, else he would have found Mr. O'Rourke insupportable. Just when the old gentleman's patience was about exhausted, the gardenerwould commit some atrocity so perfectly comical that his master all butloved him for the moment. "Larry, " said Mr. Bilkins, one breathless afternoon in the middle ofSeptember, "just see how the thermometer on the back porch stands. " Mr. O'Rourke disappeared, and after a prolonged absence returned withthe monstrous announcement that the thermometer stood at 820! Mr. Bilkins looked at the man closely. He was unmistakably sober. "Eight hundred and twenty what?" cried Mr. Bilkins, feeling very warm, as he naturally would in so high a temperature. "Eight hundthred an' twinty degrays, I suppose, sur. " "Larry, you 're an idiot. " This was obviously not to Mr. O'Rourke's taste; for he went out andbrought the thermometer, and, pointing triumphantly to the line ofnumerals running parallel with the glass tube, exclaimed, "Add 'em upyerself, thin!" Perhaps this would not have been amusing if Mr. Bilkins had not spentthe greater part of the previous forenoon in initiating Mr. O'Rourkeinto the mysteries of the thermometer. Nothing could make amusing Mr. O'Rourke's method of setting out crocus bulbs. Mr. Bilkins had receiveda lot of a very choice variety from Boston, and having a headache thatmorning, turned over to Mr. O'Rourke the duty of planting them. Thoughhe had never seen a bulb in his life, Larry unblushingly asserted thathe had set out thousands for Sir Lucius O'Grady of O'Grady Castle, "an illegant place intirely, wid tin miles o' garden-walks, " addedMr. O'Rourke, crushing Mr. Bilkins, who boasted only of a few humbleflower-beds. The following day he stepped into the garden to see how Larry had donehis work. There stood the parched bulbs, carefully arranged in circlesand squares on top of the soil. "Did n't I tell you to set out these bulbs?" cried Mr. Bilkins, wrathfully. "An' did n't I set 'em out?" expostulated Mr. O'Rourke. "An' ain't theya settin' there beautiful?" "But you should have put them into the ground, stupid!" "Is it bury 'em, ye mane? Be jabbers! how could they iver git out agin?Give the little jokers a fair show, Misther Bilkins!" For two weeks Mr. O'Rourke conducted himself with comparative propriety;that is to say, be rendered himself useless about the place, appearedregularly at his meals, and kept sober. Perhaps the hilarious strainsof music which sometimes issued at midnight from the upper window ofthe north gable were not just what a quiet, unostentatious family woulddesire; but on the whole there was not much to complain of. The third week witnessed a falling off. Though always promptly on handat the serving out of rations, Mr. O'Rourke did not even make a pretenceof working in the garden. He would disappear mysteriously immediatelyafter breakfast, and reappear with supernatural abruptness at dinner. Nobody knew what he did with himself in the interval, until one day hewas observed to fall out of an apple-tree near the stable. His retreatdiscovered, he took to the wharves and the alleys in the distant partof the town. It soon became evident that his ways were not the ways oftemperance, and that all his paths led to The Wee Drop. Of course Margaret tried to keep this from the family. Being a woman, she coined excuses for him in her heart. It was a dull life for the lad, any way, and it was worse than him that was leading Larry astray. Hoursand hours after the old people had gone to bed, she would sit without alight in the lonely kitchen, listening for that shuffling step along thegravel walk. Night after night she never closed her eyes, and went aboutthe house the next day with that smooth, impenetrable face behind whichwomen hide their care. One morning found Margaret sitting pale and anxious by the kitchenstove. O'Rourke had not come home at all. Noon came, and night, butnot Larry. Whenever Mrs. Bilkins approached her that day, Margaret washumming "Kate Kearney" quite merrily. But when her work was done, shestole out at the back gate and went in search of him. She scoured theneighborhood like a madwoman. O'Rourke had not been at the 'Finnigans'. He had not been at The Wee Drop since Monday, and this was Wednesdaynight. Her heart sunk within her when she failed to find him in thepolice-station. Some dreadful thing had happened to him. She came backto the house with one hand pressed wearily against her cheek. The dawnstruggled through the kitchen windows, and fell upon Margaret crouchedby the stove. She could no longer wear her mask. When Mr. Bilkins came down sheconfessed that Larry had taken to drinking again, and had not been homefor two nights. "Mayhap he 's drownded hisself, " suggested Margaret, wringing her hands. "Not he, " said Mr. Bilkins; "he does n't like the taste of water wellenough. " "Troth, thin, he does n't, " reflected Margaret, and the reflectioncomforted her. "At any rate, I 'll go and look him up after breakfast, " said Mr. Bilkins. And after breakfast, accordingly, Mr. Bilkins sallied forthwith the depressing expectation of finding Mr. O'Rourke without muchdifficulty. "Come to think of it, " said the old gentleman to himself, drawing on his white cotton gloves as he walked up Anchor Street"_I_ don't want to find him. " III. But Mr. O'Rourke was not to be found. With amiable cynicism Mr. Bilkinsdirected his steps in the first instance to the police-station, quiteconfident that a bird of Mr. O'Rourke's plumage would be broughtto perch in such a cage. But not so much as a feather of him wasdiscoverable. The Wee Drop was not the only bacchanalian resort inRivermouth; there were five or six other low drinking-shops scatteredabout town, and through these Mr. Bilkins went conscientiously. He thenexplored various blind alleys, known haunts of the missing man, and tooka careful survey of the wharves along the river on his way home. He evenshook the apple-tree near the stable with a vague hope of bringingdown Mr. O'Rourke, but brought down nothing except a few winterapples, which, being both unripe and unsound, were not perhaps badrepresentatives of the object of his search. That evening a small boy stopped at the door of the Bilking mansion witha straw hat, at once identified as Mr. O'Rourke's, which had been foundon Neal's Wharf. This would have told against another man; but O'Rourkewas always leaving his hat on a wharf. Margaret's distress is not tobe pictured. She fell back upon and clung to the idea that Larry haddrowned himself, not intentionally, may be; possibly he had fallenoverboard while intoxicated. The late Mr. Buckle has informed us that death by drowning is regulatedby laws as inviolable and beautiful as those of the solar system; thata certain percentage of the earth's population is bound to drown itselfannually, whether it wants to or not. It may be presumed, then, thatRivermouth's proper quota of dead bodies was washed ashore during theensuing two months. There had been gales off the coast and pleasureparties on the river, and between them they had managed to do a ghastlybusiness. But Mr. O'Rourke failed to appear among the flotsam and jetsamwhich the receding tides left tangled in the piles of the River-mouthwharves. This convinced Margaret that Larry had proved a too temptingmorsel to some buccaneering shark, or had fallen a victim to one ofthose immense schools of fish which seem to have a yearly appointmentwith the fishermen on this coast. From that day Margaret never saw a codor a mackerel brought into the house without an involuntary shudder. Sheaverted her head in making up the fish-balls, as if she half dreaded todetect a faint aroma of whiskey about them. And, indeed, why might not aman fall into the sea, be eaten, say, by a halibut, and reappear on thescene of his earthly triumphs and defeats in the noncommittal form ofhashed fish? "Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. " But, perhaps, as the conservative Horatio suggests, 't were to considertoo curiously to consider so. Mr. Bilkins had come to adopt Margaret's explanation of O'Rourke'sdisappearance. He was undoubtedly drowned; had most likely drownedhimself. The hat picked up on the wharf was strong circumstantialevidence in that direction. But one feature of the case staggered Mr. Bilkins. O'Rourke's violin had also disappeared. Now, it required nogreat effort to imagine a man throwing himself overboard under theinfluence of _mania à potu_; but it was difficult to conceive of a mancommitting violinicide! If the fellow went to drown himself, why did hetake his fiddle with him? He might as well have taken an umbrella ora German student-lamp. This question troubled Mr. Bilkins a good dealfirst and last. But one thing was indisputable: the man was gone--andhad evidently gone by water. It was now that Margaret invested her husband with charms of mind andperson not calculated to make him recognizable by any one who had everhad the privilege of knowing him in the faulty flesh. She eliminated allhis bad qualities, and projected from her imagination a Mr. O'Rourke ashe ought to have been--a species of seraphic being mixed up in some waywith a violin; and to this ideal she erected a costly headstone inthe suburban cemetery. "It would be a proud day for Larry, " observedMargaret contemplatively, "if he could rest his oi on the illegantmonumint I 've put up to him. " If Mr. O'Rourke could have read theinscription on it, he would never have suspected his own complicity inthe matter. But there the marble stood, sacred to his memory; and soon the snow camedown from the gray sky and covered it, and the invisible snow of weeksand months drifted down on Margaret's heart, and filled up its fissures, and smoothed off the sharp angles of its grief; and there was peace uponit. Not but she sorrowed for Larry at times. Yet life had a relish to itagain; she was free, though she did not look at it in that light; shewas happier in a quiet fashion than she had ever been, though she wouldnot have acknowledged it to herself. She wondered that she had the heartto laugh when the ice-man made love to her. Perhaps she was conscious ofsomething comically incongruous in the warmth of a gentleman who spentall winter in cutting ice, and all summer in dealing it out to hiscustomers. She had not the same excuse for laughing at the baker; yetshe laughed still more merrily at him when he pressed her hand over thesteaming loaf of brown-bread, delivered every Saturday morning at thescullery door. Both these gentlemen had known Margaret many years, yetneither of them had valued her very highly until another man came alongand married her. A widow, it would appear, is esteemed in some sort as awarranted article, being stamped with the maker's name. There was even a third lover in prospect; for according to the gossip ofthe town, Mr. Donnehugh was frequently to be seen of a Sunday afternoonstanding in the cemetery and regarding Mr. O'Rourke's headstone withunrestrained satisfaction. A year had passed away, and certain bits of color blossoming amongMargaret's weeds indicated that the winter of her mourning was oyer. Theice-man and the baker were hating each other cordially, and Mrs. Bilkinswas daily expecting it would be discovered before night that Margarethad married one or both of them. But to do Margaret justice, she wasfaithful in thought and deed to the memory of O'Rourke--not the O'Rourkewho disappeared so strangely, but the O'Rourke who never existed. "D' ye think, mum, " she said one day to Mrs. Bilkins, as that lady wasadroitly sounding her on the ice question--"d' ye think I 'd condescindto take up wid the likes o' him, or the baker either, afther sich a manas Larry?" The rectified and clarified O'Rourke was a permanent wonder to Mr. Bilkins, who bore up under the bereavement with noticeable resignation. "Peggy is right, " said the old gentleman, who was superintending theburning out of the kitchen flue. "She won't find another man like LarryO'Rourke in a hurry. " "Thrue for ye, Mr. Bilkins, " answered Margaret. "Maybe there's as goodfish in the say as iver was caught, but I don't be-lave it, all thesame. " As good fish in the sea! The words recalled to Margaret the nature ofher loss, and she went on with her work in silence. ***** "What--what is it, Ezra?" cried Mrs. Bilkins, changing color, and risinghastily from the breakfast table. Her first thought was of apoplexy. There sat Mr. Bilkins, with his wig pushed back from his forehead, andhis eyes fixed vacantly on The Weekly Chronicle, which he held out atarm's length before him. "Good heavens, Ezra! what _is_ the matter?" Mr. Bilkins turned his eyes upon her mechanically, as if he were a greatwax-doll, and somebody had pulled his wire. "Can't you speak, Ezra?" His lips opened, and moved inarticulately; then he pointed a rigidfinger, in the manner of a guide-board, at a paragraph in the paper, which he held up for Mrs. Bilkins to read over his shoulder. When shehad read it she sunk back into her chair without a word, and the two satcontemplating each other as if they had never met before in this world, and were not overpleased at meeting. The paragraph which produced this singular effect on the aged coupleoccurred at the end of a column of telegraph despatches giving thedetails of an unimportant engagement that had just taken place betweenone of the blockading squadron and a Confederate cruiser. The engagementitself does not concern us, but this item from the list of casualties onthe Union side has a direct bearing on our narrative:-- "_Larry O'Rourke, seaman, splinter wound in the leg. Not serious_. " That splinter flew far. It glanced from Mr. O'Rourke's leg, went plumbthrough the Bilkins mansion, and knocked over a small marble slab in theOld South Burying Ground. If a ghost had dropped in familiarly to breakfast, the constraint andconsternation of the Bilkins family could not have been greater. Howwas the astounding intelligence to be broken to Margaret? Her explosiveIrish nature made the task one of extreme delicacy. Mrs. Bilkins flatlydeclared herself incapable of undertaking it. Mr. Bilkins, with manymisgivings as to his fitness, assumed the duty; for it would never do tohave the news sprung suddenly upon Margaret by people outside. As Mrs. O'Rourke was clearing away the breakfast things, Mr. Bilkins, who had lingered near the window with the newspaper in his hand, coughedonce or twice in an unnatural way to show that he was not embarrassed, and began to think that may be it would be best to tell Margaret afterdinner. Mrs. Bilkins fathomed his thought with that intuition whichrenders women terrible, and sent across the room an eye-telegram to thiseffect, "Now is your time. " "There 's been another battle down South, Margaret, " said the oldgentleman presently, folding up the paper and putting it in his pocket. "A sea-fight this time. " "Sure, an' they 're allus fightin' down there. " "But not always with so little damage. There was only one man wounded onour side. " "Pore man! It's sorry we oughter be for his wife an' childer, if he'sgot any. " "Not badly wounded, you will understand, Margaret--not at all seriouslywounded; only a splinter in the leg. " "Faith, thin, a splinter in the leg is no pleasant thing in itself. " "A mere scratch, " said Mr. Bilkins lightly, as if he were constantly inthe habit of going about with a splinter in his own leg, and found itrather agreeable. "The odd part of the matter is the man's first name. His first name was Larry. " Margaret nodded, as one should say, There's a many Larrys in the world. "But the oddest part of it, " continued Mr. Bilkins, in a carelesslysepulchral voice, "is the man's last name. " Something in the tone of his voice made Margaret look at him, andsomething in the expression of his face caused the blood to fly fromMargaret's cheek. "The man's last name!" she repeated, wonderingly. "Yes, his last name--O'Rourke. " "D'ye mane it?" shrieked Margaret--"d' ye mane it? Glory to God! Oworra! worra!" "Well, Ezra, " said Mrs. Bilking, in one of those spasms of baseingratitude to which even the most perfect women are liable, "you 'vemade nice work of it. You might as well have knocked her down with anaxe!" "But, my dear"-- "Oh, bother!--my smelling-bottle, quick!--second bureaudrawer--left-hand side. " Joy never kills; it is a celestial kind of hydrogen of which it seemsimpossible to get too much at one inhalation. In an hour Margaret wasable to converse with comparative calmness on the resuscitation of LarryO'Rourke, whom the firing of a cannon had brought to the surface as ifhe had been in reality a drowned body. Now that the whole town was aware of Mr. O'Rourke's fate, his friend Mr. Donne-hugh came forward with a statement that would have been of someinterest at an earlier period, but was of no service as matters stood, except so far as it assisted in removing from Mr. Bilkins's mind apassing doubt as to whether the Larry O'Rourke of the telegraphicreports was Margaret's scape-grace of a husband. Mr. Donnehugh had knownall along that O'Rourke had absconded to Boston by a night train andenlisted in the navy. It was the possession of this knowledge thathad made it impossible for Mr. Donnehugh to look at Mr. O'Rourke'sgravestone without grinning. At Margaret's request, and in Margaret's name, Mr. Bilkins wrote threeor four letters to O'Rourke, and finally succeeded in extorting anepistle from that gentleman, in which he told Margaret to cheer up, thathis fortune was as good as made, and that the day would come when sheshould ride through the town in her own coach, and no thanks to oldflint-head, who pretended to be so fond of her. Mr. Bilkins tried toconjecture who was meant by old flint-head, but was obliged to give itup. Mr. O'Rourke furthermore informed Margaret that he had three hundreddollars prize-money coming to him, and broadly intimated that when hegot home he intended to have one of the most extensive blow-outs everwitnessed in Rivermouth. "Och!" laughed Margaret, "that's jist Larry over agin. The pore lad wasallus full of his nonsense an' spirits. " "That he was, " said Mr. Bilkins, dryly. Content with the fact that her husband was in the land of the living, Margaret gave herself no trouble over the separation. O'Rourke hadshipped for three years; one third of his term of service was past, and two years more, God willing, would see him home again. This wasMargaret's view of it. Mr. Bilkins's view of it was not so cheerful Theprospect of Mr. O'Rourke's ultimate return was anything but enchanting. Mr. Bilkins was by no means disposed to kill the fatted calf. He wouldmuch rather have killed the Prodigal Son. However, there was always thischance: he might never come back. The tides rose and fell at the Rivermouth wharves; the summer moonlightand the winter snow, in turn, bleached its quiet streets; and the twoyears had nearly gone by. In the mean time nothing had been heard ofO'Rourke. If he ever received the five or six letters sent to him, hedid not fatigue himself by answering them. "Larry's all right, " said hopeful Margaret. "If any harum had come tothe gossoon, we'd have knowed it. It's the bad news that travels fast. " Mr. Bilkins was not so positive about that. It had taken a whole year tofind out that O'Rourke had not drowned himself. The period of Mr. O'Rourke's enlistment had come to an end. Two monthsslipped by, and he had neglected to brighten River-mouth with hispresence. There were many things that might have detained him, difficulties in getting his prize-papers or in drawing his pay; butthere was no reason why he might not have written. The days werebeginning to grow long to Margaret, and vague forebodings of misfortunepossessed her. Perhaps we had better look up Mr. O'Rourke. He had seen some rough times, during those three years, and some harderwork than catching cunners at the foot of Anchor Street, or settingout crocuses in Mr. Bil-kins's back garden. He had seen battles andshipwreck, and death in many guises; but they had taught him nothing, as the sequel will show. With his active career in the navy we shall nottrouble ourselves; we take him up at a date a little prior to the closeof his term of service. Several months before, he had been transferred from the blockadingsquadron to a gun-boat attached to the fleet operating against the fortsdefending New Orleans. The forts had fallen, the fleet had passed on tothe city, and Mr. O'Rourke's ship lay off in the stream, binding up herwounds. In three days he would receive his discharge, and the papersentitling him to a handsome amount of prize-money in addition to hispay. With noble contempt for so much good fortune, Mr. O'Rourke droppedover the bows of the gun-boat one evening and managed to reach thelevee. In the city he fell in with some soldiers, and, being of aconvivial nature, caroused with them that night, and next day enlistedin a cavalry regiment. Desertion in the face of the enemy--for, though the city lay underFederal guns, it was still hostile enough--involved the heaviestpenalties. O'Rourke was speedily arrested with other deserters, tried bycourt-martial, and sentenced to death. The intelligence burst like a shell upon the quiet household in AnchorStreet, listening daily for the sound of Larry O'Rourke's footstep onthe threshold. It was a heavy load for Margaret to bear, after all thoseyears of patient vigil. But the load was to be lightened for her. Inconsideration of O'Rourke's long service, and in view of the fact thathis desertion so near the expiration of his time was an absurdity, theGood President commuted his sentence to imprisonment for life, withloss of prize-money and back pay. Mr. O'Rourke was despatched North, andplaced in Moyamensing Prison. If joy could kill, Margaret would have been a dead woman the day thesetidings reached Rivermouth; and Mr. Bilkins himself would have been in acritical condition, for, though he did not want O'Rourke shot or hanged, he was delighted to have him permanently shelved. After the excitement was over, and this is always the trying time, Margaret accepted the situation philosophically. "The pore lad's out o' harum's rache, any way, " she reflected. "He can'tbe git-tin' into hot wather now, and that's a fact. And maybe afterawhiles they 'll let him go agin. They let out murtherers and thaves andsich like, and Larry's done no hurt to nobody but hisself. " Margaret was inclined to be rather severe on President Lincoln fortaking away Larry's prize-money. The impression was strong on her mindthat the money went into Mr. Lincoln's private exchequer. "I would n't wonder if Misthress Lincoln had a new silk gownd or twothis fall, " Margaret would remark, sarcastically. The prison rules permitted Mr. O'Rourke to receive periodicalcommunications "from his friends outside. " Once every quarter Mr. Bilkinswrote him a letter, and in the interim Margaret kept him supplied withthose doleful popular ballads, printed on broadsides, which one seespinned up for sale on the iron railings of city churchyards, and seldomanywhere else. They seem the natural exhalations of the mould andpathos of such places, but we have a suspicion that they are writtenby sentimental young undertakers. Though these songs must have been asolace to Mr. O'Rourke in his captivity, he never so far forgot himselfas to acknowledge their receipt. It was only through the kindly chaplainof the prison that Margaret was now and then advised of the well-beingof her husband. Towards the close of that year the great O'Rourke himself did condescendto write one letter. As this letter has never been printed, and as it isthe only specimen extant of Mr. O'Rourke's epistolary manner, we lay itbefore the reader _verbatim et literatim_:-- _febuary. 1864 mi belovid wife fur the luv of God sind mee pop gose the wezel. Yours till deth_ . _larry O rourke. _ "Pop goes the Weasel" was sent to him, and Mr. Bilkins ingeniouslyslipped into the same envelope "The Drunkard's Death" and "Beware ofthe Bowl, " two spirited compositions well calculated to exert a salutaryinfluence over a man imprisoned for life. There is nothing in this earthly existence so uncertain as what seemsto be a certainty. To all appearances, the world outside of MoyamensingPrison was forever a closed book to O'Rourke. But the SouthernConfederacy collapsed, the General Amnesty Proclamation was issued, celldoors were thrown open; and one afternoon Mr. Larry O'Rourke, withhis head neatly shaved, walked into the Bilkins kitchen and frightenedMargaret nearly out of her skin. Mr. O'Rourke's summing up of his case was characteristic: "I 've beenkilt in battle, hanged by the court-martial, put into the lock-up forlife, and here I am, bedad, not a ha'p'orth the worse for it. " None the worse for it, certainly, and none the better. By no stretchof magical fiction can we make an angel of him. He is not at all thematerial for an apotheosis. It was not for him to reform and settledown, and become a respectable, oppressed tax-payer. His conduct inRivermouth, after his return, was a repetition of his old ways. Margaretall but broke down under the tests to which he put her affections, andcame at last to wish that Larry had never got out of Moyamensing Prison. If any change had taken place in Mr. O'Rourke, it showed itself inoccasional fits of sullenness towards Margaret. It was in one of thesemoods that he slouched his hat over his brows, and told her she need notwait dinner for him. It will be a cold dinner, if Margaret has kept it waiting; for two yearshave gone by since that day, and O'Rourke has not come home. Possibly he is off on a whaling voyage; possibly the swift maelstrom hasdragged him down; perhaps he is lifting his hand to knock at the door ofthe Bilkins mansion as we pen these words. But Margaret does not watchfor him impatiently any more. There are strands of gray in her blackhair. She has had her romance.