Chapter II

Mrs. Waxwell loved fine clothes quite as much as any other woman of the nineteenth century, and this is saying a great deal; but then her husband was parsimonious, and she was parsimonious; and, though she loved “nice things” very much, she loved money more, which, we take it, amounts to nothing more nor less than meanness.

Mr. Waxwell was a farmer, and well off in the world. The advent of the railroad into his native town had turned things topsy-turvy in general, and “put the devil into the women” in particular, to use Mr. Waxwell’s classic language. Time was when they were content to wear a straw bonnet and a calico gown to meeting; but now they had to rig out in silks and satins, with flounces and furbelows, and all sorts of rigging hitched to ’em, for all the world just like a clown in the circus. Such were Mr. Waxwell’s views of the social influence of the railroad.

Society began to be a little “select;” folks put on airs, and were so “stuck up” that you couldn’t touch them with a ten foot pole.

Farmer Waxwell did not much like this state of things; it cost money on the one hand, and he did not like to be thrown into the shade on the other. He was about the richest man in the place; but ten dollar bonnets and thirty dollar cloaks were abominations that he could not tolerate. Mrs. Waxwell didn’t like to be outdone in the matter of dress, and when she bought a new merino cloak the previous season, she had not a doubt but it would be unsurpassed for two seasons at least. When Mrs. Burton came out with the thirty dollar velvet, she found the wind was taken entirely out of her sail, and she was as indignant as the case demanded.

In the rise and progress of the village since the advent of the railroad, two new stores had gone into operation, one of which was conducted by Mr. Burton, an enterprising young man from the metropolis, who had brought a city wife and a great many city notions into the place with him.

As with a great many who go from the city to the country, he was exceedingly annoyed by that disinterested, charitable attention to other people’s business which so extensively prevails in many rural districts. He kept his affairs to himself, and this bothered and perplexed the gossips. His wife had a way of attending to her own concerns; she had been brought up where people do not even know their next door neighbors. If she wanted a new dress or a new bonnet, she never deemed it necessary to consult the neighbors in regard to her ability to afford it, or about the style and material.

But, in spite of these peculiarities, she was a popular person in the village. She was amiable and kind to all, a friend and a comforter to the sick, and quite a useful person in the society of the place. She understood matters and things, had a larger experience of the world than those who had seen nothing of it; and the consequence was, that when a party was to be given, a picnic projected, or a ball got up, she was consulted, and her advice followed. She understood all these things, and was happy to explain the “fashion” in regard to them to all who asked her counsel.

Poor Mrs. Waxwell! Her star began to decline when Mrs. Burton came to the village. She was no longer the leader of the ton, and her heart was bursting with envy. Though she had often received the kind offices of the storekeeper’s wife, both in sickness and in health, she would willingly have crushed her. That new cloak was the capsheaf of the indignities which she fancied had been heaped upon her, and she determined that her unconscious rival should suffer the consequences of her temerity.

Her first demonstration was upon her husband, whom she found no difficulty in convincing that Mr. Burton must be ruined by the extravagance of his wife, and that, unless he immediately collected his debt, he would certainly lose it.

As soon as she had done her washing on Monday, she “made some calls,” and embraced the opportunity of commenting freely upon that new cloak. The women told their husbands that Mr. Burton would certainly fail; and before three days had elapsed there was quite a ferment in the place.

Nobody knew any thing about Mr. Burton’s affairs; he seemed to be doing a good business, though no one knew of his having any money. He did not even own the house in which he lived; he had no property, apparently, but his stock. The careful old farmers, to whom in the course of trade he had become indebted for produce which he sent to Boston, began to be alarmed by these rumors.

It was in the State of New Hampshire; and at the time of which I write, the “grab law” was in force, and is still, for aught I know.

One morning, as Mr. Burton returned from a journey to a neighboring town, he found his stock attached on the claim of Farmer Waxwell, and all on account of that new cloak which his wife had worn to meeting on the preceding Sunday.

He had not the means to pay the note at that moment, and while he was considering a plan to extricate himself from the dilemma, the news that his goods had been attached spread all over the place. All the creditors were in hot haste to follow the track of Farmer Waxwell; for it was “first come, first served,” and in less than two hours a dozen had fastened upon the stock of his store.

This was a tremendous result to follow in the train of a thirty dollar cloak and a gossiping old woman.