The two widows, united in tribulation, became greater friends than before. Neither married again, and the one lived for her little maidens, the other for her son. Such close amity proved a strain at times, however, and as each knew all that there was to know about the other, each, conscious of the other’s imperfections, secretly regretted them in the friendliest spirit. Then came a little difference of opinion over the children; and then, from a personal attitude of irritation not divulged to anybody, Avisa, smarting somewhat at a pin-prick from Honor Haycraft touching her eldest little girl, spoke in overt fashion to a common friend at Postbridge.
“She’s a very good woman,” said Mrs. Mogridge, while she drank a dish of tea with Mrs. Bloom. “A pattern wife her was, an’ steady as time since her man was called, an’ a pattern mother, though her goose is a swan, as one might expect, an’ she thinks her ugly, li’l fat boy is a cherub, poor dear. Well, ’tis natural so to do. I wouldn’t blame her; we mothers be all alike there. But I could wish she had more brains, an’ didn’t believe such a lot of rummage an’ nonsense. To credit all that dead an’ gone stuff p. 308about pixies, an’ the heath-hounds, an’ the use of herbs picked in moonlight, an’ the planting of seeds ’pon a Good Friday—why, ’tis onbecoming in a growed-up woman as went to Sunday-school; an’ I wish she’d drop it.”
That was all that Avisa said to Mrs. Bloom, the washerwoman; but a fortnight afterward it happened that by evil chance Mrs. Bloom fell out bitterly with the water-bailiff’s widow, and told Mrs. Mogridge that she was a cat, and that ’twas well known her husband never died of a chill at all, but from his wife’s unkindness and cruelty. She said a great many other things of a nature not necessary to set down; and, as a result, Mrs. Mogridge felt it impossible longer to affect the society of Mrs. Bloom.
Then did Mrs. Bloom ask Honor Haycraft to a cup of tea; and Honor, smarting with indignation at the treatment her dearest friend had received from the washerwoman’s venomous tongue, accepted the invitation. Her purpose was loyal to the other widow. She intended to glean further particulars concerning Mrs. Bloom’s abominable opinions and assertions touching Avisa. Because a man in the village had told them that Mrs. Bloom’s statements were in the nature of a libel, and might even put her into prison.
Hoping to catch Mrs. Bloom in some outrageous utterance, and so assist her friend to crush the p. 309washerwoman, Honor Haycraft appeared in a cottage that always reeked of soap and steam.
Mrs. Bloom immediately came to personalities; and then Honor’s freckles stood out brown upon her red skin; she grew hot from her heart outward; the tea lost its savour, and the toast its charm.
“Sorry am I to quarrel with any living thing—man, woman or mouse—but one has one’s pride,” said Mrs. Bloom. “Ess, one has one’s pride; an’ if there’s a thing I do pride myself upon, after my gift of washing, ’tis my gift of silence. It don’t come easy to any healthy-minded woman in a village this size to keep her mouth shut; an’ I confess that it didn’t come easy to me; but I larned how to do it, an’ I’ve been a faithful friend to a gert many people, an’ never quarrelled with a living soul, gentle or simple, till Avisa Mogridge broke with me.”
“She’s got a proper grudge against you,” said Honor, cautiously. “An’ I’m on her side, I warn you.”
“No doubt: you’ve heard her tale. I’m not going to say anything about it to you, because you are her particular friend, an’ blessed are the peacemakers. But this I’ll say, though far be it from me to set friends against friends: I would advise you to take care. She’s a fire as a very little spark will set on light,—a very critical woman,—always was so. It’s a fault where there’s no judgement. Her can’t help it. Her criticises other folks’ ways, an’ their p. 310habits, an’ their ideas, an’ even their children. Now, if there is a dangerous trick on God’s earth, ’tis to criticise other folks’ children.”
“She’s a right to her opinions, however.”
“Most surely she have; an’ she’ve a right to the air she breathes, an’ the water she drinks. She’ve a right to her ideas; but she’s no right to utter ’em where they might do harm. You an’ me be the best friends possible, thank God, an’ she’s no right to say an unkind word of you to me, any more than I’d have a right to say an unkind word of her to you; because you an’ she be the best friends possible likewise. An’ not a word against her would ever pass my lips to you; because you’m a woman as feels very deeply, an’ I should make mischief, which God forbid.”
“Her never said a word against me, that I’ll swear to,” said Honor, hotly; “an’ if an angel from heaven told me her did, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“An’ quite right you’d be,” said Mrs. Bloom. “You put it like a true friend. True friendship be a-thought blind always; an’ ’tis well it is so, for where there’s clear seeing between any two human beings, old or young, man or woman, perfect friendship can’t be. That’s why I’ve always kept my mouth shut so close all my life; and I ban’t going to begin to open it now I’m turned forty-five—not even to you, my dear.”
p. 311“Not a word would I believe—not a syllable,” repeated Honor.
“An’ not a word would you hear from me—good or bad. What she said was kindly meant—very kindly meant indeed. It only showed that no two humans look at life from the same point of view. We knowed that afore. For my own part I’ve always declared that ’twa............