WHO WAS THE SINNER? by Helen A. Steinhauer

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Nov 11, 1897

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 23, No. 44.

WHO WAS THE SINNER?

By Helen A. Steinhauer

"WHAT do you think of your new neighbors?" asked Mrs. Catchatall, a look of sharp distrust in her keen brown eyes.

"I like them very much," replied Mrs. Mutterlich pleasantly.

"Folks tells some purty hard stories agin 'em," said Mrs. Catchatall, with a sidelong movement of her head, that was quite expressive, and very characteristic of the woman; "an' some of the neighbors say as they ain't a-goin' nigh 'em. I suppose you've heard w'at's said," she added insinuatingly, "ain't you?"

"I presume that I have," replied Mrs. Mutterlich, with a dignity of tone and manner that did not invite further questioning.

But the irrepressible Mrs. Catchatall must needs make one more inquiry.

"You ain't a-goin' to neighbor with 'em, be you?"

"I intend to be the very best neighbor that they ever have had, that is, if they will let me," replied Mrs. Mutterlich emphatically.

"I shall wait till I see how things turns out," answered Mrs. Catchatall, this time nodding straight up and down, "an' I'm a-thinkin' you'd better do the same."

"I am an old woman," replied Mrs. Mutterlich; "my gray hairs will protect me. If one-half that has been said of them is true, they are in sad need of a helping hand; and I never yet have been able to help those whom I held at arm's length."

Mrs. Catchatall looked unconvinced, but contented herself with repeating, with an incredulous smile: "Well, I wish you luck, but I think it best to be keerful; an' I'm a-thinkin' you'll wish you'd ben, time you git through."

Soon another caller came, and with her the question—

"What kind of people are these newcomers?"

"They seem respectable, quiet, always busy, staying at home and attending to their own business."

"Yet there have been pretty damaging reports afloat respecting them, as I suppose you are aware."

"So I have heard," replied Mrs. Mutterlich briefly.

"Do you believe them?"

"I have no reason to."

"But they say that they are true."

"That does not necessarily make them so."

"Well, I prefer not associating with doubtful characters."

"It hurts no one to be kind; and we can not help people unless we are," replied Mrs. Mutterlich gently.

"Ah, well, we know you're philanthropic!" replied her caller lightly; and then the conversation took another turn.

The days flew by, weeks lengthened into months, and still Mrs. Mutterlich pursued the even tenor of her way, and found more and more to commend in her neighbor, Mrs. Gurlish—all of which she took pains to report duly to inquiring critics. When pressed as to the faults which they were sure must exist, she invariably replied, laughingly:—

"The very worst that I know of her is that she burns soft coal, and it threatens to spoil my cistern water. I confess at first I did not like the thought of having a house built quite so near to mine; but I could not have any one in it that I minded less than Mrs. Gurlish. She attends to her own business—though always ready to do one a kindness if she can—stays at home and makes it pleasant to husband and children, and, withal, seems as circumspect a little body as one well could find."

At this juncture Mrs. Catchatall resolved to call and find out for herself the true state of affairs. But as the "fates" would have it, before she had the opportunity to fulfil her intention, something else befell. Mrs. Mutterlich saw at the house of her neighbor on the other side some exquisite fancy work.

"Won't you lend it to me for just ten minutes?" she asked impulsively; "I want to show it to Mrs. Gurlish, she is so fond of such things, I am sure it will please her."

"Certainly," replied Mrs. Friendly, ever on the alert to do a kindness.

Arrived at Mrs. Gurlish's the articles were duly shown and admired, when the little woman said archly:—

"Let me show you some carpenter work that I did yesterday." And so saying she led the way into her pretty parlor, where near a window stood a neat tripod stand of her own manufacture.

"Two broom-handles, one mop-stick, stained and varnished, nailed together and tied with ribbon; a common pine board covered with velvet, and about two hours of my time—with this as the result!" she exclaimed gaily. "Doesn't it look quite respectable, and make a nice rest for any album?"

"Indeed it does!" exclaimed Mrs. Mutterlich enthusiastically. "It is just as pretty as can be. I am sure that your husband thinks that he has a treasure of a little manager for a wife."

"I couldn't resist the temptation of joking him a little," replied Mrs. Gurlish, laughing merrily, a mischievous twinkle in her bright brown eyes. "You know we are paying for our place, and we have to be very economical; James says that we mustn't get anything that we can possibly do without until that is paid for. So yesterday when he came home from

the office I said demurely, 'I got something this afternoon, James.'"

"Did you?" he asked indifferently, what is it?

"Come and see; it's in the other room," I answered.

"O, bring it out, May; I'm tired and lazy!"

"I can't very well; it's furniture."

"Furniture!" he exclaimed quickly.

"Yes," I said, throwing the door open; "that stand."

"What store did you get that at?" he asked, looking very grave.

"Not at any store; I made it myself."

"You never made that!" he exclaimed, and actually wouldn't believe that I hadn't bought it till I turned it upside down and showed him how badly the nails were driven in; and then he was so pleased that he kissed me"—this shyly—"and I don't dare to tell you what pretty things he said to me."

And the young wife blushed and dimpled till she looked as if she deserved the very best that her fond husband could have said of her.

This was far too sweet a little incident to keep to herself, so on returning the borrowed articles, while standing at the half-open door, Mrs. Mutterlich related it to Mrs. Friendly, whose kind-hearted interest was pleasant to behold.

But another neighbor, Mrs. Catchatall, was within ear-shot in the adjoining apartment. Just how much she heard never was known; but it came to pass that a rumor got started that the new neighbors were "about to lose their home, and all because of the frightful extravagance of Mrs. Gurlish—which her husband had striven in vain to restrain. And there had been a really shocking scene there in consequence, for Mrs. Gurlish had told an intimate friend that she 'did not dare to repeat the awful things her husband had said to her on that occasion.'"

About this time it looked as though the guardian angels of the good people at Harmonia must have been at their wits' end how to restore quiet and untangle the snarls in the yarn spun by the gossips of the picturesque little village, that nestled so cozily in the valley on the sunny side of the grand old mountain, whose summit was snow-crowned until midsummer.

Only one person appeared to be at no loss what to say or do. This was Mrs. Catchatall. But, alas! she manifested more zeal than discretion, for her first step was to go to Mrs. Gurlish—who had been happily unconscious of the tempest that was raging outside of her snug home walls—and mysteriously hint that frightful stories were going the rounds about her, and that she had better be careful whom she trusted. In this connection she took pains to state that, owing to these same fearful reports, she had at first said that she should never call upon her, but that she had thought better of it and so came.

"But why should you not have come?" said poor Mrs. Gurlish, in sore bewilderment.

"I ain't a-goin' to tell," said Mrs. Catchatall virtuously; "I don't never make no trouble between neighbors; but I will say this—there is them as calls 'emselves friends as is awful deceivin'; an' I ain't the only one as knows it, either. Ef I wus you I'd never speak to Mis' Mutterlich no more while I lived!"

"Mrs. Mutterlich!" exclaimed Mrs. Gurlish in blank amazement.

"Yes, Mis' Mutterlich!" repeated Mrs. Catchatall with solemn emphasis and a perpendicular nod. "Now mind I ain't said nothin' ag'in' her; but 'a hint's as good as a push to the wise,' an' w'en a person talks all over the neighborhood I think it's about time it wus stopped. But I must go. Come over, do, an' bring the children, too."

A little later that same afternoon the perplexed young neighbor might have been seen (her face piteous in its expression of doubt and distress) talking to Mrs. Mutterlich, across the low fence that divided their lots.

"Why do you talk about me so?" she said. "What have I done to deserve it? I stay at home all the time, and am always at work; I can't see what you should say about me that is so bad."

"I speak evil of thee, dear child?" asked the motherly woman, tenderest solicitude in both look and tone, as she unconsciously lapsed into the idiom of her native tongue, as occasionally happened in moments of intense emotion. "I have often of thee talked, dear heart, but never unkindly." And the homely face grew strangely bright and almost beautiful in its expression of sweet sincerity.

"Yes, but they say that you do—and such dreadful things!" plaintively persisted Mrs. Gurlish.

"What, for instance?" asked the elderly woman gently.

"I don't know; they will not tell me; but I am warned against you, and advised never to speak to you again."

"Who tells thee that?" asked Mrs. Mutterlich mildly.

"I shall not say, for I will not make trouble for anybody."

"My child, believe me"—this very earnestly—"I have never spoken ill of thee. Time will prove to thee who thy true friends are."

But, meeting Mrs. Catchatall the next day, Mrs. Mutterlich said gravely:—

"I shall sift the thing to the bottom, and see that the mischief-maker is silenced; I can not allow my little neighbor to be harassed in this cruel way."

Imagine her amazement when her officious neighbor, drawing herself up to her full height, and bending over in her zeal, said impressively:—

"An' do you want to know how to stop it, Mis' Mutterlich? I will tell you: jest you go to Mis' Gurlish an' confess your sin, an' then don't you never talk about her no more! That's the way to stop it, fur you're the one as has done it all."

In the brief silence that ensued Mrs. Mutterlich did some very rapid retrospective thinking. As a result, that evening a circle of invited guests met in her pleasant parlor. Of these some were merely spectators and listeners; others were interested parties, whose straightforward testimony, freely and frankly given, unraveled the mystery and effectually cleared up the reputation of all accused.

To Mrs. Catchatall's credit be it said that, seizing Mrs. Mutterlich impulsively by the hand, she exclaimed vehemently:—

"I declare for't, I'm clean beat! an' I'm free to confess I done wrong repeatin' of things I didn't mor'n half hear. I'll never do so ag'in' while I live. This'll be a lesson to me from now on! An' [turning so as to include Mrs. Gurlish] I do hope that you'll both furgive me."

Thus was peace restored to Harmonia, and with a large accession of warm friends to the circle of Mrs. Gurlish's acquaintances.

HELEN A. STEINHAUER.

38 Walter Avenue, Battle Creek, Mich.