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Updated: May 27, 2025
"The Hyndses, as I have said, are good haters," finished Judge Gatchell. "And so she left Hynds House to me," said I without, I am afraid, much gratitude. "It was hers, to dispose of as she chose." The lawyer spoke crisply. "If you have any scruples, dismiss them.
No. I, John G. Gatchell, having been duly sworn, depose and say That I was walking in the yard, towards the gate. The first I knew, was the soldiers coming into the yard, with Capt. Shortland at their head, when an immediate fire began from the soldiers, and one man fell within six feet of me.
You understand that "male and female created He them," and you let it go at that. Miss Martha Hopkins, then, was daring; she was also exclusive. I suppose if I had been younger I could have smiled at Miss Martha, as Susy Gatchell and her graceless friends did, but somehow she appeared to me a creature trying to peck at the world and peek at the stars through the bars of a bird-cage.
The Westmacotes, weary after a long journey, retired early. Mr. Jelnik and Doctor Geddes had gone off together. The secretary had to finish a chapter. The Author lingered to ask, oddly enough, if I had the original plan of Hynds House. Did I know who designed it? "Why don't you interview Judge Gatchell?" "I did. He was polite and friendly enough, but knows no more than is strictly legal.
In Westerly, R. I., in 1724, other smock-marriages were recorded, and in Lincoln County, Me., in 1767, between John Gatchell and Sarah Cloutman, showing that the belief in this vulgar error was wide-spread. The most curious variation of this custom is told in the "Life of Gustavus Vassa," wherein that traveller records that a smock-marriage took place in New York in 1784 on a gallows.
Make the church keep them, please, Sophy!" begged Alicia. Judge Gatchell made an odd noise in his throat. "One of my little granddaughters, taken to Saint Polycarp's by her mother, asked, 'Mamma, who is that big woman up there with the pick-axe? And they told her," said the Judge, scathingly, "they told her it was Hope!
"Fish-blooded old mummy! His place is in a Canopic jar! Gatchell hasn't had a thought since 1845." "Well, if he satisfied himself so long ago as 1845 that you have a frightful temper and that your hens are unutterable nuisances, I see no reason why he should change his mind," I said, frigidly. "You have; and your hens are; and your rooster is a demon!"
"You are not!" I was goaded to reply. The Author merely grinned. "Do you know," he asked, "if that man Jelnik is coming to-night? I hope so. Unusual man. Can't think why he buries himself here! Our old friend Gatchell doesn't seem to admire him. I wonder why?" "I can't possibly imagine," I replied equably, "unless it is that the judge grows old." "Hah!" The Author's eyebrows went up truculently.
She did her duty so well in that respect that the Hynds fortune, which even civil war and reconstruction hadn't been able altogether to wreck, dwindled to a mere fifteen thousand dollars; and she wasn't on speaking terms with anybody but Judge Gatchell, her lawyer. She would have quarreled with him, too, had she dared.
"I dare say Judge Gatchell forgot it, when he was looking over the house. That reminds me: the silver you admired so much was marked 'G. Then, in all probability, Judge Gatchell sent us that spread, and very thoughtful it was of him, I must say."
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