Sturdily refusing to confess a fault of which he claimed to be innocent, Sandy remained in contumacy, thereby falling somewhat into disrepute among the members of his church, the largest in the city.  The effect of a bad reputation being subjective as well as objective, and poor human nature arguing that one may as well have the game as the name, Sandy insensibly glided into habits of which the church would not have approved, though he took care that they should not interfere with his duties to Mr. Delamere.  The consolation thus afforded, however, followed as it was by remorse of conscience, did not compensate him for the loss of standing in the church, which to him was a social club as well as a religious temple.  At times, in conversation with young Delamere, he would lament his hard fate.

Tom laughed until he cried at the comical idea which Sandy’s plaint always brought up, of half-a-dozen negro preachers sitting in solemn judgment upon that cakewalk,—­it had certainly been a good cakewalk!—­and sending poor Sandy to spiritual Coventry.

“Cheer up, Sandy, cheer up!” he would say when Sandy seemed most depressed.  “Go into my room and get yourself a good drink of liquor.  The devil’s church has a bigger congregation than theirs, and we have the consolation of knowing that when we die, we’ll meet all our friends on the other side.  Brace up, Sandy, and be a man, or, if you can’t be a man, be as near a man as you can!”

Hoping to revive his drooping spirits, Sandy too often accepted the proffered remedy.

XIV

THE MAUNDERINGS OF OLD MRS. OCHILTREE

When Mrs. Carteret had fully recovered from the shock attendant upon the accident at the window, where little Dodie had so narrowly escaped death or serious injury, she ordered her carriage one afternoon and directed the coachman to drive her to Mrs. Ochiltree’s.

Mrs. Carteret had discharged her young nurse only the day before, and had sent for Mammy Jane, who was now recovered from her rheumatism, to stay until she could find another girl.  The nurse had been ordered not to take the child to negroes’ houses.  Yesterday, in driving past the old homestead of her husband’s family, now occupied by Dr. Miller and his family, Mrs. Carteret had seen her own baby’s carriage standing in the yard.

When the nurse returned home, she was immediately discharged.  She offered some sort of explanation, to the effect that her sister worked for Mrs. Miller, and that some family matter had rendered it necessary for her to see her sister.  The explanation only aggravated the offense:  if Mrs. Carteret could have overlooked the disobedience, she would by no means have retained in her employment a servant whose sister worked for the Miller woman.

Old Mrs. Ochiltree had within a few months begun to show signs of breaking up.  She was over seventy years old, and had been of late, by various afflictions, confined to the house much of the time.  More than once within the year, Mrs. Carteret had asked her aunt to come and live with her; but Mrs. Ochiltree, who would have regarded such a step as an acknowledgment of weakness, preferred her lonely independence.  She resided in a small, old-fashioned house, standing back in the middle of a garden on a quiet street.  Two old servants made up her modest household.