



Produced by Charles Aldarondo.  HTML version by Al Haines.










MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH


BY

ALICE CALDWELL HEGAN


NEW YORK.. MCMII

Copyright, 1901, by





  THIS LITTLE STORY IS
  LOVINGLY DEDICATED
  TO MY MOTHER, WHO
  FOR YEARS HAS BEEN
  THE GOOD ANGEL OF
  "THE CABBAGE PATCH"






CONTENTS


MRS. WIGGS'S PHILOSOPHY

WAYS AND MEANS

THE "CHRISTMAS LADY"

THE ANNEXATION OF CUBY

A REMINISCENCE

A THEATER PARTY

"MR. BOB"

MRS. WIGGS AT HOME

HOW SPRING CAME TO THE CABBAGE PATCH

AUSTRALIA'S MISHAP

THE BENEFIT DANCE






MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH




CHAPTER I

MRS. WIGGS'S PHILOSOPHY

    "In the mud and scum of things
    Something always always sings!"

"MY, but it's nice an' cold this mornin'! The thermometer's done
fell up to zero!"

Mrs. Wiggs made the statement as cheerfully as if her elbows were
not sticking out through the boy's coat that she wore, or her teeth
chattering in her head like a pair of castanets. But, then, Mrs.
Wiggs was a philosopher, and the sum and substance of her philosophy
lay in keeping the dust off her rose- spectacles. When Mr.
Wiggs traveled to eternity by the alcohol route, she buried his
faults with him, and for want of better virtues to extol she always
laid stress on the fine hand he wrote. It was the same way when
their little country home burned and she had to come to the city to
seek work; her one comment was: "Thank God, it was the pig instid of
the baby that was burned!"

So this bleak morning in December she pinned the bed-clothes around
the children and made them sit up close to the stove, while she
pasted brown paper over the broken window-pane and made sprightly
comments on the change in the weather.

The Wiggses lived in the Cabbage Patch. It was not a real cabbage
patch, but a queer neighborhood, where ramshackle cottages played
hop-scotch over the railroad tracks. There were no streets, so when
a new house was built the owner faced it any way his fancy prompted.
Mr. Bagby's grocery, it is true, conformed to convention, and
presented a solid front to the railroad track, but Miss Hazy's
cottage shied off sidewise into the Wiggses' yard, as if it were
afraid of the big freight-trains that went thundering past so many
times a day; and Mrs. Schultz's front room looked directly into the
Eichorns' kitchen. The latter was not a bad arrangement, however,
for Mrs. Schultz had been confined to her bed for ten years, and her
sole interest in life consisted in watching what took place in her
neighbor's family.

The Wiggses' house was the most imposing in the neighborhood. This
was probably due to the fact that it had two front doors and a tin
roof. One door was nailed up, and the other opened outdoors, but you
would never guess it from the street. When the country house burned,
one door had been saved. So Mrs. Wiggs and the boys brought it to
the new home and skilfully placed it at the front end of the side
porch. But the roof gave the house its chief distinction; it was the
only tin roof in the Cabbage Patch. Jim and Billy had made it of old
cans which they picked up on the commons.

Jim was fifteen and head of the family; his shoulders were those of
a man, and were bent with work, but his body dwindled away to a pair
of thin legs that seemed incapable of supporting the burden imposed
upon them. In his anxious eyes was the look of a bread-winner who
had begun the struggle too soon. Life had been a tragedy to Jim: the
tragedy that comes when a child's sensitive soul is forced to meet
the responsibilities of manhood, yet lacks the wisdom that only
experience can bring.

Billy Wiggs was differently constituted; responsibilities rested
upon him as lightly as the freckles on his nose. When occasion or
his mother demanded he worked to good purposes with a tenacity that
argued well for his future success, but for the most part he played
and fought and got into trouble with the aptitude characteristic of
the average small boy.

It was Mrs. Wiggs's boast that her three little girls had geography
names; first came Asia, then Australia. When the last baby arrived,
Billy had stood looking down at the small bundle and asked
anxiously: "Are you goin' to have it fer a boy or a girl, ma?" Mrs.
Wiggs had answered: "A girl, Billy, an' her name's Europena!"

On this particular Sunday morning Mrs. Wiggs bustled about the
kitchen in unusual haste.

"I am goin' to make you all some nice Irish pertater soup fer
dinner," she said, as she came in from the parlor, where she kept
her potatoes and onions. "The boys'll be in soon, an' we'll have
to hurry and git through 'fore the childern begin to come to
Sunday-school."

For many years Sunday afternoon had been a trying time in the
neighborhood, so Mrs. Wiggs had organized a Sunday-school class at
which she presided.

"If there don't come Chris an' Pete a'ready!" said Asia, from her
post by the stove; "I bet they've had their dinner, an' jes' come
early to git some of ours!"

"Why, Asia!" exclaimed Mrs. Wiggs, "that ain't hospit'le, an' Chris
with one leg, too! 'T ain't no trouble at all. All I got to do is to
put a little more water in the soup, an' me and Jim won't take but
one piece of bread."

When Jim and Billy came in they found their places at the table
taken, so they sat on the floor and drank their soup out of
tea-cups.

"Gee!" said Billy, after the third help, "I've drinken so much that
when I swallers a piece er bread I can hear it splash!"

"Well, you boys git up now, an' go out and bring me in a couple of
planks to put acrost the cheers fer the childern to set on."

By two o 'clock the Sunday-school had begun; every seat in the
kitchen, available and otherwise, was occupied. The boys sat in the
windows and on the table, and the girls squeezed together on the
improvised benches. Mrs. Wiggs stood before them with a dilapidated
hymn-book in her hand.

"Now, you all must hush talking so we kin all sing a hymn; I'll
read it over, then we'll all sing it together.

    'When upon life's billers you are tempest tossed,
    When you are discouraged thinking all is lost,
    Count yer many blessin's, name 'em one by one,
    An' it will surprise you what the Lord hath done!'"

Clear and strong rose the childish voices in different keys and
regardless of time, but with a genuine enthusiasm that was in itself
a blessing. When they had sung through the three stanzas Mrs. Wiggs
began the lesson.

"What did we study 'bout last Sunday?" she asked.

No response, save a smothered giggle from two of the little girls.

"Don't you all remember what the Lord give Moses up on the
mountain?"

A hand went up in the corner, and an eager voice cried:

"Yas'm, I know! Lord give Moses ten tallers, an' he duveled 'em."

Before Mrs. Wiggs could enter into an argument concerning this new
version of sacred history, she was hit in the eye with a paper wad.
It was aimed at Billy, but when he dodged she became the victim.
This caused some delay, for she had to bathe the injured member, and
during the interval the Sunday-school became riotous.

"Mith Wiggs, make Tommy thop thpittin' terbaccer juice in my hat!"

"Miss Wiggs, I know who hit you!"

"Teacher, kin I git a drink?"

It was not until Mrs. Wiggs, with a stocking tied over her eye,
emerged from the bedroom and again took command that order was
restored.

"Where is Bethlehem?" she began, reading from an old lesson