A MORNING DRIVE.
Punctually at ten o'clock the next morning Dr. Abernethy stood before
the door, with a neat phaeton behind him; and the girls were summoned
from the piazza, where Rose was taking her French lesson.
"My dears," said Miss Wealthy, "are you ready? You said ten o'clock, and
the clock has already struck."
"Oh, yes, Cousin Wealthy!" cried Hildegarde, starting up, and dropping
one book on the floor and another on the chair. "We are coming
immediately. Rose, _nous allons faire une promenade en voiture! Repetez
cette phrase!_"
"_Nous allong_--" began Rose, meekly; but she was cut short in her
repetition.
"Not _allong_, dear, _allons_, _ons_. Keep your mouth open, and don't
let your tongue come near the roof of your mouth after the _ll_.
_Allons!_ Try once more."
"You need not wait, Jeremiah," said Miss Wealthy, in a voice that tried
not to be plaintive. "I dare say the young ladies will be ready in a
minute or two, and I will stand by the Doctor till they come."
Hildegarde heard, smote her breast, flew upstairs for their hats and a
shawl and pillow for Rose. In three minutes they were in the carriage,
but not till a kiss and a whispered apology from Hildegarde had driven
the slight cloud--not of vexation, but of wondering sadness; it seemed
such a strange thing, not to be ready and waiting when Dr. Abernethy
came to the door--from Miss Wealthy's kind face.
"Good-by, dear Cousin Wealthy!" and "Good-by, dear Miss Bond!" cried the
two happy girls; and off they drove in high spirits, while Miss Wealthy
went back to the piazza and picked up the French books, wiped them
carefully, and then went upstairs and put them in the little bookcase in
Hildegarde's room.
"She is a very dear girl," she said, shaking her head; "a little
heedless, but perhaps all girls are. Why, Mildred--oh! but Mildred was
an exception. I suppose," she added, "they call me an old maid. Very
likely. Not these girls,--for they are too well-mannered,--but people.
An old maid!" Miss Wealthy sighed a little, and put her hand up to the
pansy breastpin,--a favorite gesture of hers; and then she went into the
house, to make a new set of bags for the curtain-tassels.
Meanwhile the girls were driving along, looking about them, and
enjoying themselves immensely. Jeremiah had given them directions for a
drive "just about _so_ long," and they knew that they were to turn three
times to the left and never to the right. And first they went up a hill,
from the top of which they saw "all the kingdoms of the earth," as Rose
said. The river valley was behind them, and they could see the silver
stream here and there, gleaming between its wooded banks. Beyond were
blue hills, fading into the blue of the sky. But before them--oh! before
them was the wonder. A vast circle, hill and dale and meadow, all shut
in by black, solemn woods; and beyond the woods, far, far away, a range
of mountains, whose tops gleamed white in the sunlight.
"There is snow on them," said Rose. "Oh, Hildegarde! they must be the
White Mountains. Jeremiah told me that we could see them from here.
That highest peak must be Mount Washington. Oh, to think of it!"
They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the mountains, which lay
like giants at rest.
"Rose," said Hildegarde, at length, "the Great Carbuncle is there,
hidden in some crevice of those mountains; and the Great Stone Face is
there, and oh! so many wonderful things. Some day we will go there, you
and I; sometime when you are quite, quite strong, you know. And we will
see the Flume and the wonderful Notch. You remember Hawthorne's story of
the 'Ambitious Guest'? I think it is one of the most beautiful of all.
Perhaps--who knows?--we may find the Great Carbuncle." They were silent
again; but presently Dr. Abernethy, who cared nothing whatever about
mountains or carbuncles, whinnied, and gave a little impatient shake.
"Of course!" said Hildegarde. "Poor dear! he was hot, wasn't he? and the
flies bothered him. Here is our turn to the left; a pine-tree at the
corner,--yes, this must be it! Good-by, mountains! Be sure to stay there
till the next time we come."
"What was that little poem about the Greek mountains that you told me
the other day?" asked Rose, as they drove along,--"the one you have
copied in your commonplace book. You said it was a translation from some
modern Greek poet, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Hildegarde; "but I don't know what poet. I found it in a
book of Dr. Felton's at home."
She thought a moment, and then repeated the verses,--
"'Why are the mountains shadowed o'er?
Why stand they darkened grimly?
Is it a tempest warring there,
Or rain-storm beating on them?
"'It is no tempest warring there,
No rain-storm beating on them,
But Charon sweeping over them,
And with him the departed.'"
"Look!" she cried, a few moments after. "There is just such a
cloud-shadow sweeping over that long hill on the left. Is it true, I
wonder? I never see those flying shadows without thinking of 'Charon
sweeping over them.' It is such a comfort, Rose, that we like the same
things, isn't it?"
"Indeed it is!" said Rose, heartily. "But, oh! Hilda dear, stop a
moment! There is some yellow clover. Why, I had no idea it grew so far
north as this!"
"Yellow clover!" repeated Hildegarde, looking about her. "Who ever heard
of yellow clover? I don't see any."
"No, dear," said Rose; "it does not grow in the sides of buggies, nor
even on stone-walls. If you could bend your lofty gaze to the ditch by
the roadside, you might possibly see it."
"Oh, there!" said Hildegarde, laughing. "Take the reins, Miss Impudence,
and I will get them." She sprang lightly out, and returned with a
handful of yellow blossoms.
"Are they really clover?" she asked, examining them curiously. "I had no
idea there were more than two kinds, red and white."
"There are eight kinds, child of the city," said Rose, "beside melilot,
which is a kind of clover-cousin. This yellow is the hop-clover. Dear
me! how it does remind me of my Aunt Caroline."
"And how, let me in a spirit of love inquire, does it resemble your Aunt
Caroline? Is she yellow?"
"She was, poor dear!" replied Rose. "She has been dead now--oh! a long
time. She was an aunt of Mother's; and once she had the jaundice, and
it seems to me she was always yellow after that. But that was not all,
Hilda. There was an old handbook of botany among Father's books, and I
used to read it a great deal, and puzzle over the long words. I always
liked long words, even when I was a little wee girl. Well, one day I was
reading, and Aunt Caroline happened to come in. She despised reading,
and thought it was an utter waste of time, and that I ought to sew or
knit all the time, since I could not help Mother with the housework. She
was very practical herself, and a famous housekeeper. So she looked at
me, and frowned, and said, 'Well, Pink, mooning away over a book as
usual? Useless rubbish! yer ma'd ought to keep ye at work.' I didn't say
anything; I never said much to Aunt Caroline, because I knew she didn't
like me, and I suppose I was rather spoiled by every one else being
_too_ good to me. But I looked down at my old book, which was open at
'Trefolium: Clover.' And there I read--oh, Hilda, it is really too bad
to tell!--I read: 'The teeth bristle-form'--and hers did stick out
nearly straight!--'corolla mostly withering or persistent; the
claws'--and then I began to laugh, for it was _exactly_ like Aunt
Caroline herself; she was _so_ withering, and _so_ persistent! And I sat
there and giggled, a great girl of thirteen, till I got perfectly
hysterical. The more I laughed, the angrier she grew, of course; till at
last she went out into the kitchen and slammed the door after her. But I
heard her telling Mother that that gal of hers appeared to be losing
such wits as she had,--not that 't was any great loss, as fur as she
could see. Wasn't that dreadful, Hildegarde? Of course I was wheeled
over to her house the next day, and begged her pardon; but she was still
withering and persistent, though she said, 'Very excusable!' at last."
"Why, Rose!" said Hildegarde, laughing. "I didn't suppose you were
_ever_ naughty, even when you were a baby."
"Oh, indeed I was!" answered Rose; "just as naughty as any one else, I
suppose. Did I ever tell you how I came near making poor Bubble deaf?
That wasn't exactly naughty, because I didn't mean to do anything bad;
but it was funny. I must have been about five years old, and I used to
sit in a sort of little chair-cart that Father made for me. One day
Mother was washing, and she set me down beside the baby's cradle (that
was Bubble, of course), and told me to watch him, and to call her if he
cried. Well, for a while, Mother said, all was quiet. Then she heard
Baby fret a little, and then came a queer sort of noise, she could not
tell what, and after that quiet again. So she thought what a nice,
helpful little girl I was getting to be; and when she came in she said,
'Well, Pinkie, you stopped the baby's fretting, didn't you?'
"'Oh, yes, Mother!' I said, as pleased as possible. 'I roared in his
ear!' You may imagine how frightened Mother was; but fortunately it did
him no harm."
Here the road dipped down into a gully, and Dr. Abernethy had to pick
his way carefully among loose stones. Presently the stone-walls gave
place to a most wonderful kind of fence,--a kind that even country-bred
Rose had never seen before. When the great trees, the giants of the old
forest, had been cut, and the ground cleared for farm-lands and
pastures, their stumps had been pulled up by the roots; and these roots,
vast, many-branched, twisted into every imaginable shape, were locked
together, standing edgewise, and tossing their naked arms in every
direction.
"Oh, how wonderful!" cried Hildegarde. "Look, Rose! they are like the
bones of some great monster,--a gigantic cuttlefish, perhaps. What huge
trees they must have been, to have such roots as these!"
"Dear, beautiful things!" sighed Rose. "If they could only have been
left! Isn't it strange to think of people not caring for trees, Hilda?"
"Yes!" said Hilda, meekly, and blushing a little. "It is strange now;
but before last year, Rose, I don't believe I ever looked at a tree."
"Oh, before last year!" cried Rose, laughing. "There wasn't any 'before
last year.' I had never heard of Shelley before last year. I had never
read a ballad, nor a 'Waverley,' nor the 'Newcomes,' nor anything.
Let's not talk about the dark ages. You love trees now, I'm sure."
"That I do!" said Hildegarde. "The oak best of all, the elm next; but I
love them all."
"The pine is my favorite," said Rose. "The great stately king, with his
broad arms; it always seems as if an eagle should be sitting on one of
them. What was that line you told me the other day?--'The pine-tree
spreads his dark-green layers of shade.' Tennyson, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Hildegarde. "But it was 'Cranford' that made me think of
it. And it isn't 'pine-tree,' after all. I looked, and found it was
'cedar.' Mr. Holbrook, you remember,--Miss Matty's old lover,--quotes
it, when they are taking tea with him. Dear Miss Matty! do you think
Cousin Wealthy is the least little bit like her, Rose?"
"Perhaps!" said Rose, thoughtfully. "I think--Oh, Hilda, look!" she
cried, breaking off suddenly. "What a queer little house!"
Hildegarde checked Dr. Abernethy, who had been trotting along quite
briskly, and they both looked curiously at the little house on their
left, which certainly was "queer,"--a low, unpainted shanty, gray with
age, the shingles rotting off, and moss growing in the chinks. The small
panes of glass were crusted with dirt, and here and there one had been
broken, and replaced with brown paper. The front yard was a tangle of
ribbon-grass and clover; but a tuft of straggling flowers here and there
showed that it had once had care and attention. There was no sign of
life about the place.
"Rose!" cried Hildegarde, stopping the horse with a pull of the reins;
"it is a deserted house. Do you know that I have never seen one in my
life? I must positively take a peep at it, and see what it is like
inside. Take the reins, Bonne Silene, while I go and reconnoitre the
position." She jumped out, and making her way as best she might through
the grassy tangle, was soon gazing in at one of the windows. "Oh!" she
cried, "it _isn't_ deserted, Rose! At least?--well, some one has been
here. But, oh, me! oh, _me_! What a place! I never, never dreamed of
such a place. I--"
"What _is_ the matter?" cried Rose. "If you don't tell me, I shall jump
out!"
"No, you won't!" said Hildegarde. "You'd better not, Miss! but _oh_,
dear! who ever, ever dreamed of such a place? My dear, it is the Abode
of Dirt. Squalid is no word for it; squalor is richness compared to this
house. I am looking--sit still, Rose!--I am looking into a room about as
big as a comfortable pantry. There is a broken stove in it, and a table,
and a stool; and in the room beyond I can see a bed,--at least, I
suppose it is meant for a bed. Oh! what person _can_ live here?"
"_I am coming_, Hilda," said Rose. "The only question is whether I get
out with your help or without."
"Obstinate Thing!" cried Hildegarde, flying to her assistance. "Well, it
shall see the lovely sight, so it shall. Carefully, now; don't trip on
these long grass-loops. There! isn't that a pretty place? Now enjoy
yourself, while I get out the tie-rein, and fasten the good beast to a
tree."
In hunting for the tie-rein under the seat of the carriage, Hildegarde
discovered something else which made her utter an exclamation of
surprise. "Luncheon!" she cried. "Rose, my dear, did you know about this
basket? Saint Martha must have put it in. Turnovers, Rose! sandwiches,
Rose! and, I declare, a bottle of milk and a tin cup. Were ever two
girls so spoiled as we shall be?"
[Illustration: "THEN THEY HUGGED EACH OTHER A LITTLE."]
"How kind!" said Rose. "I am not in the least hungry, but I _should_
like a cup of milk. Oh, Hildegarde!"
"What now?" asked that young woman, returning with the precious basket,
and applying her nose once more to the window. "Fresh horrors?"
"My dear," said Rose, "look! That is the pantry,--that little cupboard,
with the door hanging by one hinge; and there isn't anything in it to
eat, except three crackers and an onion."
Both girls gazed in silence at the forlorn scene before them. Then they
looked at each other. Hildegarde gave an expressive little shake to the
basket. Rose smiled and nodded; then they hugged each other a little,
which was a foolish way they had when they were pleased. Very cautiously
Hildegarde pushed the crazy door open, and they stood in the melancholy
little hovel. All was even dirtier and more squalid than it had looked
from outside; but the girls did not mind it now, for they had an idea,
which had come perhaps to both at the same moment. Hilda looked about
for a broom, and finally found the dilapidated skeleton of one. Rose,
realizing at once that search for a duster would be fruitless, pulled a
double handful of long grass from the front yard, and the two laid about
them,--one vigorously, the other carefully and thoroughly. Dust flew
from doors and windows; the girls sneezed and coughed, but persevered,
till the little room at last began to look as if it might once have been
habitable.
"Now you have done enough, Rosy!" cried Hildegarde. "Sit down on the
doorstep and make a posy, while I finish."
Rose, being rather tired, obeyed. Hildegarde then looked for a
scrubbing-brush, but finding none, was obliged to give the little black
table such a cleaning as she could with the broom and bunches of grass.
Behind the house was a lilac-bush, covered with lovely fragrant clusters
of blossoms; she gathered a huge bunch of them, and putting them in a
broken pitcher with water, set them in the middle of the table.
Meanwhile Rose had found two or three peonies and some sweet-william,
and with these and some ribbon-grass had made quite a brilliant bouquet,
which was laid beside the one cracked plate which the cupboard afforded.
On this plate the sandwiches were neatly piled, and the turnovers (all
but two, which the girls ate, partly out of gratitude to Martha, but
chiefly because they were good) were laid on a cluster of green leaves.
As for the milk, that, Hildegarde declared, Rose must and should drink;
and she stood over her till she tilted the bottle back and drained the
last drop.
"Oh, dear!" said Rose, looking sadly at the empty bottle; "I hope the
poor thing doesn't like milk. It couldn't be a child, Hildegarde, could
it? living here all alone. And anyhow he--or she--will have a better
dinner than one onion and--" But here she broke off, and uttered a low
cry of dismay. "Oh, Hilda! Hilda! look there!"
Hildegarde turned hastily round, and then stood petrified with dismay;
for some one was looking in at the window. Pressed against the little
back window was the face of an old man, so withered and wrinkled that it
looked hardly human; only the eyes, bright and keen, were fixed upon the
girls, with what they thought was a look of anger. Masses of wild,
unkempt gray hair surrounded the face, and a fragment of old straw hat
was drawn down over the brows. Altogether it was a wild vision; and
perhaps it was not surprising that the gentle Rose was terrified, while
even Hildegarde felt decidedly uncomfortable. They stood still for a
moment, meeting helplessly the steady gaze of the sharp, fierce eyes;
then with one impulse they turned and fled,--Hildegarde half carrying
her companion in her strong arms. Half laughing, half crying, they
reached the carriage. Rose tumbled in somehow, Hildegarde flew to
unfasten the tie-rein; and the next moment they were speeding away at
quite a surprising rate, Dr. Abernethy having, for the first time in
years, received a smart touch of the whip, which filled him with
amazement and indignation.
Neither of the girls spoke until at least a quarter of a mile lay
between them and the scene of their terror; then, as they came to the
foot of a hill, Hildegarde checked the good horse to a walk, and turned
and looked at Rose. One look,--and they both broke into fits of
laughter, and laughed and laughed as if they never would stop.
"Oh!" cried Hildegarde, wiping the tears which were rolling down her
cheeks. "Rose! I wonder if I looked as guilty as I felt. No wonder he
glowered, if I did."
"Of course you did," said Rose. "You were the perfect ideal of a Female
Burgler, caught with the spoons in her hand; and I--oh! my cheeks are
burning still; I feel as if I were nothing but a blush. And after all,
we _were_ breaking and entering, Hilda!"
"But we did no harm!" said Hilda, stoutly. "I don't much care, now we
are safe out of the way. And I'm glad the poor old glowering thing will
have a good dinner for once. Rose, he must be at least a hundred! Did
you ever see anything look so old?"
Rose shook her head meditatively. "It's dreadful to think of his living
all alone there," she said. "For he must be alone. There was only one
plate, you know, and that wretched bed. Oh, Hilda!" she added, a moment
later, "the basket! we have left the basket there. What shall we do?
Must we go back?"
"Perish the thought!" cried Hildegarde, with a shudder half real, half
playful. "I wouldn't go back there now for the half of my kingdom. Let
me see! We will not tell Cousin Wealthy to-day--"
"Oh, no!" cried Rose, shrinking at the bare thought.
"Nor even to-morrow, perhaps," continued Hildegarde. "She would be
frightened, and might expect you to be ill; we will wait a day or two
before we tell her. But Martha is not nervous. We can tell her
to-morrow, and say that we will get another basket. After all, we were
doing no harm,--none in the world."
But the best-laid plans, as we all know, "gang aft agley;" and the
girls were not to have the telling of their adventure in their own way.
That evening, as they were sitting on the piazza after tea, they heard
Miss Wealthy's voice, saying, "Martha, there is some one coming up the
front walk,--an aged man, apparently. Will you see who it is, please?
Perhaps he wants food, for I see he has a basket."
Hildegarde and Rose looked at each other in terror.
"Oh, Hilda!" whispered Rose, catching her friend's hand, "it must be he!
What shall we do?"
"Hush!" said Hildegarde. "Listen, and don't be a goose! Do? what should
he do to us? He might recite the 'Curse of Kehama,' but it isn't likely
he knows it."
Martha, who had been reconnoitring through a crack of the window-blind,
now uttered an exclamation. "Well, of all! Mam, it's old Galusha
Pennypacker, as sure as you stand there."
"Is it possible?" said Miss Wealthy, in a tone of great surprise.
"Martha, you _must_ be mistaken. Galusha Pennypacker coming here. Why
_should_ he come here?"
But for once Martha was not ready to answer her mistress, for she had
gone to open the door.
The girls listened, with clasped hands and straining ears.
"Why, Mr. Pennypacker!" they heard Martha say. "This is never you?"
Then a shrill, cracked voice broke in, speaking very slowly, as if
speech were an unaccustomed effort. "Is there--two gals--here?"
"Two gals?" repeated Martha, in amazement. "What two gals?"
"Gals!" said the old man's voice,--"one on 'em highty-tighty,
fly-away-lookin', 'n' the other kind o' 'pindlin'; drivin' your hoss,
they was."
"Why--yes!" said Martha, more and more astonished. "What upon earth--"
"Here's their basket!" the old man continued; "tell 'em I--relished the
victuals. Good-day t' ye!"
Then came the sound of a stick on the steps, and of shuffling feet on
the gravel; and the next moment Miss Wealthy and Martha were gazing at
the guilty girls with faces of mute amazement and inquiry which almost
upset Hildegarde's composure.
"It's true, Cousin Wealthy!" she said quickly. "We meant to tell you--in
a little while, when you would not be worried. We thought the house was
deserted, and I went and looked in at the window. And--it looked so
wretched, we thought we might--"
"There was only an onion and three crackers," murmured Rose, in
deprecating parenthesis.
"We thought we might leave part of our luncheon, for Martha had given us
such a quantity; and just when we had finished, we saw a face at the
window--oh, such a dreadful old face!--and we ran away, and forgot the
basket. So you see, Martha," she added, "it was partly your fault, for
giving us so much luncheon."
"I see!" said Martha, chuckling, and apparently much amused.
But Miss Wealthy looked really frightened. "My _dear_ girls," she said,
"it was a _very_ imprudent thing to do. Why, Galusha Pennypacker is half
insane, people think. A dreadful old miser, who lives in filth and
wretchedness, while he has plenty of money hidden away,--at least people
say he has. Why, it terrifies me to think of your going into that
hovel."
"Oh! Cousin Wealthy," said Hildegarde, soothingly, "he couldn't have
hurt us, poor old thing! if he had tried. He looks at least a hundred
years old. And of course we didn't know he was a miser. But surely it
will do no harm for him to have a good dinner for once, and Martha's
turnovers ought really to have a civilizing effect upon him. Who knows?
Perhaps it may make him remember nicer ways, and he may try to do
better."
Miss Wealthy was partly reconciled by this view of the case; but she
declared that Rose must go to bed at once, as she must be quite
exhausted.
At this moment Martha, who was still holding the basket, gave an
exclamation of surprise. "Why," she said, "there's things in this! Did
you leave these in the basket, Miss Hilda?"
"I? No!" cried Hildegarde, wondering. "I left nothing at all in it.
What is there?"
All clustered eagerly round Martha, who with provoking deliberation took
out two small parcels which lay in the bottom of the basket, and looked
them carefully over before opening them. They were wrapped in dirty
scraps of brown paper.
"Oh! there is writing on them!" cried Hildegarde. "Martha dear, _do_
tell us what it says!"
Martha studied the inscriptions for some minutes, and then read aloud:
"'The fly-away gal' and 'the pail gal.' Well, of all!" she cried, "it's
presents, I do believe. Here, Miss Hilda, this must be for you."
Hildegarde opened the little parcel eagerly. It contained a small
shagreen case, which in its turn proved to contain a pair of scissors of
antique and curious form, an ivory tablet, yellow with age, a silver
bodkin, and a silver fruit-knife, all fitting neatly in their places;
the whole case closing with a spring. "It is the prettiest thing I ever
saw!" cried Hildegarde. "See, Cousin Wealthy, isn't it delightful to
think of that poor old dear--But what have you, Rose-red? You must be
the 'pail gal,' of course, though you are not pale now."
Rose opened her parcel, and found, in a tiny box of faded morocco, an
ivory thimble exquisitely carved with minute Chinese figures. It fitted
her slender finger to perfection, and she gazed at it with great
delight, while Miss Wealthy and Martha shook their heads in amazement
and perplexity.
"Galusha Pennypacker, with such things as these!" cried one.
"Galusha Pennypacker making presents!" exclaimed the other. "Well,
wonders will never cease!"
"The thimble is really beautiful!" said Miss Wealthy. "He was a
seafaring man in his youth, I remember, and he must have brought this
home from one of his voyages, perhaps fifty or sixty years ago. Dear me!
how strangely things do come about! But, my dear Rose, you really _must_
go to bed at once, for I am sure you must be quite exhausted."
And the delighted girls went off in triumph with their treasures, to
chatter in their rooms as only girls can chatter.