A "STORY EVENING."
The next evening was chilly, and instead of sitting on the piazza, the
girls were glad to draw their chairs around Miss Wealthy's work-table
and bring out their work-baskets. Hildegarde had brought two dozen
napkins with her to hem for her mother, and Rose was knitting a soft
white cloud, which was to be a Christmas present for good Mrs. Hartley
at the farm. As for Miss Wealthy, she, as usual, was knitting gray
stockings of fine soft wool. They all fell to talking about old Galusha
Pennypacker, now pitying his misery, now wondering at the tales of his
avarice. Hildegarde took out the little scissors-case, and examined it
anew. "Do you suppose this belonged to his mother?" she asked. "You say
he never married. Or had he a sister?"
"No, he had no sister," replied Miss Wealthy. "His mother was a very
respectable woman. I remember her, though she died when I was quite a
little girl. He had an aunt, too,--a singular woman, who used to be very
kind to me. What is it, my dear?" For Hildegarde had given a little cry
of surprise.
"Here is a name!" cried the girl. "At least, it looks like a name; but I
cannot make it out. See, Cousin Wealthy, on the little tablet! Oh, how
interesting!"
Miss Wealthy took the tablet, which consisted of two thin leaves of
ivory, fitting closely together. On the inside of one leaf was written
in pencil, in a tremulous hand. "Ca-ira."
"Is it a name?" asked Rose.
Miss Wealthy nodded. "His aunt's name," she said,--"Ca-iry[1]
Pennypacker. Yes, surely; this must have belonged to her. Dear, dear!
how strangely things come about! Aunt Ca-iry we all called her, though
she was no connection of ours. And to think of your having her
scissors-case! Now I come to remember, I used to see this in her basket
when I used to poke over her things, as I loved to do. Dear, dear!"
"Oh, Cousin Wealthy," cried Hildegarde, "_do_ tell us about her, please!
How came she to have such a queer name? I am sure there must be some
delightful story about her."
Miss Wealthy considered a minute, then she said: "My dear, if you will
open the fourth left-hand drawer of that chest between the windows, and
look in the farther right-hand corner of the drawer, I think you will
find a roll of paper tied with a pink ribbon."
Hildegarde obeyed in wondering silence; and Miss Wealthy, taking the
roll, held it in her hand for a moment without speaking, which was very
trying to the girls' feelings. At last she said,--
"There _is_ an interesting story about Ca-iry Pennypacker, and,
curiously enough, I have it here, written down by--whom do you
think?--your mother, Hilda, my dear!"
"My mother!" cried Hildegarde, in amazement.
"Your mother," repeated Miss Wealthy. "You see, when Mildred was a
harum-scarum girl--" Hildegarde uttered an exclamation, and Miss Wealthy
stopped short. "Is there something you want to say, dear?" she asked
gently. "I will wait."
The girl blushed violently. "I beg your pardon, Cousin Wealthy," she
said humbly. "Shall I go out and stand in the entry? Papa always used to
make me, when I interrupted."
"You are rather too big for that now, my child," said the old lady,
smiling; "and I notice that you very seldom interrupt. It is better
_never_ done, however. Well, as I was saying, your mother used to make
me a great many visits in her school holidays; for she was my
god-daughter, and always very dear to me. She was very fond of hearing
stories, and I told her all the old tales I could think of,--among them
this one of Aunt Ca-iry's, which the old lady had told me herself when I
was perhaps ten years old. It had made a deep impression on me, so that
I was able to repeat it almost in her own words, in the country talk she
always used. She was not an educated woman, my dear, but one of sterling
good sense and strong character. Well, the story impressed your mother
so much that she was very anxious for me to write it down; but as I have
no gift whatever in that way, she finally wrote it herself, taking it
from my lips, as you may say,--only changing my name from Wealthy to
Dolly,--but making it appear as if the old woman herself were speaking.
Very apt at that sort of thing Mildred always was. And now, if you like,
my dears, I will read you the story."
If they liked! Was there ever a girl who did not love a story? Gray eyes
and blue sparkled with anticipation, and there was no further danger of
interruption as Miss Wealthy, in her soft, clear voice, began to read
the story of--
CA-IRY AND THE QUEEN.
What's this you've found? Well, now! well, now!
where did you get that, little gal? Been
rummagin' in Aunt Ca-iry's bureau, hev you?
Naughty little gal! Bring it to me, honey. Why,
that little bag,--I wouldn't part with it for
gold! That was give me by a queen,--think o'
that, Dolly,--by a real live queen, 'cordin' to
her own idees,--the Queen o' Sheba.
Tell you about her? Why, yes, I will. Bring
your little cheer here by the fire,--so; and
get your knittin'. When little gals come to
spend the day with Aunt Ca-iry they allus
brings their knittin',--don't they?--'cause
they know they won't get any story unless they
do. I can't have no idle hands round this
kitchen, 'cause Satan might git in, ye know,
and find some mischief for them to do. There!
now we're right comf'table, and I'll begin.
You see, Dolly, I've lived alone most o' my
life, as you may say. Mother died when I was
fifteen, and Father, he couldn't stay on
without her, so he went the next year; and my
brother was settled a good way off: so ever
since I've lived here in the old brown house
alone, 'cept for the time I'm goin' to tell ye
about, when I had a boarder, and a queer one
she was. Plenty o' folks asked me to hire out
with them, or board with them, and I s'pose I
might have married, if I'd been that kind, but
I wasn't. Never could abide the thought of
havin' a man gormineerin' over me, not if he
was the lord o' the land. And I was strong, and
had a cow and some fowls, and altogether I knew
when I was well off; and after a while folks
learned to let me alone. "Queer Ca-iry," they
called me,--in your grandfather's time,
Dolly,--but now it's "Aunt Ca-iry" with the
hull country round, and everybody's very good
to the old woman.
How did I come to have such a funny name? Well,
my father give it to me. He was a great man for
readin', my father was, and there was one book
he couldn't ever let alone, skurcely. 'T was
about the French Revolution, and it told how
the French people tried to git up a republic
like ourn. But they hadn't no sense, seemin'ly,
and some of 'em was no better nor wild beasts,
with their slaughterin', devourin' ways; so
nothin' much came of it in the end 'cept
bloodshed.
Well, it seems they had a way of yellin' round
the streets, and shoutin' and singin', "Ca-ira!
Ca-ira!" Made a song out of it, the book said,
and sang it day in and day out. Father said it
meant "That will go!" or somethin' like that,
though I never could see any meanin' in it
myself. Anyhow, it took Father's fancy greatly,
and when I was born, nothin' would do but I
must be christened Ca-ira. So I was, and so I
stayed; and I don't know as I should have done
any better if I'd been called Susan or Jerusha.
So that's all about the name, and now we'll
come to the story.
One day, when I was about eighteen years old, I
was takin' a walk in the woods with my dog
Bluff. I was very fond o' walkin', and so was
Bluff, and there was woods all about, twice as
much as there is now. It was a fine, clear day,
and we wandered a long way, further from home
than we often went, 'way down by Rollin' Dam
Falls. The stream was full, and the falls were
a pretty sight; and I sat lookin' at 'em, as
girls do, and pullin' wintergreen leaves. I
never smell wintergreen now without thinkin' of
that day. All of a suddent I heard Bluff bark;
and lookin' round, I saw him snuffin' and
smellin' about a steep clay bank covered with
vines and brambles. "Woodchuck!" I thought; and
I called him off, for I never let him kill
critters unless they were mischeevous, which in
the wild woods they couldn't be, of course.
But the dog wouldn't come off. He stayed there,
sniffin' and growlin', and at last I went to
see what the trouble was.
My dear, when I lifted up those vines and
brambles, what should I see but a hole in the
bank!--a hole about two feet across, bigger
than any that a woodchuck ever made. The edges
were rubbed smooth, as if the critter that made
it was big enough to fit pretty close in
gettin' through. My first idee was that 't was
a wolf's den,--wolves were seen sometimes in
those days in the Cobbossee woods,--and I was
goin' to drop the vines and slip off as quiet
as I could, when what does that dog do but pop
into the hole right before my eyes, and go
wrigglin' through it! I called and whistled,
but 't was no use; the dog was bound to see
what was in there.
I waited a minute, expectin' to hear the wolf
growl, and thinkin' my poor Bluff would be torn
to pieces, and yet I must go off and leave him,
or be treated the same myself. But, Dolly,
instead of a wolf's growl, I heard next minute
a sound that made me start more 'n the wolf
would ha' done,--the sound of a human voice.
Yes! out o' the bowels o' the earth, as you
may say, a voice was cryin' out, frightened and
angry-like; and then Bluff began to bark, bark!
Oh, dear! I felt every which way, child. But 't
was clear that there was only one path of duty,
and that path led through the hole; for a
fellow creature was in trouble, and 't was my
dog makin' the trouble. Down I went on my face,
and through that hole I crawled and
wriggled,--don't ask me how, for I don't know
to this day,--thinkin' of the sarpent in the
Bible all the way.
Suddenly the hole widened, and I found myself
in a kind of cave, about five feet by six
across, but high enough for me to stand up. I
scrambled to my feet, and what should I see but
a woman,--a white woman,--sittin' on a heap o'
moose and sheep skins, and glarin' at me with
eyes like two live coals. She had driven Bluff
off, and he stood growlin' in the corner.
For a minute we looked at each other without
sayin' anything; I didn't know what upon airth
to say. At last she spoke, quite calm, in a
deep, strange voice, almost like a man's, but
powerful sweet.
"What seek you," she said, "slave?"
Well, that was a queer beginnin', you see,
Dolly, and didn't help me much. But I managed
to say, "My dog come in, and I followed him--to
see what he was barkin' at."
"He was barkin' at me," said the woman. "Bow
down before me, slave! I am the Queen!"
And she made a sign with her hand, so
commandin'-like that I made a bow, the best way
I could. But, of course, I saw then that the
poor creature was out of her mind, and I
thought 't would be best to humor her, seein'
as I had come in without an invitation, as you
may say.
"Do you--do you live here, ma'am?" I asked,
very polite.
"Your Majesty!" says she, holdin' up her head,
and lookin' at me as if I was dirt under her
feet.
"Do you live here, your Majesty?" I asked
again.
"I am stayin' here," she said. "I am waitin'
for the King, who is comin' for me soon. You
did not meet him, slave, on your way hither?"
"What king was your Majesty meanin'?" says I.
"King Solomon, of course!" said she. "For what
lesser king should the Queen of Sheba wait?"
"To be sure!" says I. "No, ma'am,--your
Majesty, I mean,--I didn't meet King Solomon. I
should think you might find a more likely place
to wait for him in than this cave. A king
wouldn't be very likely to find his way in
here, would he?"
She looked round with a proud kind o' look.
"The chamber is small," she said, "but richly
furnished,--richly furnished. You may observe,
slave, that the walls are lined with virgin
gold."
She waved her hand, and I looked round too at
the yellow clay walls and ceilin'. You never
could think of such a place, Dolly, unless
you'd ha' seen it. However that poor creature
had fixed it up so, no mortal will ever know, I
expect. There was a fireplace in one corner,
and a hole in the roof over it. I found out
arterwards that the smoke went out through a
hollow tree that grew right over the cave.
There was a fryin'-pan, and some meal in a kind
o' bucket made o' birch-bark, some roots, and a
few apples. All round the sides she'd stuck
alder-berries and flowers and pine-tassels, and
I don't know what not. There was nothin' like a
cheer or table, nothin' but the heap o' skins
she was settin' on,--that was bed and sofy and
everything else for her, I reckon.
And she herself--oh, dear! it makes me want to
laugh and cry, both together, to think _how_
that unfortinit creature was rigged up. She had
a sheepskin over her shoulders, tied round her
neck, with the wool outside. On her head was a
crown o' birch-bark, cut into p'ints like the
crowns in pictures, and stained yeller with the
yeller clay,--I suppose she thought it was
gold,--and her long black hair was stuck full
o' berries and leaves and things. Under the
sheepskin she had just nothin' but rags,--such
rags as you never seed in all your days, Dolly,
your mother bein' the tidy body she is. And
moccasins on her feet,--no stockin's; that
finished her Majesty's dress. Well, poor soul!
and she as proud and contented as you please,
fancyin' herself all gold and di'monds.
I made up my mind pretty quick what was the
right thing for me to do; and I said, as
soothin' as I could,--
"Your Majesty, I don't reelly advise you to
wait here no longer for King Solomon. I never
seed no kings round these woods,--it's out o'
the line o' kings, as you may say,--and I don't
think he'd be likely to find you out, even if
he should stroll down to take a look at the
falls, same as I did. Haven't you no
other--palace, that's a little more on the
travelled road, where he'd be likely to pass?"
"No," she said, kind o' mournful, and shakin'
her head,--"no, slave. I had once, but it was
taken from me."
"If you don't mind my bein' so bold," I said,
"where was you stayin' before you come here?"
"With devils!" she said, so fierce and sudden
that Bluff and I both jumped. "Speak not of
them, lest my wrath descend upon you."
This wasn't very encouragin'; but I wasn't a
bit frightened, and I set to work again,
talkin' and arguin', and kind o' hintin' that
there'd been some kings seen round the place
where I lived. That weren't true, o' course,
and I knew I was wrong, Dolly, to mislead the
poor creature, even if 't was for her good; but
I quieted my conscience by thinkin' that 't was
true in one way, for Hezekiah King and his nine
children lived not more 'n a mile from my
house.
Well, to make a long story short, I e'en
persuaded the Queen o' Sheba to come home with
me, and stay at my house till King Solomon
turned up. She didn't much relish the idee of
staying with a slave,--as she would have it I
was,--but I told her I didn't work for no one
but myself, and I wasn't no common kind o'
slave at all; so at last she give in, poor
soul, and followed me as meek as a lamb through
the hole, draggin' her big moose-skin--which
was her coronation-robe, she said, and she
couldn't leave it behind--after her, and Bluff
growlin' at her heels like all possessed.
Well, I got her home, and gave her some supper,
and set her in a cheer; and you never in all
your life see any one so pleased. She looked,
and looked, and you'd ha' thought this kitchen
was Marble Halls like them in the song. It
_did_ look cheerful and pleasant, but much the
same as it does now, after sixty years, little
Dolly. And if you'll believe it, it's this very
arm-cheer as I'm sittin' in now, that the Queen
o' Sheba sot in. It had a flowered chintz cover
then, new and bright. Well, she sat back at
last, and drew a long breath.
"You have done well, faithful slave!" she said.
"This is my own palace that you have brought me
to. I know it well,--well; and this is my
throne, from which I shall judge the people
till the King comes."
This is what the boys would call "rather cool;"
but I only said, "Yes, your Majesty, you shall
judge every one there is to judge,"--which was
me and Bluff, and Crummy the cow, and ten
fowls, and the pig. She was just as pleasant
and condescendin' as could be all the evenin',
and when I put her to bed in the fourposter in
the spare room, she praised me again, and said
that when the King came she would give me a
carcanet of rubies, whatever that is.
Just as soon as she was asleep, the first thing
that I did was to open the stove and put her
rags in, piece by piece, till they was all
burnt up. The moose-skin, which was a good one,
I hung out on the line to air. Then I brought
out some clothes of Mother's that I'd kep' laid
away,--a good calico dress and some
underclothing, all nice and fresh,--and laid
them over the back of a cheer by her bed. It
seemed kind o' strange to go to bed with a
ravin' lunatic, as you may say, in the next
room; but I knew I was doin' right, and that
was all there was to it. The Lord would see to
the rest, I thought.
Next mornin' I was up bright and early, and
soon as I'd made the fire and tidied up and got
breakfast under way, I went in to see how her
Majesty was. She was wide awake, sittin' up in
bed, and lookin' round her as wild as a hawk.
Seemed as if she was just goin' to spring out
o' bed; but when she saw me, she quieted down,
and when I spoke easy and soothin' like, and
asked her how she'd slept, she answered
pleasant enough.
"But where are my robes?" said she, pointin' to
the clothes I'd laid out. "Those are not my
robes."
"They's new robes," I said, quite bold. "The
old ones had to be taken away, your Majesty.
They weren't fit for you to wear, really,--all
but the coronation robe; and that's hangin' on
the line, to--to take the wrinkles out."
Well, I had a hard fight over the clothes; she
couldn't make up her mind nohow to put 'em on.
But at last I had an idee. "Don't you know," I
said, "the Bible says 'The King's Daughter is
all radiant within, in raiment of wrought
needlework'? Well, this is wrought needlework,
every bit of it."
I showed her the seams and the stitches; and,
my dear, she put it on without another word,
and was as pleased as Punch when she was
dressed up all neat and clean. Then I brushed
her hair out,--lovely hair it was, comin' down
below her knees, and thick enough for a cloak,
but matted and tangled so 't was a sight to
behold,--and braided it, and put it up on top
of her head like a sort o' crown, and I tell
you she looked like a queen, if ever anybody
did. She fretted a little for her birch-bark
crown, but I told her how Scripture said a
woman's glory was her hair, and that quieted
her at once. Poor soul! she was real good and
pious, and she'd listen to Scripture readin' by
the hour; but I allus had to wind up with
somethin' about King Solomon.
Well, Dolly, the Queen o' Sheba stayed with me
(I must make my story short, Honey, for your
ma'll be comin' for ye soon now) three years;
and I will say that they was happy years for
both of us. Not yourself could be more biddable
than that poor crazy Queen was, once she got
wonted to me and the place. At first she was
inclined to wander off, a-lookin' for the King;
but bimeby she got into the way of occupyin'
herself, spinnin'--she was a beautiful
spinner, and when I told her 't was Scriptural,
I could hardly get her away from the wheel--and
trimmin' the house up with flowers, and playin'
with Bluff, for all the world like a child. And
in the evenin's,--well, there! she'd sit on her
throne and tell stories about her kingdom, and
her gold and spices, and myrrh and frankincense
and things, and all the great things she was
goin' to do for her faithful slave,--that was
me, ye know; she never would call me anything
else,--till it all seemed just as good as true.
_'T was_ true to her; and if 't had been really
true for me, I shouldn't ha' been half so well
off as in my own sp'ere; so 't was all right.
My dear, my poor Queen might have been with me
to this day, if it hadn't been for the
meddlesomeness of men. I've heerd talk o' women
meddling, and very likely they may, when they
live along o' men; but it don't begin with
women, nor yet end with 'em. One day I'd been
out 'tendin' to the cow, and as I was comin'
back I heerd screams and shrieks, and a man's
voice talkin' loud. You may believe I run,
Dolly, as fast as run I could; and when I came
to the kitchen there was Hezekiah King and a
strange man standin' and talkin' to the Queen.
She was all in a heap behind the big chair,
poor soul, tremblin' like a leaf, and her eyes
glarin' like they did the fust time I see her;
and she didn't say a word, only scream, like a
panther in a trap, every minute or two.
I steps before her, and "What's this?" says I,
short enough.
"Mornin', Ca-iry," says Hezekiah, smilin' his
greasy smile, that allus _did_ make me want to
slap his face. "This is Mr. Clamp, from
Coptown. Make ye acquainted with Miss Ca-iry
Pennypacker, Mr. Clamp. I met up with Mr. Clamp
yesterday, Ca-iry, and I was tellin' him about
this demented creatur as you've been shelterin'
at your own expense the last three years, as
the hull neighborhood says it's a shame. And
lo! how myster'ous is the ways o' Providence!
Mr. Clamp is sup'n'tendent o' the Poor Farm
down to Coptown, and he says this woman is a
crazy pauper as he has had in keer for six
year, ever since she lost her wits along o' her
husband bein' drownded. She run away three year
ago last spring, and he ain't heard nothin' of
her till yisterday, when he just chanced to
meet up with me. So now he's come as in dooty
bound, she belongin' to the deestrick o'
Coptown, to take her off your hands, and thank
ye for--"
He hadn't no time to say more. I took him by
the shoulders,--I was mortal strong in those
days, Dolly; there wasn't a man within ten
miles but I could ha' licked him if he'd been
wuth it,--and shot him out o' the door like a
sack o' flour. Then I took the other man, who
was standin' with his mouth open, for all the
world like a codfish, and shot him out arter
him. He tumbled against Hezekiah, and they both
went down together, and sat there and looked at
me with their mouths open.
"You go home," says I, "and take care o'
yourselves, if you know how. When I want you or
the like o' you, I'll send for you. _Scat!_"
And I shut the door and bolted it, b'ilin' with
rage, and came back to my poor Queen.
She was down on the floor, all huddled up in a
corner, moanin' and moanin', like a dumb beast
that has a death wound. I lifted her up, and
tried to soothe and quiet her,--she was
tremblin' all over,--but 't was hard work. Not
a word could I get out of her but "Devil!
Devil!" and then "Solomon!" over and over
again. I brought the Bible, and read her about
the Temple, and the knops and the flowers, and
the purple, and the gold dishes, till she was
quiet again; and then I put her to bed, poor
soul! though 't was only six o'clock, and sat
and sang "Jerusalem the Golden" till she
dropped off to sleep. I was b'ilin' mad still,
and besides I was afraid she'd have a fit o'
sickness, or turn ravin', after the fright, so
I didn't sleep much myself that night. Towards
mornin', however, I dropped off, and must have
slept sound; for when I woke it was seven
o'clock, the sun was up high, the door was
swingin' open, and the Queen o' Sheba was gone.
Don't ask me, little Dolly, how I felt, when I
found that poor creature was nowhere on the
place. I knew where to go, though. Something
told me, plain as words; and Bluff and I, we
made a bee-line for the Rollin' Dam woods. The
dog found her first. She had tried to get into
her hole, but the earth had caved in over it;
so she had laid down beside it, on the damp
ground, in her nightgown. Oh, dear! oh, dear!
How long she'd been there, nobody will ever
know. She was in a kind o' swoon, and I had to
carry her most o' the way, however I managed to
do it; but I was mortal strong in those days,
and she was slight and light, for all her bein'
tall. When I got her home and laid her in her
bed, I knowed she'd never leave it; and sure
enough, before night she was in a ragin' fever.
A week it lasted; and when it began to go down,
her life went with it. My poor Queen! she was
real gentle when the fiery heat was gone. She
lay there like a child, so weak and white. One
night, when I'd been singin' to her a spell,
she took this little bag from her neck, where
she'd allus worn it, under her clothes, and
giv' it to me.
"Faithful slave," she said,--she couldn't speak
above a whisper,--"King Solomon is comin' for
me to-night. I have had a message from him. I
leave you this as a token of my love and
gratitude. It is the Great Talisman, more
precious than gold or gems. Open it when I am
gone. And now, good slave, kiss me, for I would
sleep awhile."
I kissed my poor dear, and she dozed off
peaceful and happy. But all of a sudden she
opened her eyes with a start, and sat up in the
bed.
"Solomon!" she cried, and held out her arms
wide. "Solomon, my King!" and then fell back on
the piller, dead.
There, little Dolly! don't you cry, dear! 'T
was the best thing for the poor thing. I opened
the bag, when it was all over, and what do you
think I found? A newspaper slip, sayin', "Lost
at sea, on March 2, 18--, Solomon Marshall,
twenty-seven years," and a lock o' dark-brown
hair. Them was the Great Talisman. But if true
love and faith can make a thing holy, this poor
little bag is holy, and as such I've kept it.
There's your ma comin', Dolly. Put on your
bonnet, Honey, quick! And see here, dear! you
needn't tell her nothin' I said about Hezekiah
King, I clean forgot he was your grandfather.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Pronounced Kay-iry.