SUMMER DAYS IN POGANUC.
So passed Dolly's Fourth of July; a confused dream of glory and
patriotism, of wonderful sights and surprises--but, like a dream, it
all melted away.
New England life was too practical and laborious to give more than
one day to holiday performances, and with the night of the Fourth
the whole pageant vanished. Hiel's uniform, with its gold lace and
feathers, returned to the obscurity of Mother Jones's pillow-cases
and camphor-gum, and was locked away in secret places; and Hiel was
only a simple stage-driver, going forth on his route as aforetime.
So with the trappings of the Poganuc Rangers--who the day before had
glittered like so many knights-errant in the front of battle--all
were laid by in silent waiting, and the Poganuc Rangers rose at four
o'clock and put on their working clothes and cow-hide shoes, and
were abroad with their oxen. The shoe-maker and the carpenter, who
yesterday were transfigured in blue and gold, to-day were hammering
shoe-soles and planing boards as if no such thing had happened. In
the shadows of the night the cannon had vanished from the village
green and gone where it came from; the flag on the Court-house was
furled, and the world of Poganuc Center was again the same busy,
literal, work-a-day world as ever. Only Liph Kingsbury, who had
burned his hand with gunpowder in consequence of carrying too much
New England rum in his head, and one or two boys, who had met with a
sprain or bruise in the excitement of the day, retained any lasting
memorials of the celebration.
It is difficult in this our era of railroads and steam to give any
idea of the depths of absolute stillness and repose that brooded
in the summer skies over the wooded hills of Poganuc. No daily
paper told the news of distant cities. Summer traveling was done in
stages, and was long and wearisome, and therefore there was little
of that. Everybody staid at home, and expected to stay there the
year through. A journey from Poganuc to Boston or New York was more
of an undertaking in those days than a journey to Europe is in
ours. Now and then some of the great square houses on the street
of Poganuc Center received a summer visitor, and then everybody in
town knew it and knew all about it. The visitor's family, rank,
position in life, probable amount of property, and genealogy to
remote ancestors, were freely discussed and settled, till all Poganuc
was fully informed. The elect circle of Poganuc called on them, and
made stately tea-parties in their honor, and these entertainments
pleasantly rippled the placid surface of society. But life went on
there with a sort of dreamy stillness. The different summer flowers
came out in their successive ranks in the neatly-kept garden; roses
followed peonies, and white lilies came and went, and crimson and
white phloxes stood ranged in midsummer ranks, and the yellow tribes
of marigolds brought up the autumnal season. And over on the woody
hills around the town the spring tints deepened and grew dark in
summer richness, and then began breaking here and there into streaks
and flecks of gold and crimson, foretelling autumn. And there were
wonderful golden sunsets, and moonlight nights when the street of
Poganuc seemed overshot with a silver network of tracery like the
arches of some cathedral. The doors and windows of the houses stood
innocently open all night for the moon to shine in, and youths and
maidens walked and wandered and sentimentalized up and down the long,
dewy street, and nobody seemed to know how fast the short, beautiful
summer of those regions was passing away.
As to Dolly, summer was her time of life and joy; but it was not by
any means a joy unmixed.
Dolly's education was conducted on the good old-fashioned principle
that everyone must do his little part in the battle of life, and
that nobody was pretty enough or good enough to be kept merely for
ornamental purposes.
She was no curled darling, to be kept on exhibition in white dresses
and broad sashes, and she had been sedulously instructed in the
orthodoxy of Dr. Watts, that
"Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."
It was the duty of the good house-mother of those days to be so
much in advance of this unpleasant personage that there should be
no room for his temptations. Accordingly, any part of the numerous
household tasks of the Parsonage that could be trusted to a little
pair of hands were turned over to Dolly. In those days were none
of the thousand conveniences which now abridge the labors of the
housekeeper. Everything came in the rough, and had to be reduced to a
usable form in the household.
The delicate, smooth white salt which filled the cellars at the table
was prepared by Dolly's manipulation from coarse rock-salt crystals,
which she was taught to wash and dry, and pound and sift, till it
became of snowy fineness; and quite a long process it was. Then there
were spices to be ground, and there was coffee to be browned to the
exact and beautiful shade dear to household ideality; and Dolly could
do that.
Being a bright, enterprising little body, she did not so much object
to these processes, which rather interested her, but her very soul
was wearied within her at the drill of the long and varied sewing
lessons that were deemed indispensable to her complete education.
Pounding salt, or grinding spice, or beating eggs, or roasting
coffee, were endurable; but darning stockings and stitching
wristbands, and "scratching" gathers, were a weariness unto her
spirit. And yet it was only at the price of penances like these, well
and truly performed, that Dolly's golden _own_ hours of leisure were
given.
Most of her household tasks could be performed in the early morning
hours before school, and after school Dolly measured the height of
the afternoon sun with an avaricious eye. Would there be time enough
to explore the woody hills beyond Poganuc River before sundown? and
would they let her go?
For oh, those woods! What a world of fairyland, what a world of pure,
untold joy was there to Dolly! When she found her face fairly set
towards them, with leave to stay till sundown, and with Spring at her
heels, Dolly was as blissful, as perfectly happy, as a child can ever
be made by any one thing.
The sense of perfect freedom, the wonder, the curiosity, the vague
expectation of what she might find or see, made her heart beat
with pleasure. First came the race down through the tall, swaying
meadow-grass and white-hatted daisies to the Poganuc River--a brown,
clear, gurgling stream, wide, shallow, and garrulous, that might be
easily crossed on mossy stepping-stones. Here was a world of delight
to Dolly. Skipping from stone to stone, or reclining athwart some
great rock around which the brown waters rippled, she watched the
little fishes come and go, darting hither and thither like flecks of
silver. Down under the shade of dark hemlocks the river had worn a
deep pool where the translucent water lay dark and still; and Dolly,
climbing carefully and quietly to the rocky side, could lean over and
watch the slim, straight pickerel, holding themselves so still in the
water that the play of their gossamer fins made no ripple,--so still,
so apparently unwatchful and drowsy, that Dolly again and again
fancied she might slily reach down her little hand and take one out
of the water; but the moment the rosy finger-tips touched the wave,
with a flash, like a ray of light, the coveted prize was gone. There
was no catching a pickerel asleep, however quiet he might appear.
Yet, time after time, Dolly tried the experiment, burning with the
desire to win glory among the boys by bringing home an actual and
veritable pickerel of her own catching.
But there were other beauties, dryad treasures, more accessible. The
woods along the moist margin of the river were full of the pink and
white azalea, and she gathered besides the fragrant blossoms stores
of what were called "honeysuckle apples" that grew upon them--fleshy
exudations not particularly nice in flavor, but crisp, cool, and
much valued among children. There, too, were crimson wintergreen
berries, spicy in their sweetness, and the young, tender leaves of
the wintergreen, ranking high as an eatable dainty among little folk.
Dolly's basket was sure to fill rapidly when she set herself to
gathering these treasures, and the sun would be almost down before
she could leave the enchanted shades of the wood and come back to
real life again.
But Saturday afternoon was a sort of child's Paradise. No school was
kept, and even household disciplinarians recognized a reasonably
well-behaved child's right to a Saturday afternoon play-spell.
"Now, Dolly," had Nabby said to her the week before, "you be sure and
be a good girl, and do up all your stitching and get the stockings
mended afore Saturday comes, and then we'll take Saturday afternoon
to go a-huckleberrying up to Pequannock Rock; and we'll stop and see
Mis' Persis."
This, let it be known, was a programme to awaken Dolly's ambition.
Pequannock Rock was a distance which she never would be permitted
to explore alone, and Mis' Persis was to her imagination a most
interesting and stimulating personage. She was a widow, and the
story ran that her deceased husband had been an Indian--a story
which caused Dolly to regard her with a sort of awe, connecting her
with Cotton Mather's stories of war-whoops and scalping-knives, and
midnight horrors when houses were burned and children carried off to
Canada.
Nevertheless, Mis' Persis was an inoffensive and quite useful member
of society. She had her little house and garden, which she cultivated
with energy and skill. She kept her cow, her pig, her chickens, and
contrived always to have something to sell when she needed an extra
bit of coin. She was versed in all the Indian lore of roots and
herbs, and her preparations of these for medicinal purposes were
much in request. Among the farming population around, Mis' Persis
was held in respect as a medical authority, and her opinions were
quoted with confidence. She was also of considerable repute among
the best families of Poganuc as a filler of gaps such as may often
occur in household economy. There was nothing wanted to be done
that Mis' Persis could not do. She could wash, or iron, or bake,
or brew, or nurse the sick, as the case might require. She was, in
fact, one of the reserved forces of Poganuc society. She was a member
of Dr. Cushing's church, in good and regular standing, and, in her
way, quite devoted to her minister and church, and always specially
affable and gracious to Dolly.
This particular Saturday afternoon all the constellations were
favorable. Dolly was pronounced a good girl, her week's tasks well
performed; and never were dinner-dishes more rapidly whirled into
place than were Nabby's on that same afternoon; so that before three
o'clock the pair were well on their way to the huckleberry-field.
There, under the burning August sun, the ground shot up those ardent
flower-flames well called fire-lilies, and the wild roses showered
their deep pink petals as they pushed through the thickets, and the
huckleberry-bushes bent low under the weight of the great sweet
berries; and Dolly's cheeks were all a-flame, like the fire-lilies
themselves, with heat and enthusiasm as she gathered the purple
harvest into her basket. When the baskets were filled and Dolly had
gathered fire-lilies and wild roses more than she knew how to carry,
it was proposed to stop a little and rest, on the homeward route, at
Mis' Persis's cottage.
They found her sitting on her door-step, knitting. A little wiry,
swart, thin woman was she, alert in her movements, and quick and
decided of speech. Her black eyes had in them a latent fiery gleam
that suggested all the while that though pleased and pleasant at the
present moment Mis' Persis might be dangerous if roused, and Dolly
was always especially conciliatory and polite in her addresses to her.
On the present occasion Mis' Persis was delightfully hospitable. She
installed Dolly in a small splint-bottomed rocking-chair at the door,
and treated her to a cup of milk and a crisp cooky.
"Why, what a little girl you are to be so far from home!" she said.
"Oh, I don't mind," said Dolly; "I am never tired. I could pick
berries all day."
"But, sakes alive! ain't you afraid of snakes?" said Mis' Persis.
"Why, my sister got dreadfully bit by a rattlesnake when she wa'n't
much older 'n you," and Mis' Persis shook her head weirdly.
"Oh, dear me! Did it kill her?" said Dolly, in horror.
"No; she lived many a year after," said Mis' Persis, with a reticent
air, as one who could say more if properly approached.
"Do, do tell us all about it; do, Mis' Persis. I never saw a
rattlesnake. I never heard one. I shouldn't know what it was if I saw
one."
"You wouldn't ever forget it if you did," said Mis' Persis,
oracularly.
"Oh, please, Mis' Persis, do tell about it," said Dolly, eagerly.
"Where were you, and how did it happen?"
"Well," said Mis' Persis, "it was when I was a girl and lived over in
Danbury. There's where I come from. My sister Polly and me, we went
out to High Ledge one afternoon after huckleberries, and as we was
makin' our way through some low bushes we heard the sharpest noise,
jest like a locust screechin', right under foot, and jest then Polly
she screams out, 'Oh, Sally,' says she, 'somethin's bit me!' and I
looked down and saw a great rattlesnake crawlin' off through the
bushes--a great big fellow, as big as my wrist.
"'Well,' says I, 'Polly, I must get you home quick as I can;' and
we set down our pails and started for home. It was a broilin' hot
day, and we hed a'most a mile to walk, and afore we got home I hed
to carry her. Her tongue was swelled so that it hung out of her
mouth; her neck and throat was all swelled, and spotted like the
snake. Oh, it was dreadful! We got her into the house, and on the
bed, and sent for the Indian doctor--there ain't nobody knows about
them snake-bites but Indians. Well, he come and brought a bag of
rattlesnake-weed with him, and he made poultices of it and laid all
over her stomach and breast and hands and feet, and he made a tea of
it and got some down her throat, and kep' a feedin' on it to her till
she got so she could swallow. That's the way she got well."
"Oh, Mis' Persis," said Dolly, after a pause of awe and horror, "what
is rattlesnake-weed?"
"Why, it's a worse poison than the snake-bite, and it kills the
snake-poison 'cause it's stronger. Wherever the snakes grow, there
the rattlesnake-weed grows. The snakes know it themselves, and when
they fight and bite each other they go and eat the weed and it cures
'em. Here's some of it," she said, going to the wall of the room
which was all hung round with dried bunches of various herbs--"here's
some I got over on Poganuc Mountain, if you ever should want any."
"Oh, I hope I never shall," said Dolly. "Nabby, only think! What if
there had been a snake in those bushes!"
"Well, you can always know," said Mis' Persis, "if you hear somethin'
in the bushes jest like a locust, sharp and sudden--why, you'd better
look afore you set your foot down. But we don't hev no rattlesnakes
round this way. I've beat all these lots through and never seen
tail of one. This 'ere ain't one o' their places; over to Poganuc
Mountain, now, a body has to take care how they step."
"Do you suppose, Mis' Persis," said Dolly, after a few moments of
grave thought, "do you suppose God made that weed grow on purpose to
cure rattlesnake bites?"
"Of course he did," said Mis' Persis, as decidedly as if she had been
a trained theologian, "that's what rattlesnake-weed was made fer; any
fool can see that."
"It seems to me," said Dolly, "that it would have been better not to
have the snakes, and then people wouldn't be bit at all--wouldn't it?"
"Oh, we don't know everything," said Mis' Persis; "come to that,
there's a good many things that nobody knows what they's made fer.
But the Indians used to say there was some cure grew for every
sickness if only our eyes was opened to see it, and I expect it's so."
"Come, Dolly," said Nabby, "the sun is gettin' pretty low; I must
hurry home to get supper."
Just then the bell of the distant meeting-house gave three tolling
strokes, whereat all the three stopped talking and listened intently.
Of all the old Puritan customs none was more thrillingly impressive
than this solemn announcement of a death, and this deliberate tolling
out of the years of a finished life.
It was a sound to which every one, whether alone or in company,
at work or in play, stopped to listen, and listened with a nervous
thrill of sympathy.
"I wonder who that is?" said Nabby.
"Perhaps it's Lyddy Bascom," said Mis' Persis, "she's been down with
typhus fever."
The bell now was rapidly tolling one, two, three, four, and all the
company counted eagerly up to sixteen, seventeen, when Mis' Persis
interposed.
"No, 'taint Lyddy; it's goin' on," and they counted and counted, and
still the bell kept tolling till it had numbered eighty. "It's old
Granny Moss," said Mis' Persis decisively; "she's ben lyin' low some
time. Well, she's in heaven now; the better for her."
"Ah, I'm glad she's in heaven," said Dolly, with a shivering sigh;
"she's all safe now."
"Oh, yes, she's better off," said Nabby, getting up and shaking her
dress as if to shake off the very thought of death. A warm, strong,
glowing creature she was, as full of earth-life as the fire-lilies
they had been gathering. She seemed a creature made for this world
and its present uses, and felt an animal repulsion to the very
thought of death.
"Come, Dolly," she said, briskly, as she counted the last toll, "we
can't wait another minute."
"Well, Dolly," said Mis' Persis, "tell your mother I'm a comin' this
year to make up her candles for her, and the work sha'n't cost her a
cent. I've been tryin' out a lot o' bayberry wax to put in 'em and
make 'em good and firm."
"I'm sure you are very good," said Dolly, with instinctive politeness.
"I want to do my part towards supportin' my minister," said Mis'
Persis, "and that's what I hev to give."
"I'll tell my mother, and I know she'll thank you," answered Dolly,
as they turned homeward.
The sun was falling lower and lower toward the west. The long shadows
of the two danced before them on the dusty road.
After walking half a mile they came to a stone culvert, where a
little brawling stream crossed the road. The edges of the brook were
fringed with sweet-flag blades waving in the afternoon light, and the
water gurgled and tinkled pleasantly among the stones.
"There, Dolly," said Nabby, seating herself on a flat stone by the
brook, "I'm goin' to rest a minute, and you can find some of them
sweet-flag 'graters' if you want." This was the blossom-bud of the
sweet flag, which when young and tender was reckoned a delicacy among
omnivorous children.
"Why, Nabby, I thought you were in such a hurry to get home," said
Dolly, gathering the blades of sweet-flag and looking for the
"graters."
"No need of hurry," said Nabby, "the sun's an hour and a half high,"
and she leaned over the curb of the bridge and looked at herself in
the brook. She took off her sun-bonnet and fanned herself with it.
Then she put a bright spotted fire-lily in her hair and watched the
effect in the water. It certainly was a brilliant picture, framed by
the brown stones and green rushes of the brook.
"Oh, Nabby," cried Dolly, "look! There's the stage and Hiel coming
down the hill!"
"Sure e-nough!" said Nabby, in a tone of proper surprise, as if she
had expected anything else to happen on that road at that time of the
afternoon. "As true as I live and breathe it is Hiel and the stage,"
she added, "and not a creature in it. Now, we'll get a ride home."
Nabby's sun-bonnet hung on her arm; her hair fell in a tangle of
curls around her flushed cheeks as she stood waiting for Hiel to come
up. Altogether she was a picture.
That young man took in the points of the view at once and vowed in
his heart that Nabby was the handsomest girl upon his beat.
"Waitin' for me to come along?" he said as he drew up.
"Well, you're sort o' handy now and then," said Nabby. "We've been
huckleberrying all the afternoon, and are tired."
Hiel got down and opened the stage door and helped the two to get in
with their berries and flowers.
"You owe me _one_ for this," said Hiel when he handed in Nabby's
things.
"Well, there's one," said Nabby, laughing and striking him across the
eyes with her bunch of lilies.
"Never mind, miss. I shall keep the account," said Hiel; and he
gathered up the reins, resumed his high seat, made his grand entrance
into Poganuc, and drew up at the parson's door.
For a week thereafter it was anxiously discussed in various circles
how Nabby and Dolly came to be in that stage. Where had they been?
How did it happen? The obscurity of the event kept Hiel on the brain
of several damsels who had nothing better to talk about.
And the day closed with a royal supper of huckleberries and milk. So
went a specimen number of Dolly's Saturday afternoons.