deliberately, "I do not know where that chart is."
Another lie? Oh, no! When a thing is dust and ashes, who knows where it
is?
But the answer did not satisfy Mary. She continued to look at him as a
mother might look at a naughty child.
"John," she said, "did you--I believe--yes, I know you did. Oh, John!
How could you? What made you do it?"
"Yes, I did, and I'd do it again," said John doggedly. "Do you think I'm
goin' to have the neighbors tormentin' the life out of you on account of
that--"
He stopped short, for a damp towel was against his face, and Mary's bare
arms were around his neck.
"Oh, John! And that was the reason you asked Sally to come back. I've
been feeling so hurt, for I thought it looked as if you didn't care for
me. I might have known better. Please forgive me. I'll never think such
a thing of you again."
There was something damp on the other side of his face now, and reaching
around John drew the tired wife down on the bench beside him and let her
sob out her joy and her weariness on his shoulder.
"But it was a help," she sighed at last, wiping her eyes on her kitchen
apron. "And I don't know how I'm going to do my spring sewing without
it."
John stretched out his right leg, thrust his hand into his pocket, and
pulled out a ragged leather purse, not too well filled.
"What's mine's yours, Mary," he said, tossing it into her lap. "Get a
seamstress to do your sewing. If I catch you at that machine again, I'll
make kindlin' wood and old iron out of it, and if that agent ever comes
on the place again with his blamed charts, there's a loaded shotgun
waitin' for him."
OLD MAHOGANY
"Come in, Maria Marvin, come in. No, it ain't too early for visitors.
I've jest finished sweepin' and dustin', and that's exactly the time I
want to see company; and when company comes at exactly the right time,
they get a double welcome from me. Have this chair, and I'll lay your
bonnet right here on the table.
"Yes, I've been refurnishin' some. Got rid o' all the old plunder that
'd been accumulatin' under this roof ever since Noah built his ark, and
bought a spick and span new outfit, golden oak every bit of it, and
right up to day before yesterday, and to-day, and day after to-morrow,
when it comes to style. I reckon Mother and grandmother and
great-grandmother have turned over in their graves, but I can't help it.
That old mahogany furniture has been my cross, and I've borne it
faithfully from a child up, and when I saw a chance o' layin' it down, I
didn't stop to think what my ancestors would say about it; I jest
dropped the cross and drew one good, long breath.
"You'd think I'd hate to part with the family belongin's? Well, you
wouldn't think so if you knew how much trouble these same belongin's
have been to me all my born days. You know everybody has idols. Some
women make idols of their children, and now and then you'll find a woman
bowin' down and worshippin' her husband, but Mother's idols were chairs
and tables and bedsteads. You've noticed, haven't you, that there's
always one child in a family that'll get nearly everything belongin' to
the family? They'll claim this and that and the other, and the rest o'
the children will give in to 'em jest to keep from havin' a quarrel.
Well, Mother was the claimin' one in our family, and whatever she
claimed she got, and whatever she got she held on to it. If Mother'd
been content with the things that her mother handed down to her, it
wouldn't 'a' been so bad, but there never was a member o' the family
died that Mother didn't manage to get hold o' some of the belongin's. If
there was a sale, she was the first one there, and she'd take her seat
right under the auctioneer's hammer, and if she made up her mind to have
an old chair or an old table, why, nobody ever could outbid her; and in
the course o' time the house got to be more like an old junk shop than
a home. I used to tell Mother she got everything belongin' to her dead
kinfolks except their tombstones, and I wouldn't 'a' been surprised any
day to come home and find one or two nice old gravestones settin' up on
the mantel-piece for ornaments, or propped up handy in a corner.
"And every piece of that old mahogany, Maria, was polished till you
could see your face in it. The first thing after breakfast, Mother'd get
a piece o' chamois skin or an old piece o' flannel, and she'd go around
rubbin' up her chairs and tables and lookin' for scratches on 'em; and
as soon as I was old enough to hold a rag, I had to do a certain amount
o' polishin' every day, and when Mother's rheumatism settled in her
arms, all the polishin' fell to me. It looked like the furniture was on
Mother's mind night and day, and it was: 'Samantha, have you polished
your grandfather's secretary?' 'Samantha, don't forget to rub off the
parlor center-table.' No matter what I wanted to do, I couldn't do it
till that old furniture was attended to. When I look back, Maria, it
seems to me I've been livin' all my life in the valley of the shadow of
old mahogany. You know how it is when the sun comes out after a long
spell of cloudy weather. Well, that's jest the way it was the day that
old mahogany furniture went out o' the house, and this pretty yellow
furniture came in. I really believe that was the happiest day of my
life.
"Yes, there's a heap of associations connected with old furniture, and
Mother's old furniture had more associations than most anybody's. I
believe there was enough associations to 'a' filled every one o' the
bureau drawers, and if you'd put the associations on the tables or on
the beds, there wouldn't 'a' been room there for anything else. And
that's exactly why I wanted to get rid o' that mahogany furniture. I
believe I could 'a' stood the furniture, if it hadn't been for the
associations. What good did it do me to look at that old four-poster
that used to stand in the front room up-stairs and think o' the time I
laid on that bed six mortal weeks, when I had typhoid fever? What
pleasure could I get out o' that old secretary that used to stand
yonder, when every time I looked at it I could see Grandfather Stearns
sittin' there writin' a mile-long sermon on election and predestination,
and me--a little child then--knowin' I'd have to sit up in church the
next Sunday and listen to that sermon, when I wanted to be out-doors
playin'?
"And besides my own associations, there was Mother's. She'd point out
that old armchair that used to stand by the west window and tell how
Uncle Abner Stearns set in that chair for six years after he was
paralyzed; and that old haircloth sofa,--you remember that, don't
you?--she'd tell how Grandmother Stearns was sittin' on that when she
had her stroke o' apoplexy; and betwixt the furniture and the
associations, it was jest like livin' in a cemetery. I told Mother one
day that I was tired o' sittin' in my great-grandfather's chairs, and
sleepin' on my great-grandfather's bed, and eatin' out o' my
great-grandmother's china and silver, and Mother says: 'Samantha, you
never did have proper respect for your family.' But, Maria Marvin, I
tell you as I told Mother, I'm somethin' more than a Member of the
Family: I'm Myself, and I want to live my own life, and I've found out
that if people live their own lives, they've got to get from under the
shadow of their ancestors' tombstones.
"What did I do with the old mahogany? Sold it. That's what I did. And if
you've got any old stuff up in the garret or down in the cellar or out
in the woodshed, get it out right away, for no matter how old and
battered and broken up it is, you can sell it for a good price. They
tell me, Maria, that new-fashioned things is all out o' fashion, and
old-fashioned things is in the fashion. Curious, ain't it? All my life I
been findin' fault with Mother because she was always hoardin' up old
family relics, and now all the rich folks are huntin' around in every
crack and corner for old mahogany and old cherry and old
walnut,--anything, jest so it's old.
"You've heard about that rich lady that's bought the old Schuyler place?
Here's her card with her name on it:
_Mrs. Edith A. Van Arnheim._
"Well, last Monday mornin' about this time, jest as I was finishin' up
my mornin' work, I heard a knockin' at the front door, and when I opened
it there stood a strange lady all dressed in silks and satins and a
young girl with her. I said 'Good mornin',' and she said: 'Does Miss
Samantha Mayfield live here?' And I says: 'It's Samantha Mayfield
you're talkin' to.' And she says: 'I'm Mrs. Van Arnheim. I beg your
pardon for calling so early, but--have you any old furniture?' And I
says; 'Old furniture? Why, I haven't got anything but old furniture.'
And they both smiled real pleasant, and the young girl said: 'Oh, please
let us look at it! I do love old furniture.' And I says: 'Walk right in,
and look all you please. Furniture never was hurt by bein' looked at.'
"Well, they both walked in and looked around, and for a minute neither
one of 'em spoke; and then the young girl drew a long breath, and says
she: 'Did you _ever_ see _anything_ so _perfectly gorgeous_?'
"And she rushed up to Great-grandfather Stearns's secretary like she was
goin' to hug it, and says she: 'Heppelwhite! Genuine Heppelwhite! Look
at those lovely panes of glass!' And then she flew over to that old
bow-legged chair that stood yonder, and says she: 'Chippendale! Upon my
word! Was there ever anything as exquisite as those legs!'
"And she peeped into the dining-room and give a little scream, and
called her mother to come and see that old battered-up thing that
great-aunt Matildy used to keep her china and glass in, and she called
it 'a real Sheraton cabinet', and she went on over 'the grain of the
wood' and the 'color of the wood' till you'd 'a' thought that old press
was somethin' that'd come straight down from heaven. The lady didn't say
much, but she looked mighty pleased, and she went around touchin' things
with the tips of her fingers and examinin' the legs and arms and backs
of things to see if they were in good repair. Pretty soon she turned
around to me and says sort o' wishful and hesitatin': 'I suppose there's
no use asking you if you'd sell any of this furniture, Miss Mayfield.'
And I says: 'What makes you suppose that?' And she says: 'Because people
are always very much attached to their old family furniture, and even if
they don't care for it and are not using it, I find they don't care to
let any one else have it.' And I says: 'Well, there's nothin' of the dog
in the manger about me, ma'am, and I'm not attached to my old furniture;
it's been attached to me, and I'd be thankful to anybody that would help
me get loose from it.'
"She laughed real hearty, and the young girl says: 'How perfectly
lovely!' And then we went through the parlor and the hall and the
dining-room, they pickin' out the furniture they wanted, while I set
the prices on it. And when we got through the young girl says: 'Would
you let us go up-stairs?'
"So up-stairs we went, and there wasn't a four-poster bed or a rickety
table or a broken-legged chair that she didn't say was 'darling' or
'dear' or 'gorgeous' or 'heavenly'; and they wanted pretty near
everything that was up-stairs. When we got through pricin' these, the
lady says: 'Is this all the old mahogany you have, Miss Mayfield?' and
then I happened to think o' the garret. I hadn't set foot up there for
ten years or more, but I remembered there was a lot o' old truck that
Mother didn't have room for down-stairs, and it'd been stored away there
ever since goodness knows when. So up to the garret we went, they
holdin' up their silk skirts, and me apologizin' for the dirt. They
peered around, and didn't seem to mind a bit when they got their kid
gloves all soiled handlin' the old junk that was settin' around in every
hole and corner. And the young girl, she'd give a little scream every
time she dragged out a table or a chair, and says she: 'Miss Mayfield,
this is the most interesting place I ever was in.' And I says: 'If
you're interested in dirt and rubbish, I reckon this is an interestin'
place.'
"Well, if you'll believe me, Maria Marvin, they wanted everything in
that garret, even down to the old pewter warmin'-pan that used to belong
to Mother's sister Amanda, and that she got from her husband's family,
the Hicks. And the young girl looked out o' the gable window at the
south end, and says she: 'Oh! what a lovely old gyarden!' And the lady
dropped the old candlestick she was lookin' at, and come and looked over
the young girl's shoulder. The gyarden did look mighty pretty with the
roses and honeysuckles and pinks all in bloom, and the lady said: 'Oh!
how beautiful! How beautiful!' and all the rest of the time we were up
in the garret, she stood there at the window and leaned out and looked
at the gyarden, and after that she didn't seem to care much about the
furniture. She jest let the young girl do the buyin' and the talkin',
and once I heard her sigh a long, deep sigh, jest as if she was thinkin'
about somethin' that happened a long time ago. And when we went
down-stairs, she asked me to give her some roses and honeysuckles; and
while I was gatherin' a big bunch of Mother's damask roses for her, she
was walkin' up and down the paths, gatherin' a flower here and a leaf
there, but to look at her face, Maria, you'd 'a' thought that she was
walkin' in a graveyard and every flower-bed was a grave; and once, when
she stooped down and broke off a piece of ambrosia and smelt it, I could
see there was tears in her eyes. Well, Maria, they were jest as crazy
about old-fashioned flowers as they were about old-fashioned furniture.
I pulled a big bunch o' damask roses for both of 'em, and they said they
wanted roots of all the old flowers,--Mother's hundred-leaf rose and the
Maiden's Blush and the cinnamon rose, and all the spring flowers and
even the tansy and sage. The lady said they could buy all these things,
but that she believed the flowers you got out of old-fashioned gyardens
like mine smelled sweeter and bloomed better than anything you'd buy.
And she's goin' to give me a lot of new-fashioned flowers to freshen up
my old gyarden, and with new furniture in my house and new flowers in my
gyarden, why, I feel like I'm takin' a new start in life. Why, actually,
Maria, I've been jest as tired of the old flowers as I've been of the
old beds and tables,--the same old crocuses and buttercups and hyacinths
and chrysanthemums comin' up every spring in the same old place, in the
same old beds, and the same old weeds to be pulled up every year.
"Maybe you think it's wicked in me, Maria, to feel the way I do about
old things. Mother always thought so, and I remember once hearin' her
tell the minister that Samantha was jest like the Athenians in the
Bible, always runnin' after some new thing; and she was always sighin'
and sayin': 'Samantha, you have no reverence in your nature.' And
finally, one day, I said to her: 'Mother, I've got jest as much
reverence as you have. The difference between us is that you reverence
old things, and I reverence new ones.'
"But I mustn't forget to tell you about the old cradle, Maria. That
cradle was Mother's special idol. It was a little, heavy, wooden thing,
so black with age that you couldn't tell what kind o' wood it was made
out of, and Mother said the first Stearnses that ever come to this
country brought that cradle with 'em in the ship they sailed in. Well,
that little old cradle was sittin' way back in the garret on top o' the
old oak bed-clothes chest that Grandmother Stearns packed her quilts in,
when she moved from Connecticut and come to Ohio. And the young girl
spied that cradle, and says she: 'Oh! What a darling cradle!' And then
she stopped and blushed as red as a rose, and the lady jest smiled and
says: 'Would you sell me the little cradle, Miss Mayfield?' And I says:
'You may have it and welcome. If there is anything an old maid hasn't
any use for, it's a cradle.'
"They say the young girl is goin' to be married soon, and I reckon some
day that pretty young thing's children'll be lyin' in the old Stearns
cradle; and a lot o' that old mahogany, they tell me, goes to the
furnishin' of her room. Maybe she'll be writin' her letters at
Grandfather's secretary, and sleepin' on Grandmother's old canopy bed.
It don't seem right, Maria, for a pretty young bride to be beginnin'
life with a lot o' dead folks' furniture; but then, she won't have the
associations, and it's the associations that make old furniture so
unhealthy to have around the house.
"I reckon I must be some kin to the tribe o' Indians I was readin' about
in my missionary paper last Sunday. Every time anybody dies, they burn
everything that belonged to the dead person, and then they burn down the
place he died in and build a new one. That seems right wasteful, don't
it, Maria? But it's a good deal wholesomer to do that way, than to
clutter up your house with dead folks' belongin's like we do. And that's
why I'm gettin' so much pleasure out o' this new oak furniture. It's
mine, jest mine, and nobody else's. It didn't come down to me from my
great-grandmother; I went to the store and picked it out myself. No dead
person's hands ever touched it, and there's not a single association
hangin' anywheres around it.
"Yes, Maria, I got a good price for everything I sold. Because I didn't
want it, that's no reason why I should give it away. I could see the
lady wanted it mighty bad, so I valued it accordin' to what I thought
it'd be worth to her, and when I saw how willin' she was to pay my
price, I was right sorry I hadn't asked more.
"She was one o' the high-steppers, that lady was, but as sweet-talkin'
and nice-mannered as you please, and when she wrote out the check and
handed it to me, she says: 'When can I get the furniture?' 'Right now,'
says I, 'if you want it right now.' 'But,' says she, 'what will you do
without furniture? Hadn't you better get in your new beds and chairs and
tables before I take the old ones away?' And I says: 'Don't you worry
about me, ma'am; it's only four miles from here to town, and by the
time you get this old mahogany rubbish out, I'll have my new golden oak
things in; so don't you hold back on my account.'
"And she looked at me in a curious sort o' way, and says she: 'Don't you
mind givin' up this old mahogany? Would you just as soon have new golden
oak furniture?' And I says: 'No, I wouldn't jest as soon; I'd a good
deal rather have it.'
"And she laughed real pleasant, and says she: 'I'm so glad you feel that
way about it. I always feel guilty when I buy old furniture that the
owner is unwilling to part with, no matter how good a price I pay for
it.' And I says: 'Well, you can have a clear conscience in the matter of
buyin' my old furniture. This check and the golden oak I'm goin' to buy
with it is perfectly satisfactory to me.'
"And what do you reckon I'm goin' to do with that money, Maria? I reckon
people think that because I've lived here all my life I've enjoyed doin'
so. But I haven't. I've been jest as tired of Goshen neighborhood as I
ever was of my old mahogany,--the old roads and the old fences and the
old farms,--yes, and the old people, too. Maria, I get tired of
everything, even myself, and now I'm goin' to travel and see the world,
that's what I'm goin' to do. What's the use in livin' sixty or seventy
years in a world like this and never seein' it. Why, you might as well
be a worm in a hickory nut. And, Maria, I take out my old geography
sometimes, when I'm sittin' here alone in the evenin', and I look at the
map of North America, and there's the big Atlantic ocean on one side and
the big Pacific ocean on the other; and all the big rivers and lakes in
between flowin' down to the big Gulf of Mexico; and here I am stuck fast
in this little old place, and the most water I've ever seen is Drake's
Creek and Little Barren River! And I look on the map at the mountains
runnin' up and down this country, the Rocky Mountains and the
Alleghanies and all the rest of 'em, and the highest ground I've ever
seen is Pilot Knob! I'm not afraid to die, Maria, but when I think of
all the things that's to be seen in this world, and how I'm not seein'
'em, I just pray: 'Lord, don't let me go to the next world till I've
seen somethin' of this one.' And now my prayer's answered. I don't know
whether I'll go east or west or north or south; but I'm goin' to see the
ocean, and I'm goin' to see the mountains before I die, all on account
o' that mahogany furniture; I never supposed the day would come when
I'd be thankful for that old plunder; but sometimes, Maria, the things
we don't want turn out to be our greatest blessin's.
"I reckon it's mighty poor taste on my part to want new furniture in
place o' that old mahogany. All the time I was showin' 'em around, the
lady and her daughter kept sayin': 'How artistic!' 'What classic lines!'
and I reckon the reason they looked at me so curious when I said I'd
rather have this golden oak, was that they was pityin' me for not
knowin' what's 'artistic.' Now, I may not be artistic, Maria, but I've
got a taste of my own, and what's the use in havin' a taste of your own
unless you use it? I might jest as well try to use somebody else's eyes
as to use somebody else's taste. That old mahogany pleased my
grandmother's taste and my mother's taste, but it don't please mine; and
I'm no more bound to use my grandmother's old furniture than I am to
wear my grandmother's old clothes.