A DAY WITH THE SHAKERS.
Three weeks after Mr. Joyce's visit, the long summer vacation
began. The children liked school, but none the less did they
rejoice over the coming of vacation. It brought a sense of
liberty, of long-days-all-their-own-to-do-as-they-liked-with,
which it was worth going to school the rest of the year to feel.
Each new morning was like a separate beautiful gift, brought and
laid in their hands by an invisible somebody, who must be kind
and a friend, since he continually did this delightful thing for
them.
One hot August afternoon, Eyebright and two or three of her special
cronies had gone for coolness to the ice-house, a place which they had
used as a playroom before on especially sultry days. It was a large,
square underground cave, with a shingled roof set over it, whose eaves
rested on the ground. The ice when first put in, filled all the space
under the roof, and it was necessary to climb up to reach the top
layer; later, ice and ground were on a level, but by August so much
ice had been used or had melted away, that a ladder was wanted to help
people down to the surface. The girls had left the door a little open,
but still the place was dark, and they could only dimly see the tin
chest in the corner where Wealthy kept her marketing, and the shapes
of two or three yellow crocks which lay half buried, their round lids
looking like the caps of droll little drowning Chinamen.
It was so hot outside, that the dullness of the ice was as refreshing
as very cold water is to people who have been walking in the sun. The
girls drew long breaths of relief as they entered. Such a sharp change
from heat to cold is not quite safe, and I imagine Wealthy would
probably have had a word to say on the subject, had she spied them
going into the ice-house; but Wealthy happened to be looking another
way that afternoon, so she did not interfere; and as, strange to say,
it harmed nobody that time, we need not discuss the wisdom of the
proceeding, only don't any of you who read this go and sit in an
ice-house without getting leave from someone wiser than yourselves.
"Oh, this is delightful," said Romaine. "It's just like the North Pole
and the Arctic regions which Pa read about in the book. Don't you come
here sometimes and play shipwreck and polar bears, Eyebright? I should
think you would."
"We did once, but Harry Prime broke a butter-jar, and Wealthy was as
mad as hops, and said we must never play here again, and I must never
let another boy come into the ice-house. She didn't say we girls
mustn't come, though, and I'm glad she didn't; for it's lovely in hot
weather, I think."
"I wish _we_ had an ice-house," sighed Kitty Bury, "you do have such
lots of nice things, Eyebright, ice-houses and hay-lofts and a great
big garret, and a room to yourself; I wish I was an only child."
"I'd rather have some brothers and sisters than all the ice-houses in
creation," said Eyebright, who never had agreed with Kitty as to the
advantages of being 'only.' "It's a great deal nicer."
"That's because you don't know any thing about it. Brothers and
sisters are nice enough sometimes, but other times they're nothing but
a plague," snapped Kitty, who seemed out of sorts for some reason or
other; "you can't imagine what a bother Sarah Jane is to me. She's
always taking my things, and turning my drawers over, and tagging
round after me when I don't want her; and if I bolt the door, and try
to get a little peace and quiet, she comes and bangs, and says it's
her room too, and I've no business to lock her out; and then mother
takes her part, and it isn't nice a bit. I would a great deal rather
be an only child than have Sarah Jane."
"But don't you have splendid times at night and in the morning? I
always thought it must be so nice to wake up and find another girl
there ready to play and talk." Eyebright's tone was a little wistful.
"Well, it's nice _sometimes_," admitted Kitty.
Just then the door at the top of the ladder opened, and a fresh face
peeped in.
"Oh, it's Molly Prime," they all cried. "Here we are, Molly, come
along."
Molly scrambled down the ladder.
"I guessed where you were," she said. "Wealthy didn't know, so I took
care not to say a word to her, but just crept round and looked in. Oh,
girls! what do you think is going to happen?--something nice."
"What?"
"Miss Fitch is going to have a picnic and take us to the Shakers."
The Shaker settlement was about ten miles from Tunxet. I am not sure
that I have remembered to tell you that Tunxet was the name of the
place where Eyebright and the other children lived, but it was, Tunxet
Village. They were used to see the stout, sober-looking brethren in
their broad-brimmed hats, driving about the place in wagons and
selling vegetables, cheese, and apple-butter. But, as it happened,
none of the children had ever visited the home of the community, and
Molly's news produced a great excitement.
"Goody! goody!" they all cried, "when are we going, Molly, and how did
you know?"
"Miss Fitch told father. She came to borrow our big wagon, and Ben to
drive, and Pa said she could have it and welcome, because he thinks
ever so much of Miss Fitch, and so does mother. We are going on
Friday, and we are not to carry any thing to eat, because we're sure
to get a splendid dinner over there. Mother says nobody makes such
good things as the Shakers do. Won't it be lovely? All the school is
going, little ones and all, except Washington Wheeler, and he can't,
because he's got the measles."
"Oh, poor little Washington, that's too bad," said Eyebright, "but I'm
too glad for any thing that we're going. I always did want to see the
Shakers. Wealthy went once, and she told me about it. She says they're
the cleanest people in the world, and that you might eat off their
kitchen floor."
"Well, if Wealthy says that, you may be sure it is true," put in Laura
Wheelwright. "Ma declares _she's_ the cleanest person she ever saw."
"Oh, Wealthy says the Shakers wouldn't call her clean a bit," replied
Eyebright. "They'd never eat off _her_ floor, she says."
"Shall we really have to eat off a floor?" inquired Bessie, anxiously.
"Oh, no. That's only a way of saying very clean indeed!" explained
Eyebright.
All was expectation from that time onward till Friday came. The
children were afraid it might rain, and watched the clouds anxiously.
Thursday evening brought a thunder-storm, and many were the groans and
sighs; but next morning dawned fresh and fair, with clear sunshine,
and dust thoroughly laid on the roads, so that every thing seemed to
smile on the excursion. There was but one discord in the general joy,
which was that poor little Washington Wheeler must be left behind,
with his measles and his disappointment. Eyebright felt so sorry for
him that she told Wealthy she was afraid she shouldn't enjoy herself;
but bless her! no sooner were they fairly off, than she forgot
Washington and every thing else, except the nice time they were
having; and neither she nor any one beside noticed the very red and
very tear-stained little face, pressed against the pane of the upper
window of Mr. Wheeler's house, to watch the big wagon roll through the
village.
Such a big wagon, and packed so very full! There were twenty-three of
them, including Miss Fitch, and Ben, the driver, and how they all got
in is a mystery to this day. The big girls held the little ones in
their laps, the boys were squeezed into the bottom, which was made
soft with straw, and somehow every body did have a place, though how,
I can't explain. The road was new to them after the first two or three
miles, and a new road is always exciting, especially when, as this
did, it winds and turns, now in the woods, and now out, now sunshiny,
and now shady, and does not give you many chances to look ahead and
see what you are coming to. They passed several farmhouses, where boys
whom they had never seen before ran out and raised a shout at the
sight of the wagon and its merry load. A horse in a field, who looked
like a very tame, good-natured horse indeed, took a fancy to them, and
trotted alongside till stopped by a fence. Then he flung up his head
and whinnied, as if calling them to come back, which made the children
laugh. Soon after that they reached a bit of woodland, where trees
arched over the road and made it cool and shady, and there they saw a
squirrel, running just ahead of the wagon over the pine needles. He
did not seem to notice them at first, but the boys whooped and
hurrahed, and _then_ he was off in a minute, flashing up a tree-trunk
like a streak of striped lightning. This was delightful; and no less
so a flight of crows which passed overhead, cawing, and flying so low
that the children could see every feather in their bodies, which shone
in the sun like burnished green-black jet, and the glancing of their
thievish eyes.
"Going to steal from some farmer's wheat-crop," said Miss Fitch, and
she repeated these verses about a crow, which amused the children
greatly.
"Where are you bound to, you sooty-black crow?
What is that noise which you make as you go?
You are a sad wicked thief, as I know,
Held by no honesty, keeping no law--
What do you say, sir?" The crow he said--
"Caw."
"Corn is still green, oh, you naughty, bad crow,
Wheat is not ripe in the meadow below.
What is your errand? I think it is low
Thus to be stuffing and cramming your maw,
Robbing the farmers!--" The crow he said--
"Caw."
"Bring me my gun. Now you sinful old crow,
Right at your back I take aim as you go.
You are a thief and the honest man's foe!
Therefore I shoot you." Click! Bang!--but, oh pshaw!
Off flew the crow, and he laughed and said--
"Caw."
By the time that the children had done giggling over the crow-rhymes,
the Shaker village was in sight, looking, against its back-ground of
green trees, like a group of nice yellow cheeses,--only the cheeses
were not round. All the buildings were cream-colored, and seemed
freshly painted, they were so very clean. The windows had no shutters,
but inside some of them hung blue paper shades to keep out the sun.
Every thing looked thrifty and in excellent order. The orchard trees
were heavy with half-grown apples and pears; the grass fields had been
newly cut, and nothing could be imagined neater than the vegetable
gardens which lay on one side of the houses. All the green things
stood in precise straight rows,--every beet, and carrot, and cucumber
with his hands in his own pocket, so to speak; none of that reaching
about and intruding on neighboring premises which most vegetables
indulge in; but every one at home, with a sedate air, and minding his
own business. Not a single squash-vine could be detected tickling
another squash-vine; each watermelon lay in the middle of his hill
with a solemn expression on his large face; the tomatoes looked
ashamed of being red; and only a suit of drab apiece seemed wanting,
to make the pumpkins as respectably grave as the other members of the
community. Two small boys, in wide-brimmed hats and legs of discreet
tint, were weeding these decorous vegetables. They raised their heads
and took one good stare as the big wagon rattled past, then they
lowered them again, and went on with their work, laying the pig-weeds,
which they pulled out of the ground, in neat little piles along the
garden walk.
At the door of the principal building, a stout, butternut-colored
Elder stood waiting, as if to learn their business.
"We have driven over to see your village," said Miss Fitch, in her
pleasant voice, "and we should like dinner, if you can give it to us."
"Yea," said the Elder. He pronounced the word as if it were spelled
"ye." That was all he said; but he helped the children to get down
from the wagon, and led the way through a very clean, bare passage to
a room equally clean and bare, where four women in drab gowns with
wide collars and stiff white caps were sitting, each on a little
platform by herself, darning stockings, with a basket of mending
beside her.
One of these introduced herself to Miss Fitch as Sister Samantha. She
had a round, comfortable face, and the boys and girls, who had felt an
awe of the grave Elder, recovered courage as they looked at her. She
said they could "go round" if they wanted to, and called a younger
sister named Dorcas to show them the way.
Sister Dorcas had a pale, rather dissatisfied face. She did not seem
so happy as Sister Samantha. She showed the children all that there
was to see, but she said very little and took no pains to explain any
thing, or to make the visit pleasant. They saw the bedrooms where the
sisters slept, and the bedrooms where the brothers slept, all exactly
alike, comfortable, plain, and unadorned, except for wonderful
patchwork quilts on the beds, and the gay "pulled" rugs on the floors.
They were shown the kitchen where the food for all the community was
cooked, a kitchen as clean and shining as the waxen cell of a bee, and
the storerooms, full of dried fruits and preserved fruits, honey,
cheeses, beeswax, wooden ware, brooms, herbs, and soap. There was an
"office" also, where these things were for sale to any one who should
choose to buy, and great consultations took place among the children,
who had almost all brought a little shopping money. Some chose
maple-sugar, some, silk-winders, some, little cakes of white wax for
use in work-baskets. Molly Prime had a sudden bright thought, which
she whispered about, and after much giggling and mysterious
explanations in corners, they clubbed together and got a work-basket
for Miss Fitch. It cost a dollar and a quarter, and was a great
beauty, the children thought. Miss Fitch was very much pleased with
it, and that added to their pleasure, so that the purchase of the
work-basket was one of the pleasantest events of the day. Eyebright
spent what was left of her money in buying a new mop-handle as a
present for Wealthy, who wanted one, she knew. She was a good deal
laughed at by the other boys and girls, but she didn't mind that a
bit, and shouldering her mop-handle as if it had been a flag-staff,
followed with the rest wherever Sister Dorcas chose to lead them.
Sister Dorcas took them to see the big barns, sweet with freshly made
hay, and to the dairy and cheese-house, with white shelves laden with
pans of rich milk and curds, the very sight of which made the children
hungry. Next they peeped into the meeting-house for Sundays, and then
they were taken to the room where fruit was packed and sorted. Here
they found half-a-dozen young Shakeresses, busy in filling baskets
with blackberries for next day's market.
These Shaker girls pleased the children very much; they looked so
fresh and prim and pretty in their sober costume, and so cheerful and
smiling. Eyebright fell in love at once with the youngest and
prettiest, a girl only two or three years older than herself. She
managed to get close to her, and, under pretence of helping with the
blackberries, drew her a little to one side, where they could talk
without being overheard.
"Do you like to live here?" she asked confidentially, as their fingers
met in the blackberry basket.
"Yea," said the little Shakeress, glancing round shyly. Then as she
saw that nobody was noticing them, she became more communicative.
"I like it--pretty well," she said. "But I guess I shan't stay here
always."
"Won't you? What will you do then? Where will you go?"
"I don't know yet; but Ruth Berguin--she is my sister in the
flesh--was once of this family, and she left, and went back to the
world's people and got married. She lives up in Canada now, and has
got two babies. She came for a visit once, and fetched one of them.
Sister Samantha felt real badly when Ruth went, but she liked the baby
ever so much. I mean to go back to the world's people too, some day."
"Oh my! perhaps _you_ will get married," suggested Eyebright, greatly
excited at the idea.
"Perhaps I shall," answered the small Shakeress with unmoved gravity.
Then she told Eyebright that her name was Jane, and she was an orphan,
and that she and sister Orphah, whom she pointed out, slept together
in one of the bedrooms which the children had seen upstairs, and had
very "good times" after the lights were out, whispering to each other
and planning what they would do when they were old enough to do any
thing. Sister Orphah, too, had a scheme for returning to the world's
people--perhaps they might go together. The idea of these "good times"
rather tickled Eyebright's imagination. For a few minutes she
reflected that perhaps it might be a pleasant thing to come and join
the Shakers. She and sister Jane grew intimate so fast, and chattered
so merrily, that Bessie became jealous and drew near to hear what they
were saying, and presently one of the elder Shakeresses joined them,
and gently sent Jane away on an errand. Eyebright's chance for
confidences was over: but she had made the most of it while it lasted,
and that is always a comfort.
By the time that they had finished the round of the premises dinner
was ready,--welcome news; for the children were all very hungry. It
was spread in an enormous dining-room on two long tables. The men
Shakers sat at one table, and the women Shakers at the other. Miss
Fitch and her scholars were placed with the latter, and some of the
young sisters waited on them very neatly and quietly. Sister Jane was
one of these and she took especial care of Eyebright whom she seemed
to regard as a friend of her own. No one spoke at either table except
to ask for something or to say "thank you"; but to make up for this
silence, a prodigious amount of eating was done. No wonder, for the
dinner was excellent, the very best dinner, the children thought, that
they had ever tasted. There was no fresh meat, but capital pork and
beans, vegetables of all kinds, delicious Indian pudding, flooded with
thick, yellow cream, brown bread and white, rusk, graham gems,
oat-meal and grits, with the best of butter, apple-sauce,
maple-molasses, and plenty of the richest milk. Every thing was of the
nicest material, and as daintily clean as if intended for a queen.
Miss Fitch praised the food, and Sister Samantha, who looked pleased,
said they tried to do things thoroughly, "as to the Lord." Miss Fitch
said afterward that she thought this was an admirable idea, and she
wished more people would try it, because then there would be less bad
cooking in the world, and less saleratus and dyspepsia. She said that
to be faithful and thorough in every thing, even in getting dinner
ready, was a real way of serving God, and pleased Him too, because He
looks beyond things, and sees the spirit in which we do them.
At three o'clock the wagon came to the door, and they said good-by to
the kind Shakers. Miss Fitch paid for the dinner; but the elder was
not willing to take much. They entertained the poor for nothing, he
said. A small compensation from those who were able and willing to
pay, did not come amiss, but a dinner for boys and girls like those,
he guessed, didn't amount to much. Miss Fitch privately doubted this.
It seemed to her that a regiment of grown men could hardly have
devoured more in the same space of time than her hungry twenty-one;
but she was grateful to the elder for his kindness, and told him so.
Eyebright parted from Sister Jane with a kiss, and gave her, by way of
keepsake, the only thing she had,--a china doll about two inches long,
which chanced to be at the bottom of her pocket. It was a droll gift
to make to a solemn little Shakeress in drab; but Jane was pleased,
and said she should always keep it. Then they were packed into the
wagon again, and with many good-bys they drove away, kissing their
hands to the sisters at the door, and carrying with them a sense of
cleanliness, hospitality, and quiet peace, which would make them for
ever friendly to the name of Shaker.
The drive home was as pleasant as that of the morning had been. The
children were not at all tired, and in the most riotous spirits. They
hurrahed every five minutes. They made jokes and guessed riddles, and
sang choruses,--"_Tranquidillo_" was one; "We'll bear the storm, it
won't be long," another; and "Ubidee," which Herman Bury had picked up
from a cousin in college, and which they all thought grand. Past the
farmhouses they went, past the tree where the squirrel had curled
himself to sleep, and the fields from which the thievish crows had
flown. They stopped a minute at Mr. Wheeler's to leave some
maple-sugar for Washington,--not the best diet for measles, perhaps,
but pleasant as a proof of kind feeling, and then, one by one, they
were dropped at the doors of their own homes.
"Well!" said Wealthy, eying her mop-handle with great satisfaction.
"That's what I call sensible. I expected you'd spend your money on
some pesky gimcrack or other. I never thought 't would be a handy
thing like this, and I am obliged to you for it, Eyebright. Now run up
and see your ma. She was asking after you a while ago."