A HEN PARTY
One day a letter came to Miss Letty from her Aunt Marie in France,
asking if she was homesick, and if she did not wish to come back and
go to Switzerland with them, “for,” the letter translated said, “it
will not be long, at most, before you will rejoin us. My gay little one
could never remain in that strange country of wild dogs when the winter
comes, she would be desolate for Paris. That word will not now mean the
black dress, plain fare, and high brick wall of the school; but the
opera, fêtes, bonbons, enchanting costumes, and a handsome husband,
for your uncle has already in thought two suitable alliances between
which we are willing you should yourself choose. If, however, you
remain still longer with the incomprehensible Aunt Julie, be careful,
my angel, of your complexion, and never go out without the heavy brown
veil above the white one, for I am told that the sun in America is most
cruelly piercing.
“One word as to the beloved poodle, Hamlet. See that his coat is well
oiled and preserved, and that he does not play with strange dogs or
walk out in the morning before the dew has dried, and then only in the
shade and with caution, for we intend to exhibit him at the Xmas fête
that Madame de B---- is to hold to benefit the hospice for sick dogs.
He shall do his tricks under your teaching and you two will have a
success superb.”
Anne was sitting in the window of Miss Letty’s pretty room when the
letter was brought, and she wondered why her friend grew so pale as she
read it, and when she suddenly threw herself, face down, on the pretty
white bed and began to sob, Anne, thoroughly frightened, for Miss Letty
was always gay and smiling, put her arms around her, and begged to know
if her aunt was sick.
“No, read it, it’s about going home; just when I had almost forgotten
that I had ever lived anywhere but here--it’s too bad--read it,” and
she thrust the crumpled letter at Anne, burying her head in the pillow
again.
Anne read it through very slowly, and then, as a bark from below caused
her to look out of the window, she began to laugh so heartily that Miss
Letty looked up, surprised at her lack of sympathy.
“I can’t help it,” Anne gasped, as she took another peep out of the
window. “If your Aunt Marie could only see Hamlet, all shaven and
shorn, digging out a mole with Quick and Tip, and looking like an
anyhow dog, I’m sure she wouldn’t expect him to go to the show.
“Then, of course, she doesn’t know that you gave Tommy your two brown
veils to make a butterfly net, and that you are--well--rather tanned.
“But,” continued Anne, suddenly growing sober, “of course you will be
married some day; but surely it will not be to somebody you’ve never
seen. It would be very nice to go to Switzerland, though. Oh, Miss
Letty, are you really thinking of going, and does it make you sorry to
leave us and the dogs--and everything? Miss Jule said that perhaps you
might like it here well enough to stay with her always, though it was
almost too much to expect, and Mr. Hugh said that it most certainly
was; yet I could not help hoping.”
Then two heads were buried in the same pillow, and fifteen and eighteen
seemed, as often happened, to be about the same age.
“I can stay here if I wish. Father said that I could choose when I
had tried this country for six months, but I think I’m crying because
Aunt Marie hurries me so, before I’ve even thought of going. If
only--_bien_, there are several ifs, Diane darling, that you do not
understand. Why do you say of course I will marry some day?” asked
Miss Letty, raising her head on one hand to peep out of the window at
Hamlet, who was giving his “Vive la Republique” barking song.
“Why? Why, because I think it is so much nicer than not being; that is,
when one has no mother to leave and is grown up and has to wear their
hair up and their dresses down. There is mother, now, do you think that
she could possibly be as happy without father and _us_? Of course _I_
shall not marry, because I couldn’t leave her, but that is different,”
said Anne, in a tone of deep conviction.
“Aunt Julie has never married, and I am sure that she is perfectly
happy and free. No, I shall be independent like Aunt Julie and keep
horses and dogs.”
“Miss Jule is happy and lovely to everybody, but I know that she is
often lonely, and as to being independent, as you call it, it was not
her plan at all. _He_ died, and he was Mr. Hugh’s oldest brother, ever
so much older of course than Mr. Hugh. Mother told us about it once
after Tommy asked Miss Jule why she was not married and lived up there
all alone when she doesn’t like thunder, because mother always sits
in father’s study and holds his hand when the big storms come; not
that she’s afraid, oh, no, but you see she’d _rather_-- That’s why,
because of his brother (beside both liking dogs), Mr. Hugh is so nice
to Miss Jule, exactly the same as if she really was his aunt,” and Anne
stopped, quite out of breath; but as Miss Letty had dried her eyes and
looked interested, she continued:--
“Dogs sometimes have a great deal to do with people’s marrying each
other, that is, I mean beginning it. You see, one day, ever so long
ago, father was in New York, and as he was going along the street he
heard a dog yelp and cry dreadfully, and then a crowd collected. When
he got near by he heard some one say, ‘It’s been run over but, it is
only a cur, a policeman’ll soon come along and end it.’
“Then the people went away, all but one young lady, and in the gutter
he saw a little terrier lying; its front leg was broken, and though
it was partly stunned, its eyes were full of pain and terror. Before
he could reach the dog the lady had gone to it, tied her handkerchief
around the hurt paw, and lifting it up very gently, and in spite of its
being bloody and dirty, carried it away. When she had gone a little
distance down a side street she stopped and hesitated. Then father
overtook her and asked if he might help with the dog. She said that she
had just remembered that she did not live in the city, and that as they
would not let her carry the dog on the street cars, she was wondering
how she could get it home.
“Father said that he would gladly carry it to the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals’ Hospital, and so, without even thinking they had never
been introduced, they walked along together, and the poor little dog
stopped moaning and licked father’s hand. When they got to the hospital
the people said that they would chloroform the dog dead, or if it was
a pet they could cure it, for they thought it must be a pet, otherwise
two nicely dressed people would not be likely to get themselves all
smeared up to bring it to the hospital. Of course it wasn’t a pet, only
a yellow brown, wire-haired terrier with back legs that didn’t exactly
match the front. The lady was going to say ‘chloroform him,’ when he
struggled up on three legs and licked her nose, so she changed the
words to ‘cure him if you can, and I will pay,’ and she told her name
and address.
“Then father found that she was the sister of one of his college
chums, and so you see by and by they were married. She turned out to
be mother, and we had that terrier for ever so long, though he always
had one bent paw and limped. Father christened him Accident, and we
called him Axy for short. And when he grew old and died, we began the
dog cemetery beyond the orchard with him, and after that father bought
Waddles for me.”
Anne told the story almost as if she was reading it from a book, for
it was very real to her, and both she and Tommy were never tired of
hearing their father repeat it.
She had barely ended when the door flew open and in bounced Quick,
Tip, and Hamlet, followed by Miss Jule. With a rush and whirl the
dogs pounced upon Miss Letty, and began to dig her out from among the
pillows as if she had been a rabbit in its burrow, while Anne vainly
tried to call them off and rescue the snowy bedspread.
Miss Jule looked from one to the other with a question in her eyes as
she saw her niece’s flushed face, but she received her answer when she
read the letter that Letty handed her. She put it back in its envelope,
saying dryly: “I claim you until the six months are up, after that we
shall see. Meanwhile Mr. Hugh has asked you all to go to-morrow and
picnic on the new land he has bought that lies between the river and
Pine Ridge.
“His cousins, the Willoughby girls, are staying with him; but as their
mother is an invalid, I am to keep you out of mischief and see that you
do not get lost. I will take the brake with the luncheon, and you can
either drive all the way or take your wheels and alternately drive with
me or ride them.” So Anne went home to prepare for the next day and
appease Tommy, who would be broken-hearted to hear that his White Lady
was going to a picnic without him, while Miss Letty seated herself at
the desk by her window to answer her letter, and this is the English of
what she wrote:--
“DEAR AUNT MARIE: My Aunt Julie makes it a point that I remain with
her the six months for which I came. But believe me, I am very well
amused, even though I have no companions but Diane and the little
Tommy, for this place is much more unusual than even Paris. The dogs
are not wild, as you think, but most polite, with delightful manners.
Two have now come to call upon Hamlet, and as I write are conversing
with him below the window. He is well, but his costume is so altered
that you would hardly know him. I also no longer wear a veil, it not
being the custom here, neither is it to have an uncle choose one’s
husband in advance of one’s wish to marry. I decidedly prefer all
American customs in such matters. It is glorious summer now. Do not
let us speak of winter, dear aunt, until the frost has browned the
leaves at least.
“Your affec. niece
“LETTICE.”
As she sealed the envelope she heard a horse galloping down the road,
but why she smiled as she looked out the window, or felt somehow
deceitful about the letter she had written, she could not have told.
Perhaps it was because Hamlet was standing on his head and doing some
of his old tricks, all the while looking very wise, and as if he knew
that he was surprising Tip, who always tried to imitate him.
The next morning was cool and delightful, but one of the sort of days
that is not to be trusted at Woodlands, when it comes in early August;
for it may grow very sultry at noon, thunder-clouds following the
change, or the wind may turn to the east, and bring a cold storm with
the incoming tide.
However, everything promised well when the long brake, with its four
horses, a clothes-basket of good things, and Miss Jule and Letty,
called for Anne.
When they arrived at Mr. Hugh’s home, they met a disappointment. The
Willoughby girls were waiting, armed with sketch-books, plant boxes,
and fishing-poles, but no Mr. Hugh. He had been called to town on
business, but hoped to be back in time to join them at luncheon, and
they were to do everything as he had first planned--fish for bass in
the big pond, shoot at a target that he had arranged for his own use in
the long meadow, and cook their luncheon gypsy fashion.
“Never mind,” said Miss Jule, “this is a hen picnic; but when I was a
girl we seldom had any other kind hereabouts, and yet we always had
plenty of fun. I think that you girls had better ride your wheels until
we come to the long hill, or else pack them into the other wagon; for
with all these fishing-rods and things the brake will be full.”
The dogs had to be tied up and stay at home; for taking dogs who love
to swim on a fishing excursion is a “mustn’t be.”
Mr. Hugh’s new land was a strip of several hundred acres of wild
meadows, bordered by thick woods that joined his farm and followed the
river quite to the Pine Ridge waterfall.
It had once been a farm; for in open places the hummocks under the
rough grass told where cornfields had been. There were two tumble-down
orchards (one of early and one of late apples), while raspberry vines,
a ruined chimney, and tufts, here and there, of old-fashioned flowers
told of a home that had gone.
The woods that bordered the river were very wild and fascinating,
deep shade being made by oaks, beeches, and giant hemlocks. No trees
had been cut for many years, though the dead wood had evidently been
carefully cleared away.
There were great rocks covered with ferns that sloped to the river
edge, where the water had whirled stone within stone and worn
“pot-holes” and carved many strange devices.
The Willoughby girls were in ecstasies, for most of their summers
had been spent by the sea. Elsa, the eldest, soon chose a bit for a
sketch; Martica, who was a junior at Vassar, discovered material for
a thesis on ferns; Louise, the youngest, set about picking delicious
looking blackberries, that though now growing wild must have been the
grandchildren of the fruit of the old garden. Thus it came to be that
Miss Jule, Letty, Anne, and May Willoughby formed the fishing party;
for no one cared to shoot at a target without Mr. Hugh to keep score
and praise or criticise their shots.
The pond was a little way up the stream, from which it was separated by
a sloping stone dam that extended like a wall for fifty feet around the
north side, and being overhung with trees made a fine place from which
to fish.
The hooks were baited and dropped in the water, and then Anne began to
look about as if to locate herself, saying: “I thought I knew every
bit of woods within miles of home, but I’ve never been on this side of
the river just here. When Obi was our garden boy he and I used to go
a great deal to the old mill on the other side of the pond where the
wood-ducks nested; but once when we came across the dam, close by where
we are now, and dug some wild sarsaparilla, an old woman with a crutch
came out of the trees and chased us away.
“Obi said that she was called the Herb Witch, and that she lived in a
hut somewhere in the woods, and gathered weeds and things, that she
sold to make magic medicines, and that we had better not cross her,
because she could poison people by even breathing at them.
“Of course I didn’t believe that; but she certainly looked rather
weird, standing there among the trees wearing a cloak with a pointed
hood, such as witches always wear in story-books, with her skirt, that
was gathered into a sort of bag in front, full of roots and herbs.
“Do you know, Miss Jule, of whom Mr. Hugh bought this land? Somehow, I
didn’t think that it belonged to anybody.”
“He bought it from the town,” answered Miss Jule, slowly. She was
watching her line with interest, for the bobber would now and then give
a dive and then whirl about.
“Years ago the place belonged to a farmer, a Scotchman of the thrifty
old stock who could make a living anywhere; and I’ve heard my father
say that it was a fine old farm, and yielded a good income when the
town had only two market days a week--Wednesday and Saturday --and
depended upon the produce from the neighbourhood. When this farmer
died, his son, who was a sailor, came ashore, married a pretty cousin
from over seas against her people’s wish, and tried to work the farm.
But he was a born rover, and the easy days for farming among these
rocky hills had passed. In a few years he went to sea once more, and
was never heard of again. Then his wife struggled along with her
little boy, and for some time made a fair living from selling milk
and poultry, renting pasture, working the fields on shares, and such
like, hoping to keep things together until her boy could take charge.
Of course he was lonely, and as he grew up craved companionship, and
finally went off, I think to a cousin who did something in Australia.
“The mother stayed on alone, and for a while seemed to do well. I
fancy the son sent her money. But the old house burned down, and she
grew more and more crabbed, and of late years has had nothing to do
with her neighbours, and would let no one into her house, she having
moved into a small cottage on the north road when the farmhouse was
burned. Different people have tried to help her; but she is proud and
unmanageable, they say. The town finally took the farm for unpaid
taxes and--ah! I’ve lost that fish, and it was a good one, too,”
ejaculated Miss Jule, stopping her story as the line tautened and hung
loose again. “One thing, I’m quite sure by the way the small fish dodge
about that there are some big pickerel here that keep them moving, and
we shall not catch any pan fish for luncheon.”
“But, Miss Jule, what became of the old woman when her land was sold,
and why did they call her a witch?” asked Anne, who was much interested.
“She will be taken care of at the town farm, and it’s not such a bad
place, either. As to the name of Herb Witch, I think people gave it
to her because she puzzled them by going about the woods at all times
of day and night and gathering plants they thought only weeds. Then
she always minded her own business, and never complained, which always
aggravates people who do not do likewise.”
“How dreadful to be old and have to leave home and go and live in a
poorhouse, when you’ve owned all this!” said Anne, stretching out her
arms, and Miss Letty, looking up, suddenly saw a big tear roll off the
end of Anne’s nose; for to her home was heaven, and the thought of any
one’s being driven from theirs seemed unbearable.
At that minute Miss Jule, with a flop, jumped quickly back from the
edge of the pond, landing in some alder bushes, and with finger to her
lips as a sign for silence, pointed to an object in the water. It was a
monster pickerel, the dreaded ogre for whom all little bass, perch, and
trout are taught to “watch out” as soon as they know enough to wiggle
their tails and swim. Lazily it nosed along in the deep shadows, all
unconscious of the excitement it was causing on shore.
“I wish I could grasp it,” whispered Miss Letty, the sporting spirit
seizing her.
“Yes, and perhaps lose your fingers; Obi nearly did once,” said Anne.
“Bring me the little rifle from the brake. It’s not the right way to
catch fish, but I’ll make an exception for this old cannibal,” said
Miss Jule, while Anne needed no second telling, darted off and was
quickly back again.
The rifle, a repeater, was soon in her hands, and as Miss Jule loaded
it, she told the girls to stand back, and asked Anne to put the landing
net they had brought for the bass that did not bite, close beside her.
The pickerel crossed the sun streak once more. Bang! only one shot was
needed. Miss Jule dropped the rifle, seized the net, and a pickerel
weighing fully eight pounds lay upon the moss.
The other girls came up upon hearing the noise, and the men who had
charge of the horses, all being surprised at the size of the fish.
“We will have it for luncheon, if Martin will clean it for us. I only
hope that Mr. Hugh will come in time to enjoy it,” said Miss Jule.
Martin was one of Baldy’s brothers; and he not only cleaned the fish
nicely, but cutting it in quarters, spread it open for broiling with a
clever arrangement of sweet birch twigs, and also made a grill between
two rocks, filling it with charcoal, a bag of which he had brought for
the gypsy fire Mr. Hugh had promised to build.
“Cousin Hugh says that he is going to put up some sort of a little
lodge on this new land, with a big fireplace, so that people can come
here and have tea, and see the birds and things, even in winter; and in
summer it will be convenient to have it to go into if showers come up.
He said, too, that he would have some one live in it to be a sort of
game-keeper and prevent pot-hunters from killing the birds.”
“How lovely!” sighed Anne. “Won’t it be simply perfect, Miss Letty?”
“I shall probably be in France by the time it is built,” she replied;
for one of her contrary fits had been hovering over Miss Letty all day.
The cool morning disappeared in a sultry noon. They waited dinner as
long as their hunger made it possible, but Mr. Hugh did not come. Then,
as is usual at picnics, outdoors and dinner combined to bring sleep.
Not that any one travelled all the way to dreamland, but they all sat
about in blissful silence, watching the shadows among the trees and
the silent molting birds flit shyly in and out, for only the locusts
serenaded them. August is the voiceless summer month in the woods; the
spring song is over, and the young of the year are not yet trying their
throats, as they do in autumn.
“Four o’clock!” said Miss Jule, sitting up suddenly, and giving her
ticking-covered hay pillow a vigorous punch--Miss Jule always had a
dozen of such for piazza, hammock, and excursion purposes. “I think we
had better make a start; for if I’m not mistaken, there are what Martin
calls ‘dunderheads’ in the west, and we do not wish to end the day by
running all the seven miles home, to escape a wetting.”
When the wagons were loaded, and they all gathered in the open
preparatory to starting, the wind had veered, and the black clouds were
hurrying off toward salt water again.
“Do you think we might ride our wheels home?” said Anne to Miss Jule.
“See, the road is shady for a mile farther up, and then it loops
around the Ridge to the turnpike, and it is down grade all the rest of
the way.”
“Yes; please do let us ride,” said Elsa Willoughby; “for I sat so long
on that rock sketching that I need stretching all over.”
Miss Jule thought a minute, looked at the sky, and said: “The shower
has gone round. It’s a lonely road, to be sure; but with six of you
together no harm can happen, and even if you loiter, you will be at
home before supper time.” So the brake and Miss Jule started off one
way and the girls on their wheels the other.
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