A NEW ACCOMPLISHMENT LEARNED.
I was rapidly attaining the comfortable home feeling at Oaklands, which
makes life in castle or hut a rapture. There were so many sources of
enjoyment open to me. I had a more than usual love for painting, and
had for years prosecuted the art more from love than duty. My last
teacher, an old German Professor, exacting and very thorough, had been as
particular with my instruction as if my bread depended on my proficiency.
I thanked him now in my heart when I found myself shut out from other
opportunities for improvement than what, unaided, I could secure. There
were special bits of landscape I loved to sketch over and over again;
these I would take to Mrs. Flaxman, or Reynolds, the housekeeper, to see
if they could recognize the original of my drawing; but even Samuel, the
stable-boy, could name the spot at sight. His joy was unbounded, but
scarcely excelled my own when I succeeded in making a water-color sketch
of himself, the hair a shade or two less flame-colored than was natural,
and which even Hubert pronounced a very fair likeness. Then in the large,
stately drawing-room, some of whose furnishing dated back a century or
more, stood a fine, grand piano. Here I studied over again my school
lessons, or tried new ventures from some of the masters. What dreams I
had in that dim room in the pauses of my music; peopling that place again
with the vanished ones who had loved and suffered there my own dead
parents among the rest, whose faces looked down at me, I thought
tenderly, from the walls where their portraits hung in heavy carved
frames, of a fashion a generation old. There was about my mother's face a
haunting expression, as of a well known face which long afterward looked
out at me one day from my own reflection in the mirror and then, to my
joy, I discovered I was like her in feature and expression. In the
library too, whose key Mr. Winthrop had left with Mrs. Flaxman for my
use, I found an unexplored wonderland. My literature had chiefly
consisted of the text book variety, and if I had possessed wider range,
my time was so fully occupied with lessons I could not have availed
myself of the privilege; but now, with what relish I went from shelf to
shelf, dipping into a book here and another there, taking by turns
poetry, history, fiction, and biography, Shakespeare and Milton had so
often perplexed me in Grammar and analysis, that I left them for the most
part severely alone; but there were others, fresh and new to me as a June
morning, and quite as refreshing: Hubert used sometimes to join me, but
we generally disagreed. I had little patience with his practical
criticisms of my choicest readings, while he assured me my enthusiasm
over my favorite authors was a clear waste of sentiment. Mrs. Flaxman
was, in addition to all this, adding to my fund of knowledge the very
useful one of needlework, and was getting me interested not only in the
mysteries of plain sewing, but brought some of her carefully hoarded
tapestries for me to imitate--beautiful Scriptural scenes that sent me to
the Bible with a critical interest to see if the designs were in harmony
with its spirit. Then too I used to spend happy hours exploring garden,
field and forest, for Oaklands embraced a wide area, making acquaintance
with the gentle Alderneys, and Jerseys, who brought us so generously
their daily offering, as well as the many other meek, dumb creatures whom
I was getting to care for with a quite human interest. The seashore too
had its constantly renewed fascinations which drew me there, to watch its
tireless ebb and flow, or the busy craft disappearing out of sight
towards their many havens around the earth. Stories I had for the
seashore, and others for the woodland and gardens which I carried on in
long chapters, day after day, until sorrowfully I came to the end, as we
must always do to everything in this world.
My heroes and heroines were all singularly busy people, carrying on their
loves and intrigues amid restless activities, and living in the main to
help others in the way of life rather than, like myself, living to
themselves alone. Altogether I did not find a moment of my sixteen hours
of working life each day any too long, and opened my eyes on each
morning's light as if it were a fresh creation.
Then, in addition to all these, there were solemn, stately tea drinkings
among the upper ten of Cavendish society, but usually I found them a
task--the music was poor, the conversation almost wholly confined to
local affairs, and the only refection of a first-class nature was the
food provided. Cavendish ladies were notable housewives, and could
converse eloquently on pickling, preserving, baking and the many details
of domestic economy, while as regarded the fashions, I verily believe
they could have enlightened Worth himself on some important particulars.
I used to feel sadly out of place, and sat very often silent and
constrained, thinking of my dearer, and more satisfying companionships of
books, and sea, and flowers, and the fair face of nature generally, and
wondering if I could ever get, like them, absorbed in such humble things,
getting for instance my pickles nicely greened, and of a proper degree of
crispness, and my preserves, and jellies prepared with equal perfection
for diseased and fastidious palates. "Why can't they talk of their minds,
and the food these must relish, and assimilate, instead of all the time
being devoted to the body; how it must be fed and clothed?" I asked, with
perhaps too evident contempt, of Mrs. Flaxman, one evening as we drove
home under the midnight stars, after one of these entertainments.
"My child, it is natural that people should talk on subjects that most
interest them. Not every one has vision clear enough to penetrate beyond
the tangible and visible."
"Then, in what are the Cavendish aristocracy better than Mrs. Blake, and
that class? Even she talks sometimes to me about God and the soul. She
says she and Daniel think a great deal about these of late."
"God only knows; they may be far better in His sight than any of us,"
Mrs. Flaxman said, wearily.
"Not any better than you, dear friend," I said, clasping the little, thin
hand in mine.
"Yes, better, if they are doing more for others than I, sacrificing their
own ease and pleasure, which, alas, I am not doing."
"How can you say that, when you are making home, and me so happy? I want
to grow to be just such a woman as you."
"Alas, child, you must take a higher ideal than I am to pattern after, if
your life is to be a success."
"Mrs. Blake tells me of a good man living on the Mill Road, who is blind
and thinks a great deal. He says none of us can tell what our lives seem
like to the angels, and that many a one will get an overwhelming surprise
after death; some who think they are no good in the world, mere cumberers
of the ground, will find such blessed surprises as they wander through
the Heavenly places."
"That is very comforting, dear, if we could only hope to be among those
meek ones."
"He told Mrs. Blake she might be one of God's blessed ones if she
wished--that any sincere soul was welcomed by Him."
"Surely you did not need to go to Mrs. Blake to learn that?"
I was silent, perhaps ashamed for Mrs. Flaxman to know how very dense my
ignorance was respecting these mysteries of our holy religion. As the
weeks went by my friendship for Mrs. Blake strengthened. I kept her
little cottage brightened with the old-fashioned blossoms that she loved
best. "They mind me so of when I was a child, and the whole world seemed
in summer time like a great garden. We lived deep in the country, just a
little strip of ground brought in from the woods, and all round our
little log house was the green trees," she said one day, the pleasant
reflective look that I liked to see coming into her kind, strong face. I
used to sit and listen to her homely, uncultivated speech, and wonder why
I liked her so much better than my natural associates. She was so real, I
could not imagine her trying to appear other than she was. Some way she
seemed to take me back to elementary things, like the memories of
childhood or the reading of the Book of Genesis. Then she had so changed
Daniel's cottage--newly papered, whitewashed and thoroughly cleansed with
soap and water, it seemed one of the cosiest, homeliest places I ever
saw. I only went in the afternoons, and her housework then was always
done; but she was never idle. I used to watch her knitting stockings of
all sizes with silent curiosity; but one day I asked who a tiny pair of
scarlet ones was for. "Mrs. Larkum's baby. The poor things are in
desperate trouble," she replied.
"But do you knit for other folks?"
"Yes, fur some. Them I jest finished is fur one of the Chisties' down the
lane. Any size from one to ten fits there."
"Are they able to pay you?" I ventured to inquire.
"I don't ginerally knit for folks as can pay. It's a pity for little feet
to go bare because the mother was thriftless or overworked."
I watched the busy fingers a little sadly, comparing them with my own
daintily gloved hands, that had never done anything more useful than to
hold a text book, or sketch, or practice on the ivory keys, while those
other hands often tired, calloused with hard usage, had been working
unselfishly through the years for others.
"I wish you would teach me to knit," I said one day, seized with a sudden
inspiration.
"'Twould be a waste of your time. Folks like you don't wear home-knit
stockings."
"Oh, yes they do. Pretty silken hose is quite the fashion; but I hire
mine knitted."
"Then what makes you want to learn?"
"Do you not think it is my duty to work for the poor, and helpless as
well as yours?"
"I won't allow but what it is; but laws! rich folk can't pity the poor,
no more'n a person that's never been sick, or had the tooth-ache, can
pity one who has."
"The stockings would be just as warm, though, as if I knew all about
their sorrows."
"I reckon they'd feel better on some feet if they know'd your white hands
knit 'em."
"If there would be any added pleasure to the warmth of the socks then you
will surely teach me."
"I'll be proud to do it; but child, I'm afeard you are making me think
too much of you. Byem-bye when you get interested in other things, you
won't care to set in my kitchen, and listen to an old-fashioned body like
me, droning away like a bee in a bottle."
"Do you think it is necessary to trouble about something that may never
come to pass? I think I shall always enjoy hearing you talk. Listening
to you seems like watching the old-fashioned flowers nodding their heads
in the drowsy summer air. I like the rare flowers, too, with long names
and aristocratic faces; but I don't think I shall ever like them so well
as to forget the happy fancies their humble relations bring."
"Thank you, dearie. I guess you'll allays keep a warm place in your heart
for the old-fashioned folks as well as the posies."
"Now that we have that matter settled, suppose I begin the knitting,"
I said, without any further attempt at convincing Mrs. Blake of my
unalterable regard.
She got me the yarn and needles and I straightway proceeded to master
another of the domestic sciences. I was soon able to turn the seam, and
knit plain; but was forced to stop very often to admire my own
handicraft. However, I got on so readily that she allowed I could
undertake a child's sock. I wanted it to look pretty as well as to be
comfortable, and not fancying Mrs. Blake's homespun yarn, I started out
to the store to get some better suited to my liking.
When I returned, Mrs. Blake exclaimed at the size of my bundle, assuring
me that it would supply me with work for months.
"I'm surprised you wan't ashamed to carry such a big parcel," she said
admiringly.
"It did not occur to me to be ashamed."
"One never knows who they may meet though."
"It was nothing to be ashamed of."
"I s'pose not; but quality has such queer notions."
"I do not wish to be quality if that is the case; I want to be a sensible
woman, and a useful one," I said, as I proceeded to wind my yarn from
Mrs. Blake's outstretched arms. In a short time I had the pleasure of
seeing a pretty little sock evolving itself out of the long strand of
yarn. Mrs. Blake finding me anxious to be helpful to her poor neighbors,
began unfolding histories from time to time, as I sat in her tidy
kitchen, that to me seemed to rise to the dignity of tragedies. Sometimes
I begged to accompany her to these sorrowful homes. The patience under
overwhelming sorrow that I saw at times, gave me new glimpses into the
possibilities of human endurance, and my sympathies were so wrought upon,
I set about trying to earn money myself to help alleviate their wants,
while a new field of work stretched out before me in bewildering
perspective; and sometimes I wished I too had a hundred hands, like a
second Briareus, that I might manufacture garments for half-clad women
and children.