A PILGRIMAGE.
For a long time Persis had been possessed of a desire to take a certain
trip with her grandmother to the “ancestral halls,” as she called them,
and, to her great joy, Mrs. Estabrook announced to her one day that she
had planned the outing for the Easter holidays.
“I’ll get my work all in order, and make up my page of the paper ahead
of my usual number, so it will all be plain sailing when I get back,
and I shall have an easy conscience while I am away,” Persis said,
delightedly. “Oh, grandma, I have so wanted to take this journey. I’ve
not been to the haunts of the ancestors since I was a wee thing. I
can remember one or two of the places, an old garden where there were
so many little low pear trees,—dwarf pears. I used to imagine they
called them so because the trees belonged to a dwarf, and I was afraid
to touch them. I can remember, too, how I ran away once and went over
to some one’s house, where I was treated royally. Where was it? I can
barely remember the place and the nice, kind man who took me in charge.
Who was he?”
“Cousin Ambrose Peyton,” returned Mrs. Estabrook.
“Is he still living, and shall we see him?”
“He is still living in the same place, and you shall go there if you
like.” There was a very sober look on Mrs. Estabrook’s face as she made
the reply.
“What makes you look so solemn?” inquired Persis. “I don’t believe
you want to go. Are you doing it just for my sake? Will it make you
unhappy?”
“I want to go very much. I have put it off from time to time, because I
have felt that it would bring too many sad memories; but since we have
discovered Annis I do not feel so about going, and I am very eager to
see the old familiar scenes. I should like to take Annis, too, if I
could afford it.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be fine! I believe Mrs. Brown would pay Annis’s
expenses if she knew you wanted her to go. She was saying the other day
that Annis ought to have a change after her illness. Will you take her
if she can go?”
“Most certainly.”
In consequence, to the delight of the two girls, it was arranged that
Annis should go, and the three set off full of expectation.
“I feel exactly as if I were going on a pilgrimage,” declared Persis.
“Let me see, we are going to the old Carter place first, Annis, and
then to the Herricks’. There are distant cousins scattered all through
that part of the country, and we shall be continually coming upon
some of them. I can hear the old ladies exclaim over Mary Carter’s
grand-daughter, for you know you are a discovery, and your existence
has never been known to them. They will put on their spectacles and
turn you round to the light, to see if you look like the Carters, or
who you are like; won’t they, grandma? Are we going to that queer
little town where those three sisters live, the ones who are so old?
Annis, they are so funny; the youngest one is nearly seventy, and
her two older sisters always treat her as if she were such a young,
frivolous thing that they are afraid she might elope with the milkman,
or do some equally giddy thing, if they didn’t keep a strict watch over
her. They call her ‘Babe’ still, and she wears little blue bows in her
hair and at her collar because blue was considered her color when she
was young. Aunt Esther told me about them. We call them the Grææ.”
“We go there first,” Mrs. Estabrook informed them. “Cousin Cyrene
is always the family news-letter, and we shall be able to make a
number of little trips from their village, keeping that place as our
headquarters.”
And at last when Parkerville was called the girls stepped out on the
platform of the station, with curious eyes ready to take in every
detail of the little place. In a lumbering old coach they were taken to
the small hotel, which rejoiced in the name of the “Mansion House,” and
presently were conducted to their rooms by a small colored boy. After
passing along two long porches they found themselves at one end of the
building, where three large comfortable rooms were opened to them.
“Isn’t this fine?” cried Persis. “I think it is great to come to such
a funny old place. Do you see, Annis? All the rooms open on the porch,
and you don’t go through any inside hall-way at all. Oh, look at those
mountains right in front of us. Aren’t they lovely and blue?”
“Persis is fairly bubbling over,” Annis asserted.
“Oh, I am; and I am as hungry as a hunter. Oh! what’s that?”
“Only a gong, my child,” replied Mrs. Estabrook, looking with amused
eyes at the two girls, who had started at the sound of the clamorous
summons. “It is the same old gong that has sounded here for dinner
these fifty years.”
“Oh, is that it? Now that I know it is such a dear old-fashioned thing,
I am charmed with it,” Persis assured the others. “I am ready to admire
everything antique, you know, so long as they draw the line at butter
and mutton.”
Passing through the long porch, down a flight of steps, through another
porch to the other end of the building, they reached the dining-room,
where a most excellent and plentiful dinner was served them. “Fried
chicken and hot biscuits,” said Persis. “Now I know I am in Virginia. I
think this place is perfectly fascinating. I am almost sorry we shall
never be able to live here. Oh, Annis, maybe we can start our paper
here.” And they both laughed.
Up the long street, along whose sides were gardens where lilacs were
making ready to bloom, they took their way that afternoon, and finally
stopped at one of the oldest houses, long, low, and white.
“The Grææ live here,” whispered Persis. “I think they still have only
one tooth between them.”
Annis nodded appreciatively and looked around with curiosity at the
huge brass knocker which Mrs. Estabrook lifted.
With exclamations of pleased astonishment the visitors were greeted
by the eldest of the sisters. “Why, Persis Carter, it isn’t you!”
exclaimed Miss Cyrene. “Columbus,” addressing a small colored boy, “go
tell Miss Sidney and Miss Babe that our cousins are here. And these are
your grandchildren, I suppose, Persis. Come here, my dears; let me look
at you. They are quite young ladies.”
“Only one is my grand-daughter. I will leave you to guess who the other
is,” returned Mrs. Estabrook.
“Not Mary’s grand-daughter, of whom I heard! Some one wrote me that
she had been discovered. Hurry, Columbus! Dear! dear! where are those
girls?”
“Those girls” soon appeared, the frivolous Babe all fluttering ends of
ribbon and gay apparel, the inevitable blue bow perched upon her hair.
“See, Sidney! see, Babe! this is Mary Carter’s grandchild,—the fair
one. Isn’t it wonderful? And we always heard she left no child.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” repeated the other two sisters in a breath.
“There is a little look of the Carters about her, I think,” continued
Miss Cyrene, scrutinizing Annis closely.
[Illustration: “This is Mary Carter’s grandchild.”]
“A little look of the Carters,” echoed the two sisters. And Persis
gave Annis a glance which nearly upset the latter’s gravity.
The conversation continued to be carried on in this manner; playful
allusions were made to Babe’s being so thoughtless, and these were
received by the youngest sister with slight bridlings and protestations
of, “Now, Cyrene, not always.”
All the family news was dispensed, and an urgent invitation was given
the visitors to make this house their stopping-place. This, however,
was declined, but a compromise was made by giving a promise to spend
an afternoon with the old ladies; and the girls, with Mrs. Estabrook,
departed.
“Oh, aren’t they fun?” cried Persis, when she was out of hearing.
“Annis, I wonder if you and I will get that way when we grow old? We
have made up our minds not to marry, remember.”
Annis laughed. “But I don’t believe Miss Babe has made up her mind not
to be married,” she said.
“Isn’t she a dear, coquettish old thing? I wouldn’t have her more
sensible for the world.”
“She is delicious. Perhaps if we should come here to live we would be
the same. Oh, Persis, wouldn’t Mellicent love to have that family tree
they showed us? You are down there on a little, tiny leaf.”
“Yes, and I shall remain on the little, tiny leaf all alone. After all,
there is something rather pathetic in the thought that I shall go down
to posterity only as a collateral, no matter how famous I may be in my
age and generation. Oh, Annis, you and your father must go down on that
tree!”
“Yes; Miss Sidney said she would finish out Mary Carter’s twig; and she
seemed so pleased to think the opportunity was afforded her. You know
she made all those little twigs and leaves herself, and takes great
pride in it.”
The travellers were too tired to do more that evening than take a walk
about the village, which was fraught with interest to them, as Mrs.
Estabrook pointed out the scenes of various events of family history.
There stood the old ivy-clad church where the Carters had worshipped
for generations; from the door-way many a bridal procession had gone
forth. In yonder brick house, surrounded with trees and walled about
by a brick barrier ten feet high, lived the famous Judge Herrick,
beneath whose roof many notables had been entertained. In such a spot
a duel had been fought. At this corner stood an old pump at which Mrs.
Estabrook remembered stopping many a time when a little girl. And so it
went till, tired out, they returned to their hotel ready for supper and
for an early going to bed.
A drive the next day took them to a true specimen of an old Virginia
plantation, where they were all greeted cordially by other cousins of
several removes, but who, though distant in relationship, were far from
being so in manner, and who would have had them stay indefinitely.
This was the old Carter homestead, and here was the garden of Persis’s
childish recollection. Every foot of ground was familiar to Mrs.
Estabrook, whose father and grandfather were born upon the spot, and
tender retrospection almost overcame her as they drove up before the
door. From here Mary Carter had gone forth never to return, and in her
old room her own grand-daughter slept that night.
Annis and Persis sat up solemnly in the high four-posted bedstead and
looked almost with awe around the room, which contained the old pieces
of furniture in use a hundred years ago.
“We are to go to Cousin Ambrose Peyton’s to-morrow,” said Persis.
“Grandma will not go with us. I think she feels a little bit tired from
all this junketing, and it wears upon her feelings, too, so Cousin
Dolly Peyton is going with us. We must call her cousin, although she
is four removes. I can scarcely keep them all straight in my mind; can
you, Annis? They all seem, however, to have the various ramifications
at their fingers’ ends. I am quite anxious to see Cousin Ambrose. He
is an old bachelor, and lives on the adjoining place. You know that is
where I went when I was a tot and ran away from my nurse.”
The stately old gentleman who received them the next day, although
showing a kindly interest in Annis, scanned Persis narrowly as he took
her face between his hands and looked at her.
“So you are little Persis,” he said; “little Persis. I remember you.”
“And I remember you,” returned Persis. “I ran away and came to see you
once upon a time. You fed me on ripe gooseberries and let me play with
that very Venus over there. I remember when they came for me I had
dressed up the statue in one of your silk handkerchiefs and was having
a fine time. Oh, mayn’t I go see the garden where the gooseberry bushes
grew? And the old well; is it still there?”
“Still there. If you will excuse me, Cousin Dolly will go with you and
show them to you, while I devote myself to Miss Brown.” And the courtly
bow accompanying the words showed Persis that there was no lack of
gallantry in the suggestion that she should go without him.
“I am going to ask your acceptance of the little statuette,” he said
before they parted, giving the exquisitely modelled figure into her
hands.
“Oh, no,” protested Persis. “You have always had it just in that place.
It seems too bad to rob you of it.”
“The pleasure would be much greater if I knew it was in your
possession,” returned the old gentleman, with his most dignified bow.
“I beg of you to do me the honor of accepting it.” And Persis could but
consent, feeling that he really wanted her to have it.
He also gave to Annis a delicately carved little ivory box which she
admired, and then he led the way into the library, where the family
portraits hung.
Here Persis caught sight of an old desk in one corner. “I just love
that old desk. How well I remember it!” she exclaimed. “You took me
on your lap and let me write supposed letters with real ink,—not only
black, but red. I can remember what a joy it was to be allowed to
do that. I had always longed to dabble in ink, which was one of the
forbidden things. I’ve no doubt I made a spectacle of myself with it.”
Mr. Peyton smiled at the recollection of the small inky fingers which
had been so ready with the pen. “You still love to dabble with ink, I
hear,” he made answer, adding, “I cannot express the pleasure it has
given me to see you again.” And when they took their leave shortly
after, he held Persis’s hand fast, then bent with a grave grace and
kissed her cheek. “You should have been my grand-daughter,” he said.
Both the girls were rather silent on the return drive, although Cousin
Dolly chatted volubly and told them tales of the neighbors whose homes
she pointed out. The moment they were in-doors Persis ran to her
grandmother. “Oh, grandma,” she whispered, “how could you?”
“How could I what, my dear?”
“How could you not marry that dear, nice Cousin Ambrose Peyton?”
Mrs. Estabrook smiled a little sadly. “So you have jumped at that
conclusion. Some day I will tell you; but you must not rake over old
ashes just now. One of these days you shall hear all about it. How did
you find Cousin Ambrose?”
“He is charming; but I don’t think he is in very good health. Cousin
Dolly says he is not, and it seemed so to me; but oh, grandma, what a
delightful old house it is! I did enjoy it so; and see what he gave
me.” And she displayed the Venus.
“Mr. Peyton asked me such a lot of questions about you,” Annis told
Persis; “what kind of a girl you were, and all about you.”
“And you told him a lot of stuff, no doubt. You made a perfect
dime-novel heroine of me, I’ll venture to say.”
“I told him the truth,” insisted Annis. “I told him you were the
dearest, truest, most unselfish girl in the world, and—and—oh, lots
of things; and he was very much interested. You know there are some
subjects upon which I can talk even if I am not usually a loquacious
individual.”
“I know you are a dear old flatterer,” returned Persis, giving her a
hug.
The remainder of the week was spent in further journeying to kinfolk
in the neighborhood, and everywhere so warm a welcome met them that
Annis was quite overpowered. “The people where I have been,” she said,
“usually hunt around for excuses not to entertain you, but down this
way they do just the opposite. I never knew such hospitality; but then
I’ve never been below Mason and Dixon’s line before, although my father
was a Marylander. I must say I like these lovely, warm-hearted people.”
“I knew you would,” returned Persis. “I am so glad we came.”
But no visits made such an impression on the girls as those paid to the
stately Cousin Ambrose and to the Three Gray Sisters. Tea taken with
the latter proved an event of great interest. Such beautiful old china
and silver graced the table,—silver that was hidden under a tree in
the garden during the war, and china that escaped being demolished by
being taken to the cabin of one of the darky adherents of the family.
Such a source of reminiscence and family history was Miss Cyrene, and
the girls sat spellbound as she told them tale after tale full of
thrilling incident.
“I’d like to have her give a lecture before our club,” said Persis
afterward; “she is so interesting. I love to hear those war stories,
and all about those duels and law-suits and valorous deeds. They make
me tingle to write them down. I think we must utilize them some day.”
“In our paper,” put in Annis.
Persis nodded and settled her head back against the cushions of the
car, for they were then on their way home.
“Such a delightful, interesting time we have had, coming home seems
very dull,” Persis said, as they turned the corner nearest the house.
“I wish we could find something surprising to meet us,” she added, as
she mounted the steps.
Strange to say, the surprise was there, for when she opened the door of
her room there sat Lisa.
[Illustration: Decoration]