There was no work in the herb-garden now, but there was never a moment
from dawn till long after dusk when the busy fingers of the Shaker
Sisters were still. When all else failed there was the knitting: socks
for the Brothers and stockings for the Sisters and socks and stockings
of every size for the children. One of the quaint sights of the
Settlement to Susanna was the clump of young Sisters on the porch of the
girls' building, knitting, knitting, in the afternoon sun. Even little
Shaker Jane and Mary, Maria and Lucinda, had their socks in hand, and
plied their short knitting-needles soberly and not unskillfully. The
sight of their industry incited the impetuous Sue to effort, and under
the patient tutelage of Sister Martha she mastered the gentle art.
Susanna never forgot the hour when, coming from her work in the
seed-room, she crossed the grass with a message to Martha, and saw the
group of children and girls on the western porch, a place that caught
every ray of afternoon sun, the last glint of twilight, and the first
hint of sunset glow. Sister Martha had been reading the Sabbath-School
lesson for the next day, and as Susanna neared the building, Martha's
voice broke into a hymn. Falteringly the girls' voices followed the
lead, uncertain at first of words or tune, but gaining courage and
strength as they went on:--
“As the waves of the mighty ocean
Gospel love we will circulate,
And as we give, in due proportion,
We of the heavenly life partake.
Heavenly Life, Glorious Life,
Resurrecting, Soul-Inspiring,
Regenerating Gospel Life,
It leadeth away from all sin and strife.”
The clear, innocent treble sounded sweetly in the virgin stillness and
solitude of the Settlement, and as Susanna drew closer she stopped
under a tree to catch the picture--Sister Martha, grave, tall, discreet,
singing with all her soul and marking time with her hands, so accustomed
to the upward and downward movement of the daily service. The straight,
plain dresses were as fresh and smooth as perfect washing could make
them, and the round childlike faces looked quaint and sweet with the
cropped hair tucked under the stiff little caps. Sue was seated with
Mary and Jane on the steps, and Susanna saw with astonishment that her
needles were moving to and fro and she was knitting as serenely and
correctly as a mother in Israel; singing, too, in a delicate little
treble that was like a skylark's morning note. Susanna could hear her
distinctly as she delightedly flung out the long words so dear to her
soul and so difficult to dull little Jane and Mary:--
“Resurrecting, Soul-Inspiring,
Regenerating Gospel Life,
It leadeth away from all sin and strife.”
Jane's cap was slightly unsettled, causing its wearer to stop knitting
now and then and pull it forward or push it back; and in one of these
little feminine difficulties Susanna saw Sue reach forward and deftly
transfer the cap to her own head. Jane was horrified, but rather slow to
wrath and equally slow in ingenuity. Sue looked a delicious Shaker with
her delicate face, her lovely eyes, and her yellow hair grown into soft
rings; and quite intoxicated with her cap, her knitting, and the general
air of holiness so unexpectedly emanating from her, she moved her little
hands up and down, as the tune rose and fell, in a way that would
have filled Eldress Abby with joy. Susanna's heart beat fast, and she
wondered for a moment, as she went back to her room, whether she could
ever give Sue a worldly childhood more free from danger than the life
she was now living. She found letters from Aunt Louisa and Jack on
reaching her room, and they lay in her lap under a pile of towels, to
be read and reread while her busy needle flew over the coarse crash. Sue
stole in quietly, kissed her mother's cheek, and sat down on her stool
by the window, marveling, with every “under” of the needle and “over” of
the yarn, that it was she, Sue Hathaway, who was making a real stocking.
Jack's pen was not that of an especially ready writer, but he had a
practical way of conveying considerable news. His present contributions,
when freed from their phonetic errors and spelled in Christian fashion,
read somewhat as follows:
Father says I must write to you every week, even if I make him do
without, so I will. I am well, and so is Aunt Louisa, and any boy that
lives with her has to toe the mark, I tell you; but she is good and has
fine things to eat every meal. What did Sue get for her birthday? I got
a book from father and one from Aunt Louisa and the one from you that
you told her to buy. It is queer that people will give a boy books when
he has only one knife, and that a broken one. There's a book prize to
be given at the school, and I am pretty afraid I will get that, too; it
would be just my luck. Teachers think about nothing but books and what
good they do, but I heard of a boy that had a grand knife with five
sharp blades and a corkscrew, and in a shipwreck he cut all the ropes,
so the sail came down that was carrying them on to the rocks, and then
by boring a hole with his corkscrew all the water leaked out of the
ship that had been threatening to sink the sailors. I could use a little
pocket money, as Aunt Louisa keeps me short. ... I have been spending
Sunday with father, and had a pretty good time, not so very. Father will
take me about more when he stops going to the store, which will be
next week for good. The kitchen floor is new painted, and Ellen says it
sticks, and Aunt Louisa is going to make Ellen clean house in case
you come home. Do you like where you are? Our teacher told the girls'
teacher it seemed a long stay for any one who had a family, and the boys
at school call me a half orphan and say my mother has left me and so my
father has to board me in the country. My money is run out again. I sat
down in a puddle this afternoon, but it dried up pretty quick and
did n't hurt my clothes, so no more from your son