minutes, while she was thinking what she could get for tea; but that
being settled, she gave her whole mind to enjoying the guests. She
regretted the absence of the two pound-cakes Katy Dunning had eaten,
but it was only for an instant. She could make out with new
gingerbread, and no matter if she couldn't! It was all very pleasant
and sociable: and they talked together for a while busily, telling the
news and asking and answering questions; and, by and by, Joseph took
his hat, saying that he must go down to the post-office to see
Mr. Rand, the storekeeper. Soon after this it was time to get supper.
Just as Miss Spring was going out, her niece said, "I had a letter
from Lowell yesterday, from Mary."
"How is she now?" Miss Spring meant to talk over her plans a little
with Joseph after supper, but was silent enough about them now.
"Her husband's oldest sister is coming to stay all summer with them.
She is a widow, and has been living out West. It'll be a great help to
Mary, and John sets every thing by this sister. She is a good deal
older than he, and brought him up."
"It is a good thing," said Miss Catherine emphatically, and with
perfect composure. "I have been thinking about Mary lately. I pitied
her so when I was there. I have had half a mind to go and stay with
her a while myself."
"You might have got sick going to Lowell in hot weather. Sha'n't I
come out and help you, Aunt Catherine?" who said, "No indeed;" and
went out to the kitchen, and dropped into a chair. "Oh, what am I
going to do?" said she; for she never had felt so helpless and
hopeless in her life.
The old clock gave its quick little cluck, by way of reminder that in
five minutes it would be five o'clock. She had promised to have tea
early; so she opened a drawer to take out a big calico apron, and went
to work. Her eyes were full of tears. Poor woman! she felt as if she
had come face to face with a great wall, but she bravely went to work
to make the cream-tartar biscuit. Somehow she couldn't remember how
much to take of any thing. She was quite confused when she tried to
remember the familiar rule. It was silly!--she had made them hundreds
of times, and was celebrated for her skill. Cream-tartar biscuit, and
some cold bread, and some preserved plums; or was it citron-melon she
meant to have?--and some of that cold meat she had for dinner, for a
relish, with a bit of cheese.
She would have felt much more miserable if she had not had to hurry;
and after a few minutes, when the first shock of her bad news had been
dulled a little, she was herself again; and tea was nearly ready, the
biscuits baking in the oven, and some molasses gingerbread beside,
when she happened to remember that there was not a drop of cream in
the cream-pitcher, she had given it all to poor little Katy. Joseph
was very particular about having cream in his tea; so she called her
niece Martha to the kitchen, and asked her to watch the oven while she
went down the road to a neighbor's. She did not stop even to take her
sun-bonnet: it was not a great way, and shady under the elms; so away
she went with the pitcher. Mrs. Hilton, the neighbor, was a generous
soul, and when she heard of the unexpected company, with ready
sympathy and interest she said; "Now, what did you bring such a mite
of a pitcher for? Do take this one of mine. I'd just as soon you'd
have the cream as not. I don't calculate to make any butter this week,
and it'll be well to have it to eat with your preserves. It's nice and
sweet as ever you saw."
"I'm sure you are kind," said Miss Spring; and with a word or two more
she went hurrying home. As I have said, it was not far; but the
railroad came between, and our friend had to cross the track. It
seemed very provoking that a long train should be standing across the
road. It seemed to be waiting for something; an accident might have
happened, for the station was a little distance back.
Miss Catherine waited in great anxiety; she could not afford to waste
a minute. She would have to cross an impossible culvert in going
around the train either way. She saw some passengers or brakemen
walking about on the other side, and with great heroism mounted the
high step of the platform with the full intention of going down the
other side, when, to her horror, the train suddenly moved. She
screamed, "Stop! stop!" but nobody saw her, and nobody heard her; and
off she went, cream-pitcher and all, without a bit of a bonnet. It was
simply awful.
The car behind her was the smoking-car, and the one on which she stood
happened to be the Pullman. She was dizzy, and did not dare to stay
where she was; so she opened the door and went in. There was a young
lady standing in the passage-way, getting a drink of water for some
one in a dainty little tumbler; and she looked over her shoulder,
thinking Miss Spring was the conductor, to whom she wished to speak;
and she smiled, for who could help it?
"I'm carried off," said poor Aunt Catherine hysterically. "I had
company come to tea unexpectedly, and I was all out of cream, and I
went out to Mrs. Hilton's, and I was in a great hurry to get back, and
there seemed no sign in the world of the cars starting. I wish we
never had sold our land for the track! Oh! what shall I do? I'm a mile
from home already; they'll be frightened to death, and I wanted to
have supper early for them, so they could start for home; it's a long
ride. And the biscuit ought to be eaten hot. Dear me! they'll be so
worried!"
"I'm very sorry, indeed," said the young lady, who was quivering with
laughter in spite of her heartfelt sympathy for such a calamity as
this. "I suppose you will have to go on to the next station; is it
very far?"
"Half an hour," said Miss Spring despairingly; "and the down train
doesn't get into Brookton until seven; and I haven't a cent of money
with me, either. I shall be crazy! I don't see why I didn't get off;
but it took all my wits away the minute I found I was going."
"I'm so glad you didn't try to get off," said the girl gravely: "you
might have been terribly hurt. Won't you come into the compartment
just here with my aunt and me? She is an invalid, and we are all by
ourselves; you need not see any one else. Let me take your pitcher."
And Miss Spring, glad to find so kind a friend in such an emergency,
followed her.
There were two sofas running the length of the compartment, and on one
of these was lying a most kind and refined-looking woman, with gray
hair and the sweetest eyes. Poor Aunt Catherine somehow felt comforted
at once; and when this new friend looked up wonderingly, and her niece
tried to keep from even smiling while she told the story discreetly,
she began to laugh at herself heartily.
"I know you want to laugh, dear," said she. "It's ridiculous, only I'm
so afraid they'll be worried about me at home. If anybody had only
seen me as I rode off, and could tell them!"
Miss Ashton had not laughed so much in a long time, the fun of the
thing outweighed the misery, and they were all very merry for a few
minutes. There was something straightforward and homelike and pleasant
in Miss Catherine's face, and the other travellers liked her at once,
as she did them. They were going to a town nearer the mountains for
the summer. Miss Ashton was just getting over a severe illness; and
they asked about the place to which they were bound, but Miss Spring
could tell them little about it.
"The country is beautiful around here, isn't it?" said Alice West,
when there was a pause: the shadows were growing long, and the sun was
almost ready to go down among the hills. "Brookton! didn't you notice
an advertisement of some one who wanted boarders there, aunty? You
thought it was hardly near enough to the mountains, didn't you? but
this is beautiful."
"Why, that was my notice," said Miss Spring; and then she stopped, and
flushed a little. I believe, if she had thought a moment, she would
not have spoken; but Miss Ashton saw the hesitation and the flush.
"I wish I were going to spend the summer with you," said she by and
by, in her frank, pleasant way. And Miss Catherine said, "I wish you
were," and sighed quietly; she felt wonderfully at home with these
strangers, and, in spite of her annoyance when she thought of her
guests, she was enjoying herself. "I live all alone," she said once,
in speaking of something else; and, if she had been alone with Miss
Ashton, I think she would have told her something of her troubles, of
which we know her heart was very full. Everybody found it easy to talk
to Miss Ashton, but there was the niece; and Miss Catherine, like most
elderly women of strong character who live alone, was used to keeping
her affairs to herself, and felt a certain pride in being
uncommunicative.
When the conductor looked in, with surprise at seeing the new
passenger, Alice West asked him the fare to Hillsfield, the next
station; and, after paying him, gave as much money to Miss Spring, who
took it reluctantly, though there was nothing else to be done.
"I'm sure I don't know how to thank you," said she; "but you must tell
me how to direct to you and I will send the money back tomorrow."
"No, indeed!" said the girl: but Miss Spring looked unhappy; and Miss
Ashton, with truer kindness, gave her the direction, saying,--
"Please tell us how you found your friends at home; because Alice and
I will wish very much to know what they thought."
"You have been so kind; I sha'n't forget it," said Miss Catherine,
with a little shake in her voice that was not made by the cars.
Alice had taken from her travelling-bag a little white hood which she
had seen in a drawer that morning after her trunk was locked and
strapped, and had put it over Miss Catherine's head. It was very
becoming, and it did not look at all unsuitable for an elderly woman
to wear in the evening, just from one station to the next. And she was
going to wrap the cream-pitcher in some paper, when Miss Catherine
said softly,--
"Does your aunty care any thing about cream?"
"She likes it dearly," said the girl, looking so much pleased. "I had
half a mind to ask you if you could spare just a little;" and Miss
Ashton's little tumbler was at once delightedly filled to the very
brim.
Its owner said she had not tasted any thing so delicious in a long
time; and would not Miss Spring take some little biscuit and some
grapes to eat while she waited in the station? Yes, indeed: they had
more than they wanted, and she must not forget it was tea-time
already. Alice would wrap some up for her in a paper.
And at last they shook hands most cordially, and were so sorry to say
good-by.
"I never shall forget your kindness as long as I live," said Miss
Catherine; and Alice helped her off the car, and nodded good-by as it
started.
"I wish with all my heart we could board with that dear good soul this
summer," said Miss Ashton, "and I believe she has been dreadfully
grieved because her advertisement was not answered; perhaps it may be
yet. She looked sad and worried, and it was something besides this
mishap. What a kind face she had! I wish we knew more about her. I'm
so glad we happened to be just here, and that she didn't have to go
into the car."
"Yes," said Alice; "but, aunty, I think it was the funniest thing I
ever saw in my life, when she appeared to me with that horror-stricken
face and her cream-pitcher."
And Miss Catherine, as she seated herself in the little station to
wait for the down-train, said to herself, "God bless them! how good
they were! How I should have hated to go into the car with all the
people, and be stared at and made fun of." They had been so courteous
and simple and kind: why are there not more such people in the world?
And she thought about them, and ate her crackers and the hot-house
grapes, and was very comfortable. It might have been such a
disagreeable experience, yet she had really enjoyed herself. It did
not seem long before she again took her seat in the cars, with the
cream-pitcher respectably disguised in white paper, and herself
looking well enough in the soft little white hood, with its corner
just in the middle of her gray hair over her forehead; she paid her
fare as if her pocket were full of money, and watched the other people
in the car; and by the time she reached home she was her own composed
and reliable self again.
There had been a great excitement at her house. The biscuit were done
and the gingerbread; and the niece took them out of the oven, and
thought her aunt was gone a good while, and went back to the
sitting-room. After a few minutes she went to the front-gate to look
down the street. Miss Stanby joined her; and they stood watching until
Joseph Spring came hurrying back, thinking he was late, and ready with
his apologies, when they told him how long Miss Catherine had been
gone.
"She's stopped for something or other: they're always asking her
advice about things," said he carelessly. "She will be along soon."
And then they went into the house; and nobody said much, and the tall
clock ticked louder and louder; and Joseph began to whistle and drum
with his fingers, meaning to show his unconcern, but in reality
betraying the opposite feeling.
"You don't suppose she's sick, do you?" asked Miss Stanby timidly.
"More likely somebody else is," said Mr. Spring. "Did you say she had
gone to Mrs. Hilton's, Martha? I'll walk down there, and see what the
matter is."
"I wish you would," said his wife. "It's after six o'clock."
"Hasn't got home yet!" said Mrs. Hilton in dismay. "Why, what can have
become of her? She came in before half-past five, in a great hurry;
and she left her pitcher here on the table. I suppose she forgot it. I
lent her mine, because it was bigger. There's no house between but the
Donalds', and they're all off at his mother's funeral to Lancaster.
You don't suppose the cars run over her?"
"I don't know," said Miss Spring's nephew, in real trouble by this
time.
They went out together, and looked everywhere along the road,
apologizing to each other as they did so. They went up and down the
railroad for some little distance, and it was a great relief not to
find her there. Joseph asked some men if they had seen his aunt; and
when they said no, wonderingly, and expected an explanation, he did
not give it, he hardly knew why. They went to the house beyond Miss
Catherine's, though Martha and Miss Stanby were sure she had not gone
by. They looked in the barn even: they went out into the garden and
through the house, for she might possibly have come in without being
seen; but she had apparently disappeared from the face of the earth.
It had seemed so foolish at first to tell the neighbors; but by seven
o'clock, or nearly that, Martha Spring said decisively, "She cannot
have gone far unless she has been carried off. I think you had better
get some men, and have a regular hunt for her before it gets any
darker. I'm not going home to-night until we find her." And they owned
to each other that it was a very serious and frightful thing. Miss
Stanby looked most concerned and apprehensive of the three, and
suggested what had been uppermost in her mind all the time,--that it
would be so awful if poor Miss Spring had been murdered, or could she
have killed herself? There was something so uncharacteristic in the
idea of Miss Catherine's committing suicide, that for a moment her
nephew could not resist a smile; but he was grave enough again
directly, for it might be true, after all, and he remembered with a
thrill of horror that old Mr. Elden, the lawyer, had told him in
confidence, that Miss Spring was somewhat pinched for money,--that her
affairs were in rather a bad way, and perhaps he had better talk with
her, as he himself did not like to have all the responsibility of
advising her.
"Poor old lady!" thought Joseph Spring, who was a tender-hearted man.
"She looked to-day as if she felt bad about something. She has grown
old this last year, that's a fact!" It seemed to him as if she were in
truth dead already. "You had better look all over the house," said he
to his wife. "Did you look in the garret?" He remembered the story
that his great-grandfather had been found hanging there, and could not
have gone to the garret himself to save his life.
He went hurrying out of the house, determined now to make the
disappearance public. He would go to the depot, there were always some
men there at this time. The church-bell began to ring for
Wednesday-evening meeting, and she had always gone so regularly; he
would hurry back there, and tell the people as they came. The train
went by slowly to stop at the station, it was a little behind time. He
hurried on, looking down as he walked. To tell the truth, he was
thinking about the funeral, and suddenly he heard a familiar voice
say,--
"Well, Joseph! I suppose you thought I was lost!"
"Heavens and earth, Aunt Catherine! Where have you been?" And he
caught her by the shoulder, and felt suddenly like crying and laughing
together. "I never had any thing come over me so in all my life," said
he to his wife and Miss Stanby, as they went home later that evening.
"I declare, it took the wits right out of me."
Miss Catherine looked brighter than she had that afternoon, the
excitement really had done her good; she told her adventure as they
hurried home together. When they reached the house Martha Spring and
Miss Stanby kissed her, and cried as if their hearts would break.
Joseph looked out of the window a few minutes, and then announced that
he would go out and see to the horse.
The tears were soon over with; and, as soon as it seemed decent,
Mrs. Martha said, "Aunt Catherine, do tell me where you got that
pretty hood! I wish I had seen it when I first got here, to take the
pattern. Isn't it a new stitch?"
"Dear me! haven't I taken it off?" said Miss Catherine. "Well, you
must excuse me if I am scatter-witted. I feel as if I had been gone a
week."
They had supper directly--that very late supper! They were all as
hungry as hunters, even poor little Miss Stanby; and the re-action
from such suspense made the guests merry enough, while, as was often
said, Miss Catherine was always good company. The cream-tartar
biscuits were none the less good for being cold. Joseph hadn't eaten
such gingerbread since he was there before; and the tea was made fresh
over a dry-shingle fire, which blazes in a minute, as every one knows.
There were more than enough pound-cakes; and Martha asked all over
again how Miss Catherine made her preserves, for somehow hers were
never so good; while Miss Catherine meekly said that she had not had
such good luck as usual with the last she made.
At last they drove off down the road. The moon had come up, and was
shining through the trees. It was so cool and fresh and bright an
evening, with a little yellow still lingering in the west after the
sunset! The guests went away very happy and light-hearted, for it
seemed as if they had been spared a terrible sorrow.
"I saw the prettiest little old-fashioned table up in the garret,"
said Mrs. Martha. "It only needs fixing up a little. I mean to ask
your Aunt Catherine if I can't have it when I go over again."
"No, you won't," said her husband, with more authority than was usual
with him.
Miss Catherine stood watching at the gate until they were out of
sight. "I must settle down," said she. "I feel as if it had been a
wedding or a funeral or something; and I declare if it isn't Wednesday
evening, and what will they think has become of me at meeting?" though
she could have trusted Mrs. Hilton to spread the story far and
wide--by which you must not suppose that good Mrs. Hilton was a
naughty gossip.
The next morning Miss Catherine waked up even more heavy-hearted than
she had been the day before. I suppose she was tired after the unusual
excitement. She wished she had talked to Joseph, she must talk with
somebody. She wished she had not been such a fool as to get on those
cars, for she was sure she never should hear the last of the joke;
and, after the morning work was done, she sat down in the sitting-room
with the clock ticking mockingly, and that intolerable feeling of
despair and disgust came over her; there is nothing much harder to
bear than that, if you know what it is I am sure you will pity her.
The afternoon seemed very long. It rained; and nobody came in until
the evening, when Mrs. Hilton's boy came with a letter. Miss Catherine
had been to the post-office just before dinner, to send the money to
Miss Ashton; and this surprised her very much. "It must have come by
the seven-o'clock train," said she. "I never get letters from that
way;" and she took it to the window, and looked curiously at the
address, and at last she opened it. It was a pretty letter to look at,
and it proved a pleasant one to read. It was from Alice West, Miss
Ashton's niece; and Miss Catherine read it slowly, and felt as if she
were in a dream.
"My Dear Miss Spring,--My aunt, Miss Ashton, wishes me to write to
you, to ask if it would be convenient for you to take us to board. We
are very much disappointed here, and are glad we did not positively
engage our rooms until we had seen them. It is a very damp house, and
I am sure my aunt ought not to stay, and would be uncomfortable in
many ways. We should like two rooms close to each other, and we were
each to pay ten dollars a week here, but are perfectly willing to pay
more than that. We are almost certain that we shall like your house;
but perhaps it will be the better way for me to come down and see you,
and then I can make all the arrangements. If Brookton suits my aunt,
we may wish to stay as late as October; and should you mind if one of
my friends comes to stay with us by and by? She would share my room.
If you will write me to-morrow morning, and if you think you can take
us, I will go down in the early afternoon train.
"We hope you reached home all right, and that your friends were not
much worried. We begin to think that your adventure was a fortunate
thing for us. With kind regards from us both,
"Yours sincerely,
"Alice West."
Did you ever know any thing more fortunate than this? Poor Miss
Catherine sat down and cried about it; and the cat came and rubbed
against her foot, and purred sympathizingly, and was taken up and wept
over, which I believe had never happened to her before. Of all people,
who could be pleasanter boarders than these? They had won her heart in
the half-hour she had already spent with them. She had wished then
that they were coming to her: it would be such a pleasure to make them
comfortable. And twenty dollars a week,--that would surely be more
than enough for them all to live upon with what she had beside. And
there was Katy, who could save so many steps, and could wait on Miss
Ashton; she would have the child come at once. She could have
Mrs. Brown come every day for a while, beside Mondays and Tuesdays;
and how glad she would be of the extra pay! Miss Catherine even went
up stairs in the late June twilight, to look at the two familiar
front-chambers, with only the small square hall separating them. They
looked so pleasant, and were so airy and of such good size, they could
not help being suited. She patted the pillow of her best bed
affectionately, and thought with pride that they would find no fault
with her way of cooking, and her house never was damp; there was not a
better house in Brookton. Life had rarely looked brighter to Miss
Catherine than it did that night.
Alice West came down the next afternoon, and found the house and the
rooms and Miss Catherine herself were all exactly what wise Miss
Ashton had said they would be. And the two boarders thought themselves
lucky to have found such a pleasant house for the summer; they were so
considerate, and became favorites with many people beside their
hostess. They brought a great deal of pleasure and good-will to sober
little Brookton, as two cultivated, thoughtful, helpful women may make
any place pleasanter if they choose. Miss Ashton is a help and a
comfort and a pleasure wherever she goes, while Alice West is learning
to be like her more and more every year. Miss Catherine remembered
sometimes with great thankfulness, that it was the loss of her money
for a while that had brought her these friends. Katy Dunning was so
happy to go to live at Miss Spring's after all, and did her very
best,--a patient, steady, willing little creature she was! and I am
sure she never had had so many good times in her life as she did that
summer.
I might tell you so much more about these people, but a story must end
somewhere. You may hope that Miss Catherine's fortunes bettered, and
that she never will have to give up her home; that she can keep Katy
all the time; that Miss Ashton will come back to Brookton the next
year, and the next.