The four families on Mount Hunger were known to the towns about as The
Lost Nation. Two of them, the Blossoms and the Spillkinses, were, in
reality, lumber-dealers rather than farmers. The third, Lemuel Wood,
had a sheep farm, and Aunt Tryphosa Little with her granddaughter,
Maria-Ann, was the fourth. The two women owned a spruce wood-lot and
let it out to men who cut the bark. They cultivated a small
garden-patch of corn, beans, and squash, kept a cow and a few hens, and
eked out their scanty income with a day's work here and there in fine
weather.
Every two weeks they did the washing and ironing for the Blossom family,
as Mrs. Blossom's cares were too heavy for her, and she felt that not
only could she afford it this year, but that in putting it out she was
giving a little help to her poorer neighbors.
Chi or March took the huge basket of linen over on the wagon or sledge,
and always left with it a neighborly gift--a peck of fine russets or
greenings, a bunch of celery, a pound or two of salt pork, a bunch of
delicious parsnips, or a dozen eggs when the old dame's hens were
moulting. Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann were not to be outdone in
neighborly kindnesses, and, regularly, the willow basket, full to
overflowing with snow-white clothes, was returned with something tucked
away under the square covering of oil-cloth--a tiny bunch of sage or
summer savory, an ironing-holder made of bits of bright calico or
woollen rags, a little paper-bag of spruce gum, a pair of woollen
wristers for Mr. Blossom or Chi, a new recipe for spring bitters with a
sample of the herbs--sassafras, dockroot, thoroughwort, wintergreen, and
dandelion--gathered by Aunt Tryphosa herself.
They had one cow which they regarded as the third member of their
family. She had been named Dorcas, after Aunt Tryphosa's mother, and
proved a model animal of her kind. She gave a more than ordinary amount
of creamy milk; presented her mistress with a sturdy calf each year;
never hooked or kicked; never, during the bitter winter weather, grew
restless in her small shed which adjoined the woodshed, and never broke
from pasture in the sweet-smelling summer-time.
Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann vied with each other in petting her. They
brushed her coat as regularly as they did up their own back hair. They
gave her a weekly scrubbing as conscientiously as they took their
Saturday bath. For cold nights Aunt Tryphosa had made for her a
nightdress of red flannel (although she had never heard of "Cranford"),
which she and Maria-Ann had planned to fit the cow-anatomy, and it had
proved a great success.
For the midsummer fly-time they had contrived a wonderfully fashioned
garment of coarse fish-netting, into which they had knotted a cotton
fringe. They claimed, and rightly, that freedom from chill and
irritation, incident upon zero weather and August dog-days, affected the
milk most favorably, both in quantity and quality; and, as it all went
to make delicious small cheeses, which sold at Barton's River for
twenty-five cents apiece and were renowned throughout the county, people
had ceased to laugh at the cow's appearance.
It had become one of Hazel's great treats to be permitted to go with
March or Chi to the little house--not much more than a cabin--on the
east side of the Mountain; and when she knew that the two were to be
guests for Thanksgiving, but not for Christmas, she began to lay plans
accordingly.
The Spillkinses were an aged set, not one was under seventy.
There were the Captain and his wife, who had celebrated their Golden
Wedding, and his wife's two maiden sisters, Melissa and Elvira, of whom
he always spoke as the "girls." They were funny old maidens of seventy
one and two, who did up their hair in curl-papers, precisely as they did
a half a century ago; wore black cotton mitts when they went to church,
and white silk ones when they went out to tea; called each other "Lissy"
and "Elly," and were still sensitive in regard to their ages.
In addition to these, the old, gray-shingled, vine-covered farmhouse on
the lower mountain-road, sheltered the Captain's elder brother, Israel,
who was just turned ninety-three, hale and hearty, and Israel's eldest
son, Reuben, a youth of seventy, who in our North Country parlance "was
not all there," but harmless, kindly, and generally helpful.
All these, together with Lemuel Wood and his wife, and the new teacher,
were to be Thanksgiving guests, and wonderful preparations went on for
days beforehand.
Such a sorting and paring and chopping of apples! Such a seeding of
raisins, and whipping of eggs, and compounding of cakes! Such a tucking
away of chickens beneath the flaky crust of the huge pie! Such a
moulding of cranberry jelly, so deeply, darkly, richly red! Such a
cracking of butternuts, and a melting of maple sugar! Such a stuffing of
an eighteen-pound turkey, and such a trussing of thin-linked sausages!
Such a making of goodly pies, pumpkin, mince, and apple! Such a
quartering of small cheeses contributed by Aunt Tryphosa! Such an
unbottling of sweet pickles, and unbarrelling of sweet cider;--and, on
the final day, such a general boiling, and baking, and roasting, and
basting, and mashing, and grinding, and seasoning, and whipping, and
cutting, and kneading, and rolling, as can occur only once a year in an
old-fashioned, New England farmhouse.
Hazel was in her glory. Arrayed in a checked gingham apron, which she
had made herself, she beat eggs, whipped cream, helped Rose set the
table, wiped the dishes and baking-pans, basted the noble Thanksgiving
bird once, as a great privilege, although in so doing, she burned her
fingers with the sputtering fat, scorched her apron, and parboiled her
already flushed face with the escaping steam. But she was happy!
"Oh, papa!" she wrote the day after the party, "I never had such a good
time in my life! If only you could see the things we made!--apple and
lemon tarts, and mince and cranberry 'turnovers,' and doughnuts all
twisted into a sort of French bow-knot such as Gabrielle used to make of
her back hair, and a queer kind of cake they call 'marble,' all streaky
with chocolate and white, and butternut candy made with maple sugar, and
an _Indian_ pudding, and little bits of nut-cakes with a small piece of
currant jelly inside and all powdered sugar out; and--oh, I can't begin
to tell you, for this is only a part of the dessert.
"I 'll try to paragraph this letter in the right places so you 'll
understand about the party.
"All the Lost Nation was invited; Captain and Mrs. Spillkins, Miss
Melissa and Miss Elvira, Uncle Israel and Poor Reub, Mr. Lemuel Wood and
his wife, and Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and-- Oh, I forgot Miss
Alton. She 's awfully sweet; she is Budd and Cherry's teacher in the
district school at the Mill Settlement. She's more like a city person
than the others. I wish you 'd been here! for I can't tell it half as
nice as it was; but I 'll do my best because you wrote you wanted me to
tell you everything.
"We were already for the party at eleven o'clock--in the morning, I
mean--(I can't remember the sign for forenoon). We don't have any lunch
up here, as you know, but the dinner comes between 12 and 1, so
everything was ready then. I got up at five o'clock! and worked hard
till it was time to change my gown.
"It was awfully cold. Chi said the thermometer was shivering when he
looked at it just after breakfast; he means by that, it's below zero--a
good deal; and I couldn't help thinking how cosy and warm and
deliciously smelly it would be for the Lost Nation when they came in out
of the cold into the long-room and saw the table (it looked beautiful,
with baskets of red apples, and nuts and raisins, and a big centre-piece
of red geranium) just loaded with goodies.
"March had driven over for Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and they arrived
first--Mrs. Blossom says they always do. (I want you to go over and call
on them when you are up here Christmas; it's just like a story in Hans
Andersen; they keep a cow, Dorcas, who wears a kimono on very cold
nights.)
"March helped Aunt Tryphosa out just as if she had been Queen Victoria.
(I forgot to tell you she and Maria-Ann do our laundry work.) March is
perfectly splendid about such things--and Maria-Ann sort of bounced out,
although Chi held out his hand to help her. It's so funny to see them
together! Aunt Tryphosa is so small and wrinkled and thin that,
sometimes, Chi says he has known a good wind to knock her right over;
and Maria-Ann is almost as tall as Chi, and stout and rosy-cheeked, with
nice brown eyes that talk to you.
"And, oh, papa!--I'll tell you, but it's a confidence--I saw Aunt
Tryphosa shiver hard when she came into the house, and I 'm afraid she
did not have enough warm things on. I know her shawl was n't _very_
thick, for I went into the bedroom afterwards and felt of it; and she
had no furs at all! Think of that with the thermometer way down below
zero, papa! I 'll tell you all about it when you come.
"Well, after Mrs. Blossom had given the old lady a cup of hot tea, she
felt better and began to talk; and, honestly, papa, she never stopped
talking all day long! March said he timed her. She lives away over on
the east side of the Mountain away from everybody, and yet she knows
everything that is going on, on the Mountain, and at the Mill
Settlement, and at Barton's River, and that, as you know, is quite a
large place.
"She told us all about the new neighbors in the seven-gabled-house; how
they had their dinner at bed-time, and what 'help' they have, and whom
they are going to have for hired man, and how they have music every
night after dinner, and how the lights were n't put out in the
north-east chamber till one o'clock. She even knew the pattern of lace
on the underclothes that were hung out to dry! and Maria-Ann was trying
to crochet some in imitation; I saw it myself.
"And she said that one of the chambers was all lined with books, and
another just covered, floor and walls, with pictures--what can she mean,
papa? and that down stairs off the living-room in what used to be old
Mrs. Morris's milk-room, there were ropes, and weights, and pulleys, and
a stretcher, and iron balls, and that every one said it did n't have the
right look. But she said she meant to stand up for them, because the
young man had come over to call just two or three days ago and said, as
she was his nearest neighbor, they ought to become acquainted before
winter set in; and he ordered a half a dozen cheeses and brought word
from his mother that she would like them to come over and see her
daughter, for she thought Maria-Ann might be able to do something for
her. Now, what do you suppose it all means?
"Of course, it makes us all wild to go over there, and I hope we shall
go soon.
"But, oh! if you could see the Spillkinses! I had to go off up stairs
and bury my face in Rose's feather bed so I could laugh without being
heard. They 're the funniest lot of people I ever saw. They all came
over in a big wagon filled with straw, and before they came in sight,
Chi said, 'They 're coming, I know by the cackle;' and, papa, that is
just what it was.
"They are all awfully aged, but they act just like young people, and
Mrs. Blossom says it's their young hearts that keep them so young.
"Uncle Israel, he's ninety-three, but he wears a dark brown wig and
looks younger than his son, Poor Reub, who is seventy and has snow-white
hair. Mrs. Spillkins wears what they call up here a 'false front;' it's
just the color of Uncle Israel's, so she looks more like his sister.
But her two sisters, Miss Melissa and Miss Elvira, are perfectly
comical. They're just as small as Aunt Tryphosa, but they don't talk;
only nod and smile and bow as if they were talking. They have little
corkscrew curls, three on each temple, and they bob and shake when they
nod and smile and sort of chirrup; it's the Captain and his wife and
Uncle Israel who cackle so when they laugh. Poor Reuben does n't say
much either, only he looks perfectly happy, and always sits by his
father when he can get a chance. Chi was just lovely to him all the
afternoon.
"Well, after Mr. Wood and his wife and the new teacher came, we all sat
down to dinner, and Mr. Blossom said 'grace,' and all the Spillkinses
said 'Amen,' which surprised us all very much.
"We don't have courses up here, because there is nobody to serve us; so
everything is put on your plate at once, except, of course, dessert, and
papa!--I would n't say it to any one but you, but I never saw any one
eat so much as Aunt Tryphosa for all she is so small and thin. Mr.
Blossom piled her plate up twice with turkey, and squash, and onion, and
potato, and turnip, and then she helped herself to cranberry jelly and
sweet pickles three times; and yet she managed to talk all the time; and
the queer part of it was that she did n't cut herself once, they all eat
with their knives--except, of course, our family and Miss Alton.
"Rose and Cherry and I removed the dinner plates, and that was all the
waiting there was.
"We sat till half-past three at the table; then Uncle Israel said
another 'grace'--'after-grace,' he called it,--and Mr. Blossom and Chi
took the--the gentlemen part out to see the horses and cows, and all the
rest went to work to clear off the table and do up the dishes. There
were so many of us it did n't take long, and then we lighted the lamps,
and all the--the ladies took out their knitting and began to work as
fast as they could.
"Then in a little while all the--the gentlemen came in, and the ladies
put up their work, and they all sat round the room and sang Auld Lang
Syne. Rose led, and Miss Alton sang a lovely alto. It was lovely, and
I longed to have you with me. Then Captain Spillkins said it was time to
hitch up, and Chi said it was time to be going as it was very dark and
cold. He drove Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann home, and Mrs. Blossom
filled a large basket with all sorts of goodies, and Mr. Blossom set it
in behind in the apple-green cart without their knowing it; so now they
can have a surprise party of their own and Thanksgiving for a whole
week.
"There! This is the longest letter I ever wrote in all my life. I 've
written it at different times during the day. I ate so much yesterday,
that I don't feel very bright to-day, so you must excuse any mistakes,
although I've used the dictionery as you wanted me to.
"Always your loving, and now your dreadfully sleepy
"DAUGHTER HAZEL.
"P.S. I think I shall feel better, if I tell you that we all had a very
unhappy time two weeks ago. I had a really dreadful heartache, papa,
and, for the first time, was homesick for you.
"You see, March and Rose are very proud of spirit, and I don't think
they liked it in me because we are rich--but you and I understand each
other, don't we? and know that being rich does n't mean anything to us,
does it? and then, too, Chi says we 're poor because we have n't so much
family to love as the Blossoms have, and that's true, too, is n't
it?--and I think that kind of poorness ought to balance our riches,
don't you? And--well, I can't explain how it all came about, but now
they are willing to let me give them things when I want to, and that
makes me very happy, and we are all a great deal happier than we were
before, and I'm going to call Mrs. Blossom, 'Mother Blossom,' after
this, she says she wants me to, and she takes me in her arms just as she
does Rose and Cherry, and we talk things over together; so everything is
all right now.
"Please send up my violin by express when you receive this. There is a
very good-looking young man, the new neighbor at the seven-gabled-house,
and he plays the violin, too, and his mother the piano. Love to Wilkins
and Minna-Lu. I 'll send him a present from here--Oh, I forgot! don't
forget to write Chi within a week sure, to inform you about the
Wishing-Tree, and don't buy any presents for anybody till you hear from
him. H.C."
When Mr. Clyde read this long letter at the breakfast table, his face
was the despair of Wilkins, who hovered about, seeking, ineffectually,
for an excuse to ask about Miss Hazel.
"Doan know what kin' er news Marse John get from little Missy," he told
Minna-Lu, the cook; "but he laffed pow'ful part de time, an' den he grow
pow'ful sober, an' de fust ting I know, de tears come splashin' onto de
paper, an' he speak up rale sharp, 'Wha' fo' yo' hyar, Wilkins?' an'
sayin' nuffin', I jes' makes tracks, case I see he wan's nobuddy see dem
tears.-- Fo' Gawd, I 'se be glad when little Missy come home."
Mr. Clyde took this manuscript, as he called it, over to the Doctor.
"There, Dick, read that," was all he said.
After the Doctor had read it, he whisked out his handkerchief in a
remarkably suspicious manner, and Mr. Clyde busied himself with a
medical journal without reading one word, till the Doctor spoke:
"I say, Johnny, let's get up a theatre party of us two for the Old
Homestead to-night; it's the nearest thing we can get to this of
Hazel's."
"You always hit the right thing, Dick, I 'll call for you at eight."