THE VALLEY.
The time of our summer flitting varied. Sometimes we stayed at Green
Peace till after strawberry-time, and lingered late at the Valley;
sometimes we went early, and came back in time for the peaches. But in
one month or another there came a season of great business and bustle.
Woollen dresses were put away in the great cedar-lined camphor-chests
studded with brass nails; calico dresses were lengthened, and joyfully
assumed; trunks were packed, and boxes and barrels; carpets were taken
up and laid away; and white covers were put over pictures and mirrors.
Finally we departed, generally in more or less confusion.
I remember one occasion when our rear column reached the Old Colony
Station just as the train was starting. The advance-guard, consisting
of our mother and the older children, was already on board; and Harry
and Laura have a vivid recollection of being caught up by our father and
tumbled into the moving baggage-car, he flashing in after us, and all
sitting on trunks, panting, till we were sufficiently revived to pass
through to our seats in the passenger-car. In those days the railway ran
no farther than Fall River. There we must take a carriage and drive
twelve miles to our home in the Island of Rest. Twelve long and weary
miles they were, much dreaded by us all. The trip was made in a large
old-fashioned vehicle, half hack, half stage. The red cushions were hard
and uncomfortable; the horses were aged; their driver, good,
snuff-colored Mr. Anthony, felt keenly his duty to spare them, and
considered the passengers a minor affair. So we five children were
cramped and cooped up, I know not how long. It seemed hours that we must
sit there, while the ancient horses crawled up the sandy hills, or
jogged meditatively along the level spaces. Every joint developed a
separate ache; our legs were cramped,--the short ones from hanging over
the seat, the long ones because the floor of the coach was piled with
baskets and bandboxes. It was hot, hot! The flies buzzed, and would not
let one go to sleep; the dust rolled in thick yellow clouds from under
the wheels, and filled eyes and mouth, and set all a-sneezing.
Decidedly, it was a most tiresome jaunt. But all the more delightful was
the arrival! To drive in under the apple-trees, just as the evening was
falling cool and sweet; to tumble out of the stuffy prison-coach, and
race through the orchard, and out to the barn, and up the hill behind
the house,--ah, that was worth all the miseries of the journey!
From the hill behind the house we could see the sunset; and that was one
thing we did not have at Green Peace, shut in by its great trees. Here,
before our eyes, still aching from the dust of the road, lay the great
bay, all a sheet of silver, with white sails here and there; beyond it
Conanicut, a long island, brown in the noon-light, now softened into
wonderful shades of amethyst and violet; and the great sun going down in
a glory of gold and flame! Nowhere else are such sunsets. Sometimes the
sky was all strewn with fiery flakes and long delicate flame-feathers,
glowing with rosy light; sometimes there were purple cloud-islands,
edged with crimson, and between them and the real island a space of
delicate green, so pure, so cold, that there is nothing to compare with
it save a certain chrysoprase our mother had.
Gazing at these wonders, the children would stand, full of vague
delight, not knowing what they thought, till the tea-bell summoned them
to the house for a merry picnic supper. Then there was clattering
upstairs, washing of hands in the great basin with purple grapes on it
(it belonged in the guest-chamber, and we were not allowed to use it
save on special occasions like this), hasty smoothing of hair and
straightening of collars, and then clatter! clatter! down again.
There was nothing remarkable about the house at the Valley. It was just
a pleasant cottage, with plenty of sunny windows and square,
comfortable rooms. But we were seldom in the house, save at meal-times
or when it rained; and our real home was under the blue sky. First,
there was the orchard. It was an ideal orchard, with the queerest old
apple-trees that ever were seen. They did not bear many apples, but they
were delightful to climb in, with trunks slanting so that one could
easily run up them, and branches that curled round so as to make a
comfortable back to lean against. There are few pleasanter things than
to sit in an apple-tree and read poetry, with birds twittering
undismayed beside you, and green leaves whispering over your head. Laura
was generally doing this when she ought to have been mending her
stockings.
Then there was the joggling-board, under the two biggest trees. The
delight of a joggling-board is hardly to be explained to children who
have never known it; but I trust many children do know it. The board is
long and smooth and springy, supported at both ends on stands; and one
can play all sorts of things on it. Many a circus has been held on the
board at the Valley! We danced the tight-rope on it; we leaped through
imaginary rings, coming down on the tips of our toes; we hopped its
whole length on one foot; we wriggled along it on our stomachs, on our
backs; we bumped along it on hands and knees. Dear old joggling-board!
it is not probable that any other was ever quite so good as ours.
Near by was the pump, a never-failing wonder to us when we were little.
The well over which it stood was very deep, and it took a long time to
bring the bucket up. It was a chain-pump, and the chain went
rattlety-clank! rattlety-clank! round and round; and the handle creaked
and groaned,--“Ah-_ho_! ah-_ho_!” When you had turned a good while there
came out of the spout a stream of--water? No! of daddy-long-legses! They
lived, apparently, in the spout, and they did not like the water; so
when they heard the bucket coming up, with the water going “lip! lap!”
as it swung to and fro, they came running out, dozens and dozens of
them, probably thinking what unreasonable people we were to disturb
them. When the water did finally come, it was wonderfully cold, and
clear as crystal.
The hill behind the house was perhaps our favorite play-room. It was a
low, rocky hill, covered with “prostrate juniper” bushes, which bore
blue berries very useful in our housekeeping. At the top of the rise the
bare rock cropped out, dark gray, covered with flat, dry lichens. This
was our house. It had several rooms: the drawing-room was really
palatial,--a broad floor of rock, with flights of steps leading up to
it. The state stairway was used for kings and queens, conquerors, and
the like; the smaller was really more convenient, as the steps were more
sharply defined, and you were not so apt to fall down them. Then there
was the dining-room rock, where meals were served,--daisy pudding and
similar delicacies; and the kitchen rock, which had a real oven, and the
most charming cupboards imaginable. Here were stored hollyhock cheeses,
and sorrel leaves, and twigs of black birch, fragrant and spicy, and
many other good things.
On this hill was celebrated, on the first of August, the annual festival
of “Yeller’s Day.” This custom was begun by Flossy, and adhered to for
many years. Immediately after breakfast on the appointed day, all the
children assembled on the top of the hill and yelled. Oh, how we yelled!
It was a point of honor to make as much noise as possible. We roared and
shrieked and howled, till we were too hoarse to make a sound; then we
rested, and played something else, perhaps, till our voices were
restored, and then--yelled again! Yeller’s Day was regarded as one of
the great days of the summer. By afternoon we were generally quite
exhausted, and we were hoarse for several days afterward. I cannot
recommend this practice. In fact, I sincerely hope that no child will
attempt to introduce it; for it is very bad for the voice, and might in
some cases do real injury.
Almost every morning we went down to the bay to bathe. It was a walk of
nearly a mile through the fields,--such a pleasant walk! The fields were
not green, but of a soft russet, the grass being thin and dry, with
great quantities of a little pinkish fuzzy plant whose name we never
knew.[1] They were divided by stone walls, which we were skilful in
climbing. In some places there were bars which must be let down, or
climbed over, or crawled through, as fancy suggested. There were many
blackberries, of the lowbush variety, bearing great clusters of berries,
glossy, beautiful, delicious. We were not allowed to eat them on the way
down, but only when coming home. Some of these fields belonged to the
Cross Farmer, who had once been rude to us. We regarded him as a manner
of devil, and were always looking round to see if his round-shouldered,
blue-shirted figure were in sight. At last the shore was reached, and
soon we were all in the clear water, shrieking with delight, paddling
about, puffing and blowing like a school of young porpoises.
At high-tide the beach was pebbled; at low-tide we went far out, the
ground sloping very gradually, to a delightful place where the bottom
was of fine white sand, sparkling as if mixed with diamond dust.
Starfish crawled about on it, and other creatures,--crabs, too,
sometimes, that would nip an unwary toe if they got a chance. Sometimes
the water was full of jelly-fish, which we did not like, in spite of
their beauty. Beyond the white sand was a bed of eel-grass, very
dreadful, not to be approached. If a person went into it, he was
instantly seized and entangled, and drowned before the eyes of his
companions. This was our firm belief. It was probably partly due to
Andersen’s story of the “Little Sea-Maid,” which had made a deep
impression on us all, with its clutching polyps and other submarine
terrors.
We all learned to swim more or less, but Flossy was the best swimmer.
Sometimes we went to bathe in the afternoon instead of the morning, if
the tide suited better. I remember one such time when we came
delightfully near having an adventure. It was full moon, and the tide
was very high. We had loitered along the beach after our bath, gathering
mussels to boil for tea, picking up gold-shells or scallop-shells, and
punching seaweed bladders, which pop charmingly if you do them right.
German Mary, the good, stupid nurse who was supposed to be taking care
of us, knew nothing about tides; and when we came back to the little
creek which we must cross on leaving the beach, lo! the creek was a
deep, broad stream, the like of which we had never seen. What was to be
done? Valiant Flossy proposed to swim across and get help, but Mary
shrieked and would not hear of it, and we all protested that it was
impossible. Then we perceived that we must spend the night on the beach;
and when we were once accustomed to the idea, it was not without
attraction for us. The sand was warm and dry, and full of shells and
pleasant things; it was August, and the night would be just cool enough
for comfort after the hot day; we had a pailful of blackberries which we
had picked on the way down, meaning to eat them during our homeward
walk; Julia could tell us stories. Altogether it would be a very
pleasant occasion. And then to think of the romance of it! “The
Deserted Children!” “Alone on a Sandbank!” “The Watchers of the Tide!”
There was no end to the things that could be made out of it. So, though
poor Mary wept and wrung her hands, mindful (which I cannot remember
that we were) of our mother waiting for us at home, we were all very
happy.
The sun went down in golden state. Then, turning to the land, we watched
the moon rising, in softer radiance, but no less wonderful and glorious.
Slowly the great orb rose, turning from pale gold to purest silver. The
sea darkened, and presently a little wind came up, and began to sing
with the murmuring waves. We sang, too, some of the old German
student-songs which our mother had taught us, and which were our
favorite ditties. They rang out merrily over the water:--
_Die Binschgauer wollten wallfahrten geh’n!_
(The Binschgauer would on a pilgrimage go!)
or,--
_Was kommt dort von der Hoh’?_
(What comes there over the hill?)
Then Julia told us a story. Perhaps it was the wonderful story of
Red-cap,--a boy who met a giant in the forest, and did something to help
him, I cannot remember what. Whereupon the grateful giant gave Red-cap a
covered silver dish, with a hunter and a hare engraved upon it. When the
boy wanted anything he must put the cover on, and ask the hunter and
hare to give him what he desired; but there must be a rhyme in the
request, else it could not be granted. Red-cap thanked the giant, and as
soon as he was alone put the cover on the dish and said,--
“Silver hunter, silver hare,
Give me a ripe and juicy pear!”
Taking off the cover, he found the finest pear that ever was seen,
shining like pure gold, with a crimson patch on one side. It was so
delicious that it made Red-cap hungry; so he covered the dish again and
said:
“Silver hunter, silver rabbit,
Give me an apple, and I’ll grab it!”
Off came the cover, and, lo! there was an apple the very smell of which
was too good for any one save the truly virtuous. It was so large that
it filled the dish, and its flavor was not to be described, so wonderful
was it! A third time the happy Red-cap covered his dish, and cried,--
“Hunter and hare, of silver each,
Give me a soft and velvet peach!”
And when he saw the peach he cried out for joy, for it was like the
peaches that grew on the crooked tree just by the south door of the
greenhouse at Green Peace; and those were the best trees in the garden,
and therefore the best in the world.
The trouble about this story is that I never can remember any more of
it, and I cannot find the book that contains it. But it must have been
about this time that we were hailed from the opposite side of the creek;
and presently a boat was run out, and came over to the sand beach and
took us off. The people at the Poor Farm, which was on a hill close by,
had seen the group of Crusoes and come to our rescue. They greeted us
with words of pity (which were quite unnecessary), rowed us to the
shore, and then kindly harnessed the farm-horse and drove us home.
German Mary was loud in her thanks and expressions of relief; our mother
also was grateful to the good people; but from us they received scant
and grudging thanks. If they had only minded their own business and let
us alone, we could have spent the night on a sandbank. Now it was not
likely that we ever should! And, indeed, we never did.