fed properly, and half the women in the world never think that what
goes into children's stomachs affects their brains," declared Miss
Hetty, as she rolled out vast sheets of dough next day, emphasizing her
remarks with vigorous flourishes of the rolling-pin.
"Our blessed mother understood how to feed a family. Fourteen stout boys
and girls, all alive and well, and you and I as smart at seventy one and
two, as most folks at forty. Good, plain victuals and plenty of 'em is
the secret of firm health," responded Miss Jerusha, rattling a pan of
buns briskly into the oven.
"We'd better make some Brighton Rock. It is gone out of fashion, but our
brothers used to be dreadful fond of it, and boys are about alike all
the world over. Ma's _resate_ never fails, and it will be a new treat
for the little dears."
"S'pose we have an extra can of milk left and give 'em a good mugful?
Some of those poor things look as if they never got a drop. Peck sells
beer, and milk is a deal better. Shall we, sister?"
"We'll try it, Jerushy. In for a penny, in for a pound."
And upon that principle the old ladies did the thing handsomely,
deferring the great event till Monday, that all might be in apple-pie
order. They said nothing of it when the lads came on Friday morning, and
all Saturday, which was a holiday at school, was a very busy one with
them.
"Hullo! Miss Hetty _has_ done it now, hasn't she? Look at that, old
Peck, and tremble!" exclaimed Charley to his mates, as he came down the
street on Monday morning, and espied a neat little sign on the sisters'
door, setting forth the agreeable fact that certain delectable articles
of food and drink could be had within at reasonable prices during
recess.
No caps were at the windows, but behind the drawn curtains two beaming
old faces were peeping out to see how the boys took the great
announcement. Whoever remembers Hawthorne's half-comic, half-pathetic
description of poor Hepsibah Pyncheon's hopes and fears, when arranging
her gingerbread wares in the little shop, can understand something of
the excitement of the sisters that day, as the time drew near when the
first attempt was to be made.
"Who will set the door open?" said Miss Hetty when the fateful moment
came, and boys began to pour out into the yard.
"I will!" And, nerving herself to the task, Miss Jerusha marched boldly
round the table, set wide the door, and then, as the first joyful whoop
from the boys told that the feast was in view, she whisked back into the
parlor panic-stricken.
"There they come,--hundreds of them, I should think by the sound!" she
whispered, as the tramp of feet came nearer, and the clamor of voices
exclaiming,--
"What bully buns!" "Ain't those cookies rousers?" "New stuff too, looks
first-rate." "I told you it wasn't a joke." "Wonder how Peck likes it?"
"Dickson sha'n't come in." "You go first, Charley." "Here's a cent for
you, Briggs; come on and trade like the rest of us."
"I'm so flurried I couldn't make change to save my life," gasped Miss
Jerusha from behind the sofa, whither she had fled.
"It is _my_ turn now. Be calm, and we shall soon get used to it."
Bracing herself to meet the merry chaff of the boys, as new and trying
to the old lady as real danger would have been, Miss Hetty stepped forth
into the hall to be greeted by a cheer, and then a chorus of demands for
everything so temptingly set forth upon her table. Intrenched behind a
barricade of buns, she dealt out her wares with rapidly increasing speed
and skill, for as fast as one relay of lads were satisfied another came
up, till the table was bare, the milk-can ran dry, and nothing was left
to tell the tale but an empty water-pail and a pile of five-cent pieces.
"I hope I didn't cheat any one, but I was flurried, sister, they were so
very noisy and so hungry. Bless their dear hearts; they are full now, I
trust." And Miss Hetty looked over her glasses at the crumby
countenances opposite, meeting many nods and smiles in return, as her
late customers enthusiastically recommended her establishment to the
patronage of those who had preferred Peck's questionable dainties.
"The Brighton Rock was a success; we must have a good store for
to-morrow, and more milk. Briggs drank it like a baby, and your nice
boy proposed my health like a little gentleman, as he is," replied Miss
Jerusha, who had ventured out before it was too late, and done the
honors of the can with great dignity, in spite of some inward
trepidation at the astonishing feats performed with the mug.
"Peck's nose is out of joint, if I may use so vulgar an expression, and
_our_ lunch a triumphant success. Boys know what is good, and we need
not fear to lose their custom as long as we can supply them. I shall
order a barrel of flour at once, and heat up the big oven. We have put
our hand to the work and must not turn back, for our honor is pledged
now."
With which lofty remark Miss Hetty closed the door, trying to look
utterly unconscious of the anxious Peck, who was flattening his nose
against his dingy window-pane to survey his rivals over piles of unsold
pastry.
The little venture _was_ a success, and all that winter the old ladies
did their part faithfully, finding the task more to their taste than
everlasting patchwork and knitting, and receiving a fair profit on
their outlay, being shrewd managers, and rich in old-fashioned thrift,
energy, and industry.
The boys revelled in wholesome fare, and soon learned to love "the
Aunties," as they were called, while such of the parents as took an
interest in the matter showed their approval in many ways most
gratifying to the old ladies.
The final triumph, however, was the closing of Peck's shop for want of
custom, for few besides the boys patronized him. None mourned for him,
and Dickson proved the truth of Miss Hetty's prophecy by actually having
a bilious fever in the spring.
But a new surprise awaited the boys; for when they came flocking back
after the summer vacation, there stood the little shop, brave in new
paint and fittings, full of all the old goodies, and over the door a
smart sign, "Plummer & Co."
"By Jove, the Aunties are bound to cover themselves with glory. Let's go
in and hear all about it. Behave now, you fellows, or I'll see about it
afterward," commanded Charley, as he paused to peer in through the clean
windows at the tempting display.
In they trooped, and, tapping on the counter, stood ready to greet the
old ladies as usual, but to their great surprise a pretty young woman
appeared, and smilingly asked what they would have.
"We want the Aunties, if you please. Isn't this their shop?" said little
Briggs, bitterly disappointed at not finding his good friends.
"You will find them over there at home as usual. Yes, this is their
shop, and I'm their niece. My husband is the Co., and we run the shop
for the aunts. I hope you'll patronize us, gentlemen."
"We will! we will! Three cheers for Plummer & Co.!" cried Charley,
leading off three rousers, that made the little shop ring again, and
brought two caps to the opposite windows, as two cheery old faces smiled
and nodded, full of satisfaction at the revolution so successfully
planned and carried out.
VII.
A BRIGHT IDEA.
"No answer to my advertisement, mamma, and I must sit with idle hands
for another day," said Clara with a despondent sigh, as the postman
passed the door.
"You needn't do that, child, when I'm suffering for a new cap, and no
one can suit me so well as you, if you have the spirits to do it,"
answered her mother from the sofa, where she spent most of her time
bewailing her hard lot.
"Plenty of spirits, mamma, and what is still more necessary, plenty of
materials; so I'll toss you up 'a love of a cap' before you know it."
And putting her own disappointment out of sight, pretty Clara fell to
work with such good-will that even poor, fretful Mrs. Barlow cheered up
in spite of herself.
"What a mercy it is that when everything else is swept away in this
dreadful failure I still have you, dear, and no dishonest banker can rob
me of my best treasure," she said fondly, as she watched her daughter
with tearful eyes.
"No one shall part us, mamma; and if I can only get something to do we
can be independent and happy in spite of our losses; for now the first
shock and worry is over, I find a curious sort of excitement in being
poor and having to work for my living. I was so tired of pleasure and
idleness I really quite long to work at something, if I could only find
it."
But though Clara spoke cheerfully, she had a heavy heart; for during the
month which had followed the discovery that they were nearly penniless,
she had been through a great deal for a tenderly nurtured girl of
three-and-twenty. Leaving a luxurious home for two plainly furnished
rooms, and trying to sustain her mother with hopeful plans, had kept her
busy for a time; but now she had nothing to do but wait for replies to
her modest advertisements as governess, copyist, or reader.
"I do wish I'd been taught a trade, mamma, or some useful art by which
I could earn our bread now. Rich people ought to remember that money
takes to itself wings, and so prepare their children to face poverty
bravely. If half the sums spent on my music and dress had been used in
giving me a single handicraft, what a blessing it would be to us now!"
she said, thoughtfully, as she sewed with rapid fingers, unconsciously
displaying the delicate skill of one to whom dress was an art and a
pleasure.
"If you were not so proud we might accept Cousin John's offer and be
quite comfortable," returned her mother, in a reproachful tone.
"No; we should soon feel that we were a burden, and that would be worse
than living on bread and water. Let us try to help ourselves first, and
then, if we fail, we cannot be accused of indolence. I know papa would
wish it, so please let me try."
"As you like; _I_ shall not be a burden to any one long." And Mrs.
Barlow looked about for her handkerchief.
But Clara prevented the impending shower by skilfully turning the poor
lady's thoughts to the new cap which was ready to try on.
"Isn't it pretty? Just the soft effect that is so becoming to your dear,
pale face. Take a good look at it, and tell me whether you'll have pale
pink bows or lavender."
"It is very nice, child; you always suit me, you've such charming taste.
I'll have lavender, for though it's not so becoming as pink, it is more
appropriate to our fallen fortunes," answered her mother, smiling in
spite of herself, as she studied effects in the mirror.
"No, let us have it pink, for I want my pretty mother to look her best,
though no one sees her but me, and I'm so glad to know that I _can_ make
caps well if I can't do anything else," said Clara, rummaging in a box
for the desired shade.
"No one ever suited me so well, and if you were not a lady, you might
make a fortune as a milliner, for you have the taste of a Frenchwoman,"
said Mrs. Barlow, adding, as she took her cap off, "Don't you remember
how offended Madame Pigat was when she found out that you altered all
her caps before I wore them, and how she took some of your hints and got
all the credit of them?"
"Yes, mamma," was all Clara answered, and then sat working so silently
that it was evident her thoughts were as busy as her hands. Presently
she said, "I must go down to our big box for the ribbon, there is none
here that I like," and, taking a bunch of keys, she went slowly away.
In the large parlor below stood several trunks and cases belonging to
Mrs. Barlow, and left there for her convenience, as the room was unlet.
Clara opened several of these, and rapidly turned over their contents,
as if looking for something beside pale pink ribbon. Whatever it was she
appeared to find it, for, dropping the last lid with a decided bang, she
stood a moment looking about the large drawing-room with such
brightening eyes it was evident that they saw some invisible beauty
there; then a smile broke over her face, and she ran up stairs to waken
her mother from a brief doze, by crying joyfully, as she waved a curl of
gay ribbon over her head,--
"I've got it, mamma, I've got it!"
"Bless the child! what have you got,--a letter?" cried Mrs. Barlow,
starting up.
"No; but something better still,--a new way to get a living. I'll be a
milliner, and you shall have as many caps as you like. Now don't laugh,
but listen; for it is a splendid idea, and you shall have all the credit
of it, because you suggested it."
"I've materials enough," she continued, "to begin with; for when all
else went, they left us our finery, you know, and now we can live on it
instead of wearing it. Yes, I'll make caps and sell them, and that will
be both easier and pleasanter than to go out teaching and leave you here
alone."
"But how _can_ you sell them?" asked her mother, half bewildered by the
eagerness with which the new plan was unfolded.
"That's the best of all, and I only thought of it when I was among the
boxes. Why not take the room below and lay out all our fine things
temptingly, instead of selling them one by one as if we were ashamed of
it?
"As I stood there just now, I saw it all. Mrs. Smith would be glad to
let the room, and I could take it for a month, just to try how my plan
works; and if it _does_ go well, why can I not make a living as well as
Madame?"
"But, child, what will people say?"
"That I'm an honest girl, and lend me a hand, if they are friends worth
having."
Mrs. Barlow was not convinced, and declared she would hide herself if
any one came; but after much discussion consented to let the trial be
made, though predicting utter failure, as she retired to her sofa to
bewail the sad necessity for such a step.
Clara worked busily for several days to carry into execution her plan;
then she sent some notes to a dozen friends, modestly informing them
that her "opening" would take place on a certain day.
"Curiosity will bring them, if nothing else," she said, trying to seem
quite cool and gay, though her heart fluttered with anxiety as she
arranged her little stock in the front parlor.
In the bay-window was her flower-stand, where the white azaleas, red
geraniums, and gay nasturtiums seemed to have bloomed their loveliest to
help the gentle mistress who had tended them so faithfully, even when
misfortune's frost had nipped her own bright roses. Overhead swung a
pair of canaries in their garlanded cage, singing with all their might,
as if, like the London 'prentice-boys in old times, they cried, "What do
you lack? Come buy, come buy!"
On a long table in the middle of the room, a dozen delicate caps and
head-dresses were set forth. On another lay garlands of French flowers
bought for pretty Clara's own adornment. Several dainty ball-dresses,
imported for the gay winter she had expected to pass, hung over chairs
and couch, also a velvet mantle Mrs. Barlow wished to sell, while some
old lace, well-chosen ribbons, and various elegant trifles gave color
and grace to the room.
Clara's first customer was Mrs. Tower,--a stout florid lady, full of the
good-will and the real kindliness which is so sweet in times of trouble.
"My dear girl, how are you, and how is mamma? Now this is charming. Such
a capital idea, and just what is needed; a quiet place, where one can
come and be made pretty without all the world's knowing how we do it."
And greeting Clara even more cordially than of old, the good lady
trotted about, admiring everything, just as she used to do when she
visited the girl in her former home to see and exclaim over any fresh
arrival of Paris finery.
"I'll take this mantle off your hands with pleasure, for I intended to
import one, and this saves me so much trouble. Put it up for me, dear,
at the price mamma paid for it, not a cent less, because it has never
been worn, and I've no duties to pay on it, so it is a good bargain for
me."
Then, before Clara could thank her, she turned to the head-gear, and
fell into raptures over a delicate affair, all blonde and
forget-me-nots.
"Such a sweet thing! I _must_ have it before any one else snaps it up.
Try it on, love, and give it a touch if it doesn't fit."
Clara knew it would be vain to remonstrate, for Mrs. Tower had not a
particle of taste, and insisted on wearing blue, with the complexion of
a lobster. On it went, and even the wearer could not fail to see that
something was amiss.
"It's not the fault of the cap, dear. I always was a fright, and my
dreadful color spoils whatever I put on, so I have things handsome, and
give up any attempt at beauty," she said, shaking her head at herself in
the glass.
"You need not do that, and I'll show you what I mean, if you will give
me leave; for, with your fine figure and eyes, you can't help being an
elegant woman. See, now, how I'll make even this cap becoming." And
Clara laid the delicate flowers among the blonde behind, where the
effect was unmarred by the over-red cheeks, and nothing but a soft ruche
lay over the dark hair in front.
"There, isn't that better?" she asked, with her own blooming face so
full of interest it was a pleasure to see her.
"Infinitely better; really becoming, and just what I want with my new
silver-gray satin. Dear me, what a thing taste is!" And Mrs. Tower
regarded herself with feminine satisfaction in her really fine eyes.
Here a new arrival interrupted them, and Clara went to meet several
girls belonging to what had lately been her own set. The young ladies
did not quite know how to behave; for, though it seemed perfectly
natural to be talking over matters of dress with Clara, there was an air
of proud humility about her that made them feel ill at ease, till
Nellie, a lively, warm-hearted creature, broke the ice by saying, with a
little quiver in her gay voice,--
"It's no use, girls; we've either got to laugh or cry, and I think, on
the whole, it would be best for all parties to laugh, and then go on
just as we used to do;" which she did so infectiously that the rest
joined, and then began to chatter as freely as of old.
"I speak for the opal silk, Clara, for papa has promised me a Worth
dress, and I was green with envy when this came," cried Nellie, secretly
wishing she wore caps, that she might buy up the whole dozen.
"You would be green with disgust if I let you have it, for no brunette
could wear that most trying of colors, and I was rash to order it. You
are very good, dear Nell, but I won't let you sacrifice yourself to
friendship in that heroic style," answered Clara, with a grateful kiss.
"But the others are blue and lilac, both more trying than anything with
a shade of pink in it. If you won't let me have this, you must invent
me the most becoming thing ever seen; for the most effective dress I had
last winter was the gold-colored one with the wreath of laburnums, which
you chose for me," persisted Nellie, bound to help in some way.
"I bespeak something sweet for New Year's Day. You know my style," said
another young lady, privately resolving to buy the opal dress, when the
rest had gone.
"Consider yourself engaged to get up my bridesmaids' costumes, for I
never shall forget what a lovely effect those pale green dresses
produced at Alice's wedding. She looked like a lily among its leaves,
some one said, and you suggested them, I remember," added a third
damsel, with the dignity of a bride-elect.
So it went on, each doing what she could to help, not with condolence,
but approbation, and the substantial aid that is so easy to accept when
gilded by kind words and cheery sympathy.
A hard winter, but a successful one; and when spring came, and all her
patrons were fitted out for mountains, seaside, or springs, Clara folded
her weary hands content. But Mrs. Barlow saw with anxiety how pale the
girl's cheeks had grown, how wistfully she eyed the green grass in the
park, and how soon the smile died on the lips that tried to say
cheerfully,--
"No, mamma, dear, I dare not spend in a summer trip the little sum I
have laid by for the hard times that may come. I shall do very well, but
I can't help remembering the happy voyage we meant to make this year,
and how much good it would do _you_."
Watching the unselfish life of her daughter had taught Mrs. Barlow to
forget her own regrets, inspired her with a desire to do her part, and
made her ashamed of her past indolence.
Happening to mention her maternal anxieties to Mrs. Tower, that good
lady suggested a plan by which the seemingly impossible became a fact,
and Mrs. Barlow had the pleasure of surprising Clara with a "bright
idea," as the girl had once surprised her.
"Come, dear, bestir yourself, for we must sail in ten days to pass our
summer in or near Paris. I've got commissions enough to pay our way,
and we can unite business and pleasure in the most charming manner."
Clara could only clasp her hands and listen, as her mother unfolded her
plan, telling how she was to get Maud's trousseau, all Mrs. Tower's
winter costumes, and a long list of smaller commissions from friends and
patrons who had learned to trust and value the taste and judgment of the
young _modiste_.
So Clara had her summer trip, and came home bright and blooming in the
early autumn, ready to take up her pretty trade again, quite unconscious
that, while trying to make others beautiful, she was making her own life
a very lovely one.
VIII.
HOW THEY CAMPED OUT.
"It looks so much like snow I think it would be wiser to put off your
sleighing party, Gwen," said Mrs. Arnold, looking anxiously out at the
heavy sky and streets still drifted by the last winter storm.
"Not before night, mamma; we don't mind its being cloudy, we like it,
because the sun makes the snow so dazzling when we get out of town. "We
can't give it up now, for here comes Patrick with the boys." And Gwen
ran down to welcome the big sleigh, which just then drove up with four
jolly lads skirmishing about inside.
"Come on!" called Mark, her brother, knocking his friends right and
left, to make room for the four girls who were to complete the party.
"What do you think of the weather, Patrick?" asked Mrs. Arnold from the
window, still undecided about the wisdom of letting her flock go off
alone, papa having been called away after the plan was made.
"Faith, ma'm, it's an illigant day barring the wind, that's a thrifle
could to the nose. I'll have me eye on the childer, ma'm, and there'll
be no throuble at all, at all," replied the old coachman, lifting a
round red face out of his muffler, and patting little Gus on the
shoulder, as he sat proudly on the high seat holding the whip.
"Be careful, dears, and come home early."
With which parting caution mamma shut the window, and watched the young
folks drive gayly away, little dreaming what would happen before they
got back.
The wind was more than a "thrifle could," for when they got out of the
city it blew across the open country in bitter blasts, and made the
eight little noses almost as red as old Pat's, who had been up all night
at a wake, and was still heavy-headed with too much whiskey, though no
one suspected it.
The lads enjoyed themselves immensely snowballing one another; for the
drifts were still fresh enough to furnish soft snow, and Mark, Bob, and
Tony had many a friendly tussle in it as they went up hills, or paused
to breathe the horses after a swift trot along a level bit of road.
Little Gus helped drive till his hands were benumbed in spite of the new
red mittens, and he had to descend among the girls, who were cuddled
cosily under the warm robes, telling secrets, eating candy, and laughing
at the older boys' pranks.
Sixteen-year-old Gwendoline was matron of the party, and kept excellent
order among the girls; for Ruth and Alice were nearly her own age, and
Rita a most obedient younger sister.
"I say, Gwen, we are going to stop at the old house on the way home and
get some nuts for this evening. Papa said we might, and some of the big
Baldwins too. I've got baskets, and while we fellows fill them you girls
can look round the house," said Mark, when the exhausted young gentlemen
returned to their seats.
"That will be nice. I want to get some books, and Rita has been very
anxious about one of her dolls, which she is sure was left in the
nursery closet. If we are going to stop we ought to be turning back,
Pat, for it is beginning to snow and will be dark early," answered Gwen,
suddenly realizing that great flakes were fast whitening the roads and
the wind had risen to a gale.