A Quiet Household--Absence of Marguerite and Gabrielle--Amusing Letters
from them--A Gypsy Fortune-teller--Marguerite returns with a
Visitor--The Harvest Moon--Preparing for Company--Arranging the Blue
Room--Intense Anticipation--"'He Cometh Not,' She Said."
_August 14_.
Our little household has been unusually quiet for the past week, owing
to the absence of the two lively members of the family, Marguerite and
Gabrielle, who are visiting friends by the seaside and upon the shores
of Seneca Lake. Their absence makes a great change in the ways of the
household, for Ida and I have not the high spirits and constant flow of
words that distinguish our sisters, and we spend our time as quietly
and busily as two little nuns, not even dreaming of asking any one to
come up from the city and pass Saturday with us. We miss them very
much, especially at the table, and in the half hour after tea, when we
always gather about mamma's sofa for a little chat, before separating
for our evening's work--writing, practising, or whatever it may be.
Ida and I usually form the audience upon these occasions, and listen
with great interest to Marguerite's entertaining stories of adventures
at home and abroad, or Gabrielle's droll mimicry of the strongly marked
characteristics of some one she has met or dreamed of. Sometimes the
candles are extinguished, and a ghost story is told, for Gabrielle is
fond of the supernatural, and her dramatic style of narration adds much
to our enjoyment; indeed, chancing the other day to read in a magazine
one of her pet stories, I was astonished to find how tame it sounded.
Ida and I find, however, some compensation for our sisters' absence in
their sprightly letters, which arrive while we are at the tea-table.
Marguerite writes every day, and her letters are inimitable in their
humor and _esprit_, for she writes exactly as she talks. She is
visiting some friends whose acquaintance we made in Paris, and who have
a beautiful country-seat upon Long Island. Her letters are filled with
accounts of drives, fishing-parties, and excursions in yachts and
row-boats, and, lastly, of meeting a _real_ gypsy encampment (not the
time-honored one in "Trovatore") and having her fortune told.
A gypsy woman, it seems, stopped the carriage as Marguerite was driving
past, and expressed so strong a desire to "unveil the future for the
young lady," that Marguerite consented, and held out her hand. Quite
scornfully the gypsy said that her _own_ palm must first be crossed
with money. Marguerite accordingly gave her a dollar bill, thinking
that would be the full value of any fortune she would receive from a
wandering gypsy, but the money was indignantly returned--the oracle did
not tell one-dollar fortunes.
Somewhat astonished at so extensive a demand upon her purse, Marguerite
gave her another dollar, whereupon the gypsy at once declared that the
young lady had a lucky face, and would never want for anything during
her life. The usual dark and fair gentlemen figured largely in her
fortune, and--with a glance at Marguerite's blonde complexion--she was
to beware the treachery of a brunette rival; however, she was destined
to triumph in the end, and would indeed succeed in all her
undertakings. I am sure the gypsy could have promised no less,
considering the high price she placed upon her predictions.
Gabrielle's experience is very different. She is visiting a former
schoolmate, a young girl of her own age. Bessie is now a pupil of
Vassar College, and enthusiastic over her studies: consequently the
amusements of the two girls are of a very sedate nature: in Gabrielle's
words, "A hermit in his cell, my dear Cecilia, never had a more quiet
life than I at present enjoy."
She and Bessie had commenced, Gabrielle told me, to write a story
together. The _débût_ was most brilliant, and for a time they worked
very harmoniously, but unluckily the two little authoresses had
different views respecting the _proposal_ (not drawn from life, I
imagine, considering their years), and in Gabrielle's letter of
yesterday no mention was made of the progress of the story.
The letter, which was very vivacious, was chiefly devoted to the girls'
exploits while taking a buggy drive. Gabrielle, who is so fearless
with her own ponies, quite scorned the lamb-like animal that was sent
up from the livery stable, but she appears to have had much diversion,
nevertheless, to judge from her letter. She says:
"Yesterday I tried to break the monotony of life at Seneca Lake by
hiring a buggy and horse for Bessie and me to drive. You should have
heard the shriek of horror that rent the air at the approach of the
peaceful old nag. Miss Carpenter exclaimed:
"'Oh mercy, he points his ears!'
"Poor beast, his ears were pointed by nature, and _he_ could not help
it. Mrs. Brown burst forth to the astonished stableman:
"'Does he kick, roll, rear, bite, or shy? Tell me quick, for I know he
must do some of them.'
"We did have our drive though, and an adventure too, for we were caught
in the rain, and entered a barn where a handsome young man acted the
part of host, and generously bestowed hay upon our horse."
_August 16_.
A telegram last night from Marguerite, saying, "Will come on the early
train with the Honorable Francis"--a very pleasant surprise, for,
knowing the habits of that gentleman, we had supposed him to be, if not
at the Antipodes, at least in Europe; accordingly, we went down to meet
the train in quite a flutter of excitement.
Mr. Colton is "honorable" from having represented his government for
four years at Venice. In appearance he is tall and swarthy, with a
foreign and picturesque cast of features not unlike the Italian type: a
"lovely brigand" we sometimes call him. Notwithstanding his easy and
somewhat nonchalant air, he is a true American in his active and
restless disposition and his love for travelling. I would be afraid to
state the number of miles he has travelled since we made his
acquaintance in Paris four years ago, and I have known him to start at
forty-eight hours' notice to make a tour of the world.
Mr. Colton made us a visit of two days, and was sufficiently
enthusiastic over dear Chappaqua to satisfy even our exacting demands.
We had some sport over the probable speculations of the telegraph
operators concerning our visitor. Out of mischief, Marguerite had
mentioned him in her telegram merely as "the Honorable Francis;" for so
deep an interest is taken in the messages we receive and send, that we
enjoy puzzling the operators a little; indeed, we may say that our
telegrams are common property here, for seldom do we receive them until
they have been carefully read by the telegraph and railroad officials,
and then handed to any interested outsider who may chance to be in the
office. I will give a little scene that occurred not long ago, by way
of illustration.
Our friend Mr. A---- alights from the morning train, and is welcomed by
a friend of his who is stopping for a week or so in Chappaqua.
"Delighted to see you, A----. Knew you were coming up this morning, so
thought I would run down to the train and meet you."
"How in the world did you know I was coming, my dear fellow?" inquires
the astonished A----. "You don't know Mrs. Cleveland or her niece, do
you?"
"No, I don't know them," is the prompt reply, "but I was in the
telegraph office yesterday, and saw your acceptance when it arrived."
TABLEAU.
_August 19_.
I am not partial to Friday, as it is often an unlucky day for me--a
superstition that has come down to me from grandmamma; but, although I
try to think it absurd, our experience of yesterday proved a singular
confirmation.
Ida and I had thought to celebrate the return of Marguerite and
Gabrielle by inviting several friends from the city to enjoy the
delicious moonlight with us. Mamma accordingly wrote the invitations,
and we at once commenced our preparations. The _fête_ we decided
should last three days, and was to commence Friday afternoon--ominous
day! We were to have moonlight walks and drives; we were to kindle a
fire of pine cones and charcoal upon the beach at Rye Lake, and boil
the kettle and make tea; a boat was to be placed upon our own little
pond, and a tent pitched near by; and, last and most brilliant, Ida's
lovely Southern friend, Miss Worthington, and Gabrielle, were to occupy
the tent, dressed as gypsies, and tell the fortunes of the company.
We could scarcely wait for Friday to arrive, but there were many
preparations to be made, so we curbed our impatience and worked very
industriously. As we were now seven in the household, not counting the
servants, and had invited quite a number of guests, the resources of
our house were not extensive enough to stow them all away, consequently
we spent a lively morning at the side-hill house fitting up three
rooms, with Minna's assistance.
The blue room, with its pretty outlook upon the meadows, was our
favorite, and upon it we bestowed the most attention. The carpet was
gray and blue, of an especially pretty pattern, and the handsome
marble-topped bureau, exhumed from the never-failing resources of the
house in the woods, looked as fresh as though purchased yesterday. We
made the bed with our own hands, touching with reverent care the superb
blankets with their inscription:
"To Horace Greeley, the Protector of American Industry."
Then, when the blue silk eider-down counterpane was adjusted to our
satisfaction, and one or two little ornaments added to the bureau and
chimney-piece--"Cupid" in the Naples Gallery, and my dear Lela's
portrait, both framed in blue velvet, and a beautiful Sèvres vase which
mamma calls "the one that Pickie _didn't_ break" (his little hands
destroyed its mate)--we congratulated ourselves upon the effect of the
room.
_Apropos_ of the Cupid, Ida sent it last winter with Annibal Caracci's
"Magdalen" and one or two other religious pictures to be framed at
Schaus'. When they were sent home, to our surprise, the frames were
all surmounted by crosses--an emblem that, although quite _en règle_
for the Holy Magdalen, was, we thought, singularly inappropriate for
Cupid. Stopping in at Schaus' a day or two later, I inquired of young
Mr. Schaus, to whose taste we had left the selection of the frames, his
reason for this extraordinary innovation. His reply was as naïve as
unexpected:
"But, mademoiselle, does Cupid, then, never meet with crosses?"
Having done our best for the blue room, we walked over the grounds to
see that they were all in order, and when we had admired the pretty
blue boat, the white tent, and the water-lilies in full bloom (planted
that morning), and gone down to the express office to receive a package
due by the ten o'clock train--a copy of the poems of one of the
expected guests, which was to be left carelessly in his room with a
mark at one of the ballads,--we congratulated ourselves that we had
done all in our power to make the rooms look tasteful and pretty.
Lina was in her glory, having had an unrestricted order to do her best.
I had a slight foreboding of disappointment, as it was Friday,
remembering, too, that the dining-room was lighted by three candles the
previous night (a French superstition); but we all dressed in good
spirits.
The somewhat spectral appearance of five ladies in mourning was
somewhat relieved by the recent addition to our little circle, Miss
Worthington, whose dress, though black, was enlivened by a little dash
of pale blue--a most becoming match for her fair complexion and golden
curls.
We did not wish to ruffle our hair unnecessarily by playing croquet or
walking, so we all sat very sedately in the music-room watching for the
5.15 train to arrive. It came at last. We rushed out on the piazza,
but recognized no one among the few passengers who alighted.
Disappointment number one. However, they will surely come at half-past
six, we argued, and taking up some books and work, we waited patiently
until the next train arrived. Again we ran out upon the piazza. Papa
was upon the platform at the depot, but we saw no other figure that
looked familiar.
"What did I tell you, Ida," said I solemnly, "when, against my
entreaties, three candles were lighted last night?"
Never before was papa so long in walking up from the station--I suppose
for the reason that he came laden with messages, notes, and telegrams.
His "young chief" was detained in the editorial rooms by affairs of
great moment; another gentleman had been summoned to the bedside of his
father, who was in a dying condition; two other gentlemen had plunged
rashly into the preliminary steps to matrimony, and were, I suppose,
engaged in serenading their _fiancées_, while the other two had
apparently been made way with, for from them we had no message of any
sort.
The crowning injury was the receipt of a book from a friend who is in
the habit of supplying me with the latest novels. Usually I am pleased
with the books she sends me, but a glance at the title, "'He Cometh
Not,' She Said," made me hurl it to the farthest corner of the room;
that was too much for any one to bear.
We sat down with small appetites to the elaborate dinner that Lina had
prepared, and went gloomily to bed at an early hour.