BY six o’clock in the morning, Miss Prissy came out of the best room
to the breakfast-table, with the air of a general who has arranged a
campaign, her face glowing with satisfaction. All sat down together to
their morning meal. The outside door was open into the green, turfy
yard, and the apple-tree, now nursing stores of fine yellow jennetings,
looked in at the window. Every once in a while, as a breeze shook the
leaves, a fully ripe apple might be heard falling to the ground, at
which Miss Prissy would bustle up from the table and rush to secure the
treasure.
As the meal waxed to its close, the rattling of wheels was heard at the
gate, and Candace was discerned, seated aloft in the one-horse waggon,
with her usual complements of baskets and bags.
‘Well, now, dear me! if there is not Candace,’ said Miss Prissy; ‘I
do believe Mrs. Marvyn has sent her with something for the quilting;’
and out she flew as nimble as a humming-bird, while those in the house
heard various exclamations of admiration, as Candace, with stately
dignity, disinterred from the waggon one basket after another, and
exhibited to Miss Prissy’s enraptured eyes sly peeps under the white
napkins by which they were covered. And then, lodging a large basket
on either arm, she rolled majestically towards the house, like a
heavy-laden Indiaman coming in after a fat voyage.
‘Good morning, Mrs. Scudder. Good morning, Doctor,’ she said, dropping
her curtsy on the door-step; ‘good morning, Miss Mary. You see our
folks were stirring pretty early this morning, and Mrs. Marvyn sent me
down with two or three little things.’ Setting down her baskets on the
floor, and seating herself between them, she proceeded to develop their
contents with ill-concealed triumph. One basket was devoted to cakes
of every species, from the great Mont Blanc loaf-cake, with its snowy
glaciers of frosting, to the twisted cruller and puffy dough-nut. In
the other basket lay pots of golden butter curiously stamped, reposing
on a bed of fresh green leaves, while currants, red and white, and
delicious cherries and raspberries, gave a final finish to the picture.
From a basket which Miss Prissy brought in from the rear, appeared
cold fowl and tongue, delicately prepared, and shaded with feathers
of parsley. Candace, whose rollicking delight in the good things of
this life was conspicuous in every emotion, might have famished to
a painter, as she sat in a brilliant turban, an idea for an African
genius of plenty.
‘Why, really, Candace,’ said Mrs. Scudder, ‘you are overwhelming us!’
‘Ho! ho! ho!’ said Candace, ‘I’se tellin’ Miss Marvyn folks don’t get
married but once in their lives (gen’rally speaking, that is), and then
they ought to have plenty to do it with.’
‘Well, I must say,’ said Miss Prissy, taking out the loaf-cake with
busy assiduity, ‘I must say, Candace, this does beat all!’
‘I should rather think it ought,’ said Candace, bridling herself with
proud consciousness; ‘if it don’t it a’n’t ’cause old Candace ha’n’t
put enough into it. I tell ye, I didn’t do nothing all day yesterday
but just make dat ar cake. Cato, when he got up, he begun to talk
something about his shirt buttons, and I just shet him right up. Says
I, “Cato, when I’se really got cake to make for a great ’casion, I want
my mind _just_ as quiet and _just_ as serene as if I was agoin’ to the
meetin’. I don’t want no earthly cares on it. Now,” says I, “Cato, the
old Doctor is going to be married, and dis yer is his quiltin’ cake,
and Miss Mary, she’s going to be married, and dis yer is _her_ quiltin’
cake. And dare’ll be everybody to dat ar quiltin’, and if de cake a’n’t
right, why, ’twould be puttin’ a candle under a bushel. And so, says
I, Cato, your buttons must wait.” And Cato, he sees the ’priety of it,
’cause though he can’t make cake like me, he’s a mazin’ good judge
of it, and is dre’ful tickled when I slip out a little loaf for his
supper.’
‘How is Mrs. Marvyn?’ said Mrs. Scudder.
‘Kinder thin and shimmery, but she is about, havin’ her eyes everywhere
and looking into everything. She just touches things with the tips of
her fingers and they seem to go like. She’ll be down to the quiltin’
this afternoon. But she told me to take the things and come down and
spend the day here; for Mrs. Marvyn and I both knows how many steps
must be taken such times, and we agreed you ought to favour yourselves
all you could.’
‘Well, now,’ said Miss Prissy, lifting up her hands, ‘if that a’n’t
what ’tis to have friends! Why, that was one of the things I was
thinking of as I lay awake last night: because you know at times like
these people run their feet off before the time begins, and then they
are all limpsey and lop-sided when the time comes. Now, I say, Candace,
all Mrs. Scudder and Mary have to do is to give everything up to us,
and we’ll put it through straight.’
‘That’s what we will,’ said Candace. ‘Just show me what’s to be done,
and I’ll do it.’
Candace and Miss Prissy soon disappeared together into the pantry with
the baskets, whose contents they began busily to arrange. Candace
shut the door that no sound might escape, and began a confidential
outpouring to Miss Prissy.
‘You see,’ she said, ‘I has _feelin’s_ all the while for Miss Marvyn;
’cause, yer see, she was expectin’, if ever Mary was married—well—that
it would be to somebody else, you know.’
Miss Prissy responded with a sympathetic groan.
‘Well,’ said Candace, ‘if it had been anybody but the Doctor, _I_ would
not have been resigned. But after all he has done for my colour, there
a’n’t nothing I could find it in my heart to grudge him. But then I was
tellin’ Cato the other day, says I, “Cato, I don’t know about the rest
of the world, but I ha’n’t never felt it in my bones that Master James
is really dead, for sartin. Now I feels things _gen’rally_, but _some_
things I feels _in my bones_, and them always comes true. And that ar
is a feelin’ I ha’n’t had about Master Jim yet, and that ar is what I’m
waitin’ for ’fore I clear make up my mind. Tho’ I know, ’cordin’ to
all white folks’ way o’ thinkin’, there a’n’t no hope, ’cause ’Squire
Marvyn he had that Jeduth Pettibone up to his house, a questioning on
him off and on, nigh about three hours. And reely I didn’t see no hope
no way, except just this, as I was tellin’ Cato, _I can’t feel it in my
bones_.”‘
Candace was not versed enough in the wisdom of the world to know that
she belonged to a large and respectable school of philosophers in this
particular mode of testing evidence, which, after all, the reader will
perceive has its conveniences.
‘Another thing,’ said Candace, ‘as much as a dozen times, dis yer last
year, when I have been a-scourin’ knives, a fork has fell and stuck
straight up in the floor: and the last time I pinted it out to Miss
Marvyn, and she only just said, “Why, what of that, Candace?”’
‘Well,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I don’t believe in _signs_, but then strange
things do happen. Now about dogs howling under windows; why, I don’t
believe in it a bit, but I never knew it fail that there was a death in
the house after.’
‘Ah, I tell ye what,’ said Candace, looking mysterious, ‘dogs knows a
heap more than they likes to tell!’
‘Just so,’ said Miss Prissy; ‘now I remember one night, when I was
watching with Miss Colonel Andrews, after Martha Ann was born, that
we heard the _mournfullest_ howling that ever you did hear. It seemed
to come from right under the front stoop; and Miss Andrews, she just
dropped the spoon in her gruel, and says she, “Miss Prissy, do for
pity’s sake just go down and see what that noise is.” And I went down,
and lifted up one of the loose boards of the stoop, and what should I
see there but their Newfoundland pup; there that creature had dug a
grave, and was a-sitting by it crying.’
Candace drew near to Miss Prissy, dark with expressive interest, as her
voice, in this awful narration, sank to a whisper.
‘Well,’ said Candace, after Miss Prissy had made something of a pause.
‘Well, I told Miss Andrews I didn’t think there was anything in it,’
said Miss Prissy; ‘but,’ she added, impressively, ‘she lost a very dear
brother six months after, and I laid him out with my own hands—yes,
laid him out in white flannel.’
‘Some folks say,’ said Candace, ‘that dreaming about white horses is a
certain sign. Jinny Styles is very strong about that. Now she came down
one morning crying, ’cause she had been dreaming about white horses,
and she was sure she should hear some friend was dead. And sure enough,
a man came in that day and told her that her son was drown’d out in the
harbour. And Jinny said, “There, she was sure that sign never would
fail.” But then, ye see, that night he came home. Jinny wan’t reely
disappointed, but she always insisted he was _as good as drowned_, any
way, “’cause he sank three times.”’
‘Well, I tell you,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘there are a great many more
things in this world than folks know about.’
‘So they are,’ said Candace. ‘Now, I ha’n’t never opened my mind to
nobody; but there’s a dream I’ve had, three mornings running, lately. I
dreamed I see Jim Marvyn a-sinking in the water, and stretching up his
hands. And then I dreamed that I see the Lord Jesus come a-walking on
the water, and take hold of his hand, and says He, “O thou of little
faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” And then He lifted him right out.
And I ha’n’t said nothing to nobody, ’cause you know the Doctor,—he
says people must not mind nothing about their dreams, ’cause dreams
belong to the old ’spensation.’
‘Well! well! well!’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I am sure I don’t know what to
think. What time in the morning was it that you dreamed it?’
‘Why,’ said Candace, ‘it was just after bird-peep. I kinder always
wakes myself then, and turns over, and what comes after that is apt to
run clear.’
‘Well! well! well!’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I don’t know what to think. You
see, it may have reference to the state of his soul.’
‘I know that,’ said Candace; ‘but as nigh as I could judge in my
dream,’ she added, sinking her voice and looking mysterious, ‘as nigh
as I can judge, _that boy’s soul was in his body_!’
‘Why, how do you know?’ said Miss Prissy, looking astonished at the
confidence with which Candace expressed her opinion.
‘Well, ye see,’ said Candace, rather mysteriously, ‘the Doctor he don’t
like to have us talk much about these things, ’cause he thinks it’s
kind o’ heathenish. But then, folks as is used to seein’ such things,
knows the look of a sperit _out_ of the body, from the look of a sperit
in the body, just as easy as you can tell Mary from the Doctor.’
At this moment Mrs. Scudder opened the pantry-door and put an end
to this mysterious conversation, which had already so affected Miss
Prissy that, in the eagerness of her interest, she had rubbed up her
cap border and ribbon into rather an elfin and goblin style, as if
they had been ruffled up by a breeze from the land of spirits; and she
flew around for a few moments in a state of great nervous agitation,
upsetting dishes, knocking down plates, and huddling up contrary
suggestions as to what ought to be done first, in such impossible
relations, that Mrs. Katy Scudder stood in dignified surprise at this
strange freak of conduct in the wise woman of the parish.
A dim consciousness of something not quite canny in herself appeared
to strike her, for she made a vigorous effort to appear composed; and
facing Mrs. Scudder, with an air of dignified suavity, inquired if it
would not be best to put Jim Marvyn in the oven now, while Candace was
getting the pies ready, meaning of course a large turkey which was to
be the first in an indefinite series to be baked that morning; and
discovering, by Mrs. Scudder’s dazed expression and a vigorous pinch
from Candace, that somehow she had not improved matters, she rubbed
her spectacles in a diagonal manner across her eyes and stood glaring
through them, with a helpless expression, which in a less judicious
person might have suggested the idea of a state of slight intoxication.
But the exigencies of an immediate temporal dispensation put an end to
Miss Prissy’s unwonted vagaries, and she was soon to be seen flying
round like a meteor, dusting, shaking curtains, counting napkins,
wiping and sorting china, all with such rapidity as to give rise to the
idea that she actually existed in forty places at once.
Candace, whom the limits of her corporeal frame restricted to an
altogether different style of locomotion, often rolled the whites of
her eyes after her, and gave vent to her views of her proceedings in
sententious expressions.
‘Do you know why _dat ar_ never was married?’ she said to Mary, as
she stood looking after her. Miss Prissy had made one of those rapid
transits through the apartment.
‘No,’ answered Mary, innocently; ‘why was not she?’
‘Because never was a man could run fast enough to catch her,’ said
Candace; and then her portly person shook with the impulse of her own
wit.
By two o’clock a goodly company began to assemble. Mrs. Deacon Twitchel
arrived, soft, pillowy, and plaintive as ever, accompanied by Cerinthy
Ann, a comely damsel, tall and trim, with a bright black eye and a most
vigorous and determined style of movement.
Good Mrs. Jones, broad, expansive, and solid, having vegetated
tranquilly on in the cabbage garden of the virtues since three years
ago when she graced our tea-party, was now as well preserved as ever,
and brought some fresh butter, a tin pail of cream, and a loaf of cake
made on a new Philadelphia receipt. The tall, spare, angular figure of
Mrs. Simeon Brown only was wanting; but she patronized Mrs. Scudder
no more, and tossed her head with a becoming pride when her name was
mentioned.
The quilt-pattern was gloriously drawn in oak-leaves, done in indigo;
and soon all the company, young and old, were passing busy fingers over
it; and conversation went on briskly.
Madame de Frontignac, we must not forget to say, had entered with
hearty _abandon_ into the spirit of the day. She had dressed the tall
china vases on the mantelpieces; and, departing from the usual rule
of an equal mixture of roses and asparagus bushes, had constructed
two quaint and graceful bouquets, where garden flowers were mingled
with drooping grasses and trailing wild vines, forming a graceful
combination, which excited the surprise of all who saw it.
‘It’s the very first time in my life that I ever saw grass put into a
flower-pot,’ said Miss Prissy; ‘but I must say it looks as handsome
as a pictur’. Mary, I must say,’ she added in an aside, ‘I think that
Madame de Frongenac is the sweetest dressing and appearing creature I
ever saw: she don’t dress up nor put on airs, but she seems to see in
a minute how things ought to go; and if it’s only a bit of grass, or
leaf, or wild vine, that she puts in her hair, why it seems to come
just right. I should like to make her a dress, for I know she would
understand my fit; do speak to her, Mary, in case she should want a
dress fitted here, to let me try it.’
At the quilting, Madame de Frontignac would have her seat, and soon
won the respect of the party by the dexterity with which she used her
needle; though, when it was whispered that she learned to quilt among
the nuns, some of the elderly ladies exhibited a slight uneasiness, as
being rather doubtful whether they might not be encouraging papistical
opinions by allowing her an equal share in the work of getting up their
minister’s bed-quilt; but the younger part of the company were quite
captivated by her foreign air, and the pretty manner in which she
lisped her English; and Cerinthy Ann even went so far as to horrify
her mother, by saying that she wished she’d been educated in a convent
herself,—a declaration which arose less from native depravity, than
from a certain vigorous disposition, which often shows itself in young
people, to shock the current opinions of their elders and betters. Of
course the conversation took a general turn, somewhat in unison with
the spirit of the occasion; and whenever it flagged, some allusion to a
forthcoming wedding, or some sly hint to the future young Madam of the
parish, was sufficient to awake the dormant animation of the company.
Cerinthy Ann contrived to produce an agreeable electric shock, by
declaring that for her part she never could see into it, how any girl
could marry a minister—that she should as soon think of setting up
housekeeping in a meeting-house.
‘O, Cerinthy Ann!’ exclaimed her mother, ‘how can you go on so?’
‘It’s a fact,’ said the adventurous damsel; ‘now other men let you have
some peace, but a minister’s always round under your feet.’
‘So you think the less you see of a husband the better?’ said one of
the ladies.
‘Just my views,’ said Cerinthy, giving a decided snip to her thread
with her scissors; ‘I like the Nantucketers that go off on four years’
voyages, and leave their wives a clear field. If ever I get married I’m
going up to have one of those fellows.’
It is to be remarked, in passing, that Miss Cerinthy Ann was at this
very time receiving surreptitious visits from a consumptive-looking,
conscientious, young theological candidate who came occasionally to
preach in the vicinity, and put up at the house of the Deacon, her
father. This good young man, being violently attacked on the doctrine
of election by Miss Cerinthy, had been drawn on to illustrate it
in a most practical manner, to her comprehension; and it was the
consciousness of the weak and tottering state of the internal garrison,
that added vigour to the young lady’s tones. As Mary had been the
chosen confidant of the progress of this affair, she was quietly amused
at the demonstration.
‘You’d better take care, Cerinthy Ann,’ said her mother; ‘they say that
“those who sing before breakfast, will cry before night.” Girls talk
about getting married,’ she said, relapsing into a gentle didactic
melancholy, ‘without realizing its awful responsibilities.’
‘Oh! as to that,’ said Cerinthy, ‘I’ve been practising on my pudding
now these six years, and I shouldn’t be afraid to throw one up chimney
with any girl.’ This speech was founded on a tradition, current in
those times, ‘that no young lady was fit to be married till she could
construct a boiled Indian-pudding, of such durability, that it could
be thrown up chimney and come down on the ground, outside, without
breaking;’ and the consequence of Cerinthy Ann’s sally was a general
laugh.
‘Girls a’n’t what they used to be in my day,’ sententiously remarked an
elderly lady. ‘I remember my mother told me when she was thirteen she
could knit a long cotton stocking in a day.’
‘I haven’t much faith in these stories of old times; have you, girls?’
said Cerinthy, appealing to the younger members at the frame.
‘At any rate,’ said Mrs. Twitchel, ‘our minister’s wife will be a
pattern; I don’t know anybody as goes beyond her either in spinning or
fine stitching.’
Mary sat as placid and disengaged as the new moon, and listened to the
chatter of old and young, with the easy quietness of a young heart that
has early outlived life, and looks on everything in the world from some
gentle, restful eminence far on towards a better home. She smiled at
everybody’s word, had a quick eye for everybody’s wants, and was ready
with thimble, scissors, or thread, whenever any one needed them; but
once when there was a pause in the conversation, she and Mrs. Marvyn
were both discovered to be stolen away. They were seated on the bed in
Mary’s little room, with their arms around each other, communing in low
and gentle tones. ‘Mary, my dear child,’ said her friend, ‘this event
is very pleasant to me, because it places you permanently near me. I
did not know but eventually this sweet face might lead to my losing
you, who are in some respects the dearest friend I have.’
‘You might be sure,’ said Mary, ‘I never would have married, except
that my mother’s happiness and the happiness of so good a friend seem
to depend on it. When we renounce self in anything, we have reason to
hope God’s blessing; and so I feel assured of a peaceful life in the
course I have taken. You will always be as a mother to me,’ she added,
laying her head on her friend’s shoulder.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Marvyn; ‘and I must not let myself think a moment how
dear it might have been to have you _more_ my own. If you feel really,
truly happy, if you can enter on this life without any misgivings—’
‘I can,’ said Mary, firmly.
At this instant, very strangely, the string which confined a wreath
of sea-shells around her glass, having been long undermined by moths,
suddenly broke and fell down, scattering the shells upon the floor.
Both women started, for the string of shells had been placed there by
James; and though neither were superstitious, this was one of those odd
coincidences that make hearts throb.
‘Dear boy,’ said Mary, gathering the shells up tenderly; ‘wherever he
is, I shall never cease to love him; it makes me feel sad to see this
come down; but it is only an accident; nothing of him will ever fail
out of my heart.’
Mrs. Marvyn clasped Mary closer to her, with tears in her eyes.
‘I’ll tell you what, Mary; it must have been the moths did that,’
said Miss Prissy, who had been standing, unobserved, at the door for
a moment back; ‘moths will eat away strings just so. Last week Mrs.
Vernon’s great family picture fell down because the moths eat through
the cord; people ought to use twine or cotton string always. But I
came to tell you that the supper is all set, and the Doctor out of his
study, and all the people are wondering where you are.’
Mary and Mrs. Marvyn gave a hasty glance at themselves in the glass,
to be assured of their good keeping, and went into the great kitchen,
where a long table stood exhibiting all that plenitude of provision
which the immortal description of Washington Irving has saved us the
trouble of representing in detail.
The husbands, brothers, and lovers had come in, and the scene was
redolent of gaiety. When Mary made her appearance, there was a moment’s
pause, till she was conducted to the side of the Doctor; when, raising
his hand, he invoked a grace upon the loaded board.
Unrestrained gaieties followed. Groups of young men and maidens chatted
together, and all the gallantries of the times were enacted. Serious
matrons commented on the cake, and told each other high and particular
secrets in the culinary art, which they drew from remote family
archives. One might have learned in that instructive assembly how best
to keep moths out of blankets, how to make fritters of Indian corn
undistinguishable from oysters: how to bring up babies by hand, and how
to mend a cracked teapot, and how to take out grease from a brocade,
and how to reconcile absolute decrees with free will, and how to make
five yards of cloth answer the purpose of six, and how to put down the
democratic party. All were busy, earnest, and certain, just as a swarm
of men and women, old and young, are in 1859.
Miss Prissy was in her glory; every bow of her best cap was alive with
excitement, and she presented to the eyes of astonished Newport gentry
an animated receipt-book. Some of the information she communicated,
indeed, was so valuable and important, that she could not trust the air
with it, but whispered the most important portions in a confidential
tone. Among the crowd Cerinthy Ann’s theological admirer was observed
in deeply reflective attitude; and that high-spirited young lady added
further to his convictions of the total depravity of the species, by
vexing and discomposing him in those thousand ways in which a lively,
ill-conditioned young woman will put to rout a serious, well-disposed
young man, comforting herself with the reflection that by-and-by she
would repent of all her sins in a lump together.
Vain, transitory splendours! Even this evening, so glorious, so
heart-cheering, so fruitful in instruction and amusement, could not
last for ever. Gradually the company broke up; the matrons mounted
soberly on horseback behind their spouses; and Cerinthy consoled her
clerical friend by giving him an opportunity to read her a lecture on
the way home, if he found the courage to do so.
Mr. and Mrs. Marvyn and Candace wound their way soberly homeward; the
Doctor returned to his study for nightly devotions; and before long,
sleep settled down on the brown cottage.
‘I’ll tell you what, Cato,’ said Candace, before composing herself to
sleep, ‘I can’t feel it in my bones dat dis yer wedding is going to
come off yet.’