The experiences of the first two of my third group of years have
influenced my entire life. Still flying from my seemingly ubiquitous
father, my mother after a desperate struggle gained enough money to pay
for our journey to what was then called the "far West"--namely, the
southwestern part of Illinois. Child-fashion, I was delighted at the
prospect of a change, and happy over the belief that I was going to some
place where I could be free to go and come like other children, without
dreading the appearance of a big, smiling man from any deep doorway or
from around the next corner. To tell the truth, that persistent,
indestructible smile always seemed an insult added to the injury of his
malicious and revengeful conduct.
Then, too, I experienced my first delicious thrill of imaginary terror.
In a torn and abandoned old geography I had seen a picture labelled
"Prairie." The grass was as high as a man's shoulders, and stealthily
emerging from it was a sort of compound animal, neither tiger nor
leopard, but with points of resemblance to both. And here every day I was
listening to the grown-ups talking of "prairie lands," and how far we
might have to drive across the prairie after leaving the train; and I
made up my mind that I would hold our umbrella all the time, and when the
uncertain beast came out I'd try to stick his eyes with it, and under
cover of the confusion we would undoubtedly escape.
That being settled, I could turn all my attention to preparations for
the long journey. Dear me, I remember just where each big red rose came
on the carpet-bag, and how sorry I was that the tiny brass lock came
right in the side of one. It was a large bag and held a great deal, but
was so arranged that whatever you wanted was always found at the
bottom--whether it was the tooth-brush or a night-gown or a pair of
rubbers. It had a sort of dividing wall of linen in its middle, and while
one side held clothing, the other side was the commissary department. No
buffet-cars then, travellers ran their own buffets, and though the things
did not come into actual contact, there was not an article, big or
little, in that bag that did not smell of pickles. And once when my
mother had hastily attended to my needs in the miserable toilet-room of
the car (no sleeper--just a sit-up-all-night affair), my clean stockings,
white apron and little handkerchief all exhaled vinegar so strongly that
I wrinkled up my nose, exclaiming: "I smell jes' like a pickled little
girl--don't I, ma'ma?" And then, when weary and worn and dusty, we left
the cars and had to drive some thirty miles, in a carriage of uncertain
class, over the open prairie--then smooth and bright and green--I wearily
remarked, after a time, that it was a "pretty big lawn, but where was the
prairie?" for true to my plan I had secured the umbrella, and being told
that I was crossing the prairie then, I was a bitterly disappointed young
person. Oh, how I longed to give way to one of those passionate outbursts
we so often see children indulge in! Oh, how I wanted to hurl aside the
umbrella I had begged for, to fling my weary self down on the floor and
cry, and cry! But I dared not--never in my whole life had I ventured on
such an exhibition of temper or feeling--so I winked fast and held very
still and swallowed hard at the disappointment, which was but the first
of such a number of very bitter pills that I was yet to swallow.
But, thank God! if I was easily cast down, I was as easily cheered; and
the prairie left behind, the sight of the first orchard we passed, with
the soft perfumed snow of the blossoms floating through the rosy sunset
light, raised my spirits to an ecstasy of joy; and when our journey
ended, at the rough farm-house, with my arm around the surly looking
watch-dog, I stood and heard for the first time the mournful cry of the
whippoorwill out in the star-pierced dark of the early May night, I
thrilled with the unspoken consciousness that this was a new world that I
was entering--a lovely, _lovely_ world, that the grown-ups called the
"country"!
For the two years I knew it the charm of that backwood life never palled.
I had never seen the country before, and I found it a place of beauty and
many marvels. I did not miss the fine city shops, for I never had had
money to spend in them. I did not miss the people, for they had been
nothing to me. And here no day that dawned failed to bring me some new
experience. With what awed wonderment I faced the mystery of the
springing grain. I saw the seed, hard and dry, fall into the furrowed
earth and, a few days later, with gentle strength, tiny pale green spears
come pricking through the brown. I learned not to look under the
hickory-trees for the oak acorns that I adored. I was soon able to tell
the rapidly forming furry green peaches from the smooth young apples, and
I literally fell down upon my knees and worshipped before lambs, calves,
and colts.
In this new, strange life everyone worked, but they worked for
themselves--to use a country expression, no one "hired out." I was a very
little girl. I could not spin as could my mother, who had passed her
childhood in backwood life. Of course I could not weave, but I was taught
to knit my own stockings--such humpy, lumpy knitting! But I was very
proud of the accomplishment, even though my mother did have to "turn the
heel." Then, too, I with other children at planting-time dropped corn in
the sun-warmed furrows, while a man followed behind with a hoe covering
it up; and when it had sprouted and was a tempting morsel for certain
black robbers of the field, I made a very active and energetic young
scare-crow.
Here, too, I became acquainted with children. They were all older than I
was, a hearty, healthy, wisely-ignorant lot. They knew so much about
farming and so little about anything else. Not one of them could tell a
story out of the Bible, and as for the "Pilgrim's Progress," they had
never heard tell of it; while Bunyan only meant to them an enlarged
toe-joint--not a great author.
The lack of reading matter was the one blemish on my country life. The
library, composed of the Bible and the almanac, was not satisfying to my
inquiring mind. One paper was taken in by the head of the family--it was
a weekly, in every possible sense--but I came to watch eagerly for it,
and it filled the family with amazement to see me sit down on the step
and gravely wade through its dreary columns--happy if I could catch hold
of some idea--some bit of news--some scrap of story; and my farmer host
one day at his noon smoke removed his corn-cob pipe from his lips long
enough to remark of me: "Dogorne my skin! if that young 'un ain't awake
and enj'ien hersel'. Now I allers go ter sleep over that paper mysel'!"
So should I--now--I presume.
These children being for-true, real children had no idea of showing
courtesy or politeness to a stranger, but they had a very natural
yearning to get fun out of that stranger if they could, and so they
blithely led me forth to a pasture shortly after our arrival at the farm,
and catching a horse they hoisted me up on to its bare, slippery back. I
have learned a good bit about horses since then--have hired, borrowed,
and bought them--have been to circuses and horse shows, but never since
have I seen a horse of such appalling aspect. His eyes were the size of
soup-plates, large clouds of smoke came from his nostrils. He had a
glass-enamelled surface, and if he was one half as tall as he felt, some
museum manager missed a fortune. Then the young fiends, leaving me on my
slippery perch, high up near the sky, drew afar off and stood over
against the fence and gave me plenty of room--to fall off. But when I
suddenly felt the world heave up beneath me, I uttered a wild
shriek--clenched my hands in the animal's back hair, and, madly flinging
propriety to any point of the compass that happened to be behind me, I
cast one pantalet over the enamelled back, and thus astride, safely
crossed the pasture--and lo! it was not I who fell, but their faces
instead. When they came to take me down, somehow the animal seemed
shrunken and I hesitated about leaving it, whereupon the biggest boy said
I had "pluck" (I had been frightened nearly to death, but I always could
be silent at the proper moment; I was silent then), and he would teach me
to ride sideways, for my mother would surely punish me if I sat astride
like that; and in a few weeks, thanks to him, I was the one who was
oftenest trusted to take the horses to water at noon, riding sideways and
always bare-back, mounted on one horse and leading a second to the creek,
until all had had their drink. Which habit of riding--from balance--has
made me quite independent of stirrups on various occasions since those
far-away days.
In the late autumn, these same children taught me where and when and how
to find such treasures of the woods as hickory-nuts, chestnuts (rare
there), butternuts, and pecan-nuts, while the thickets furnished
hazel-nuts and the frost brought sweetness to the persimmon, and
consequently pleasure to our palates, but never could I acquire a taste
for the "paw-paw," that inane custard-like fruit, often called the
American banana.
I helped obtain the roots and barks and nut-shells from which the
grown-ups made their dyes. I learned to use a bow and arrow; and on rainy
days, having nothing new to read, I learned by heart the best chapters of
my own birthday books, and often repeated them to the other children when
we cuddled in the hayloft, above the horses.
One day I became too realistic, and in my "flight from my step-mother's
home" I fell through the hole where the hay was tossed down to old
Jerry's manger. He was a serious-minded and kindly old horse, and did
nothing worse than snort a little over the change in his diet, from hay
to small girl. My severe bruises would have been borne with fortitude,
but when I arose--behold a wretched wandering hen had been in the manger
before me, and if one judged from the state of my clothing, the egg she
had left behind must have been the size of a melon at least! If that
seems an exaggeration, just break an egg in your pocket, if you don't
care to sit down on one, and see how far it will spread. Then, indeed, I
lifted my voice and wept!
Yes, those were two precious years, in which I learned to love
passionately the beauty of the world! The tender, mystic charm of dawn,
the pomp and splendor of the setting of the sun! Finding in the tiny
perfection of the velvety moss the minute repetition of the form and
branching beauty of the stately tree at whose root it grew! Seeing all
the beauty of the blue sky and its sailing clouds encompassed by a
quivering drop of dew upon a mullein leaf I dimly felt some faint
comprehension of the divine satisfaction when the Creator pronounced the
work of His hands, "Good!"
From the first my mother had been greatly distressed by the absence of
any school to which I might go, and also by her inability to earn money.
She had been wise enough not to leave Cleveland without sufficient means
to bring us back again--which proved most fortunate. For when quite
suddenly we heard of the published death of my father, we immediately
returned and she obtained employment, while I was sent to the public
school. But, oh, what a poor, meagre course of study I entered on.
Reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, and geography--that was all! Only
one class in the grammar-school studied history. However, improvements
were being discussed, and I remember that three weeks before my final
withdrawal from school my mother had to buy me a book on physiology,
which was to be taught to the children, who had not even a bowing
acquaintance with grammar. But I hungered and thirsted for knowledge--I
craved it--longed for it. During the weary years of repression I had
fallen back upon imagination for amusement and comfort, and when I was
ten my "thinks," as I then called my waking dreams, almost surely took
one of these two forms. Since I had abandoned "thinks" about fairies
coming to grant my wishes, I always walked out (in my best hat), and
saved either an old lady or an old gentleman--sometimes one, sometimes
the other--from some imminent peril--a sort of impressionist peril--vague
but very terrible! and the rescued one was always tremblingly grateful
and offered to reward me, and I always sternly refused to be rewarded,
but unbent sufficiently to see the saved one safely to his or her
splendid home. There I revelled in furniture, pictures, musical
instruments and an assortment of beautiful dogs. On leaving this palatial
residence I consented to give my address, and next day the "saved" called
on my mother and after some conversation it was settled that I was to go
to the convent-school for four years, where I knew the education was
generous and thorough, and that languages, music, and painting were all
taught. As these "thinks" took place at night after the ill-smelling
extinguishment of the candle, I generally fell asleep before, in white
robe and a crown of flowers, I gathered up all the prizes and diplomas
and things I had earned.
When my mother in the performance of her duties had to accept orders, she
received them calmly and as a matter of course--whatever she may have
felt in her heart--but I loved and reverenced her so! To me she was the
one woman of the world; and when I saw her taking orders from another I
flinched and shrank as I would have done beneath the sharp lash of a
whip, and then for nights afterward (so soon as I had released my nose,
tightly pinched to keep out the smell of candle-smoke), I settled down,
with my mother's hand tight clasped in mine, to my other favorite
"thinks" wherein I did some truly remarkable embroidery, of such
precision of stitch, such perfection of coloring and shading, that when
I offered it for sale I was much embarrassed by the numbers of would-be
buyers. However, an old lady finally won me away from the store (that old
lady was bound to appear in all my "thinks"), and I had to be very firm
with her to keep her from over-paying me for the work of my hands.
Then, as I had graciously promised the store-keeper any over-plus of
embroidery not needed by the generous old person, I felt my income
secure, and hastened to rent two rooms and furnish them, ready to take my
astonished mother there--where she could do the ordering herself.
I hung curtains, laid carpets, put dishes in the cupboard, gave one
window to my mother and kept one for myself and my very exceptional
embroidery; and, though I laugh now, I had then many an hour of genuine
happiness, furnishing this imaginary home and refuge for the mother I
loved!