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A DAUGHTER OF JEHU
[Illustration: "A daughter of Jehu, for behold she driveth furiously."
[PAGE 50]
]
A DAUGHTER
OF JEHU
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES," "PIPIN," ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED
[Music: THE DUKE OF LEE]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
TO
HENRIETTE AND MOLLY
WITH MUCH LOVE
CONTENTS
PAGE
Prologue 1
CHAPTER
I. Cyrus . . . . . . . . . . . 5
II. Enter Kitty . . . . . . . . . . 17
III. Ross House . . . . . . . . . . 29
IV. The Home Guard . . . . . . . . . . 41
V. The Neighbors . . . . . . . . . . 51
VI. Johanna Ex Machina . . . . . . . . . 67
VII. A Symposium . . . . . . . . . . 80
VIII. The Trivial Round . . . . . . . . . 98
IX. The Skeleton in Cyrus' Cupboard . . . . . 113
X. The Party . . . . . . . . . . 126
XI. On the Rialto . . . . . . . . . 150
XII. Wilson Wimberley Wibird . . . . . . 167
XIII. Pilot . . . . . . . . . . . 186
XIV. Johanna Rediviva . . . . . . . . 200
XV. Largely Literary . . . . . . . . 212
XVI. Psycho-Cardiac Processes . . . . . . 222
XVII. Kitty Sings . . . . . . . . . . 237
XVIII. Old Love and New . . . . . . . . 252
XIX. "The Trivial Round" . . . . . . . . 265
XX. The Pan-American . . . . . . . . 276
XXI. The Tribulations of Cyrus . . . . . . 289
XXII. The Duke of Lee . . . . . . . . . 303
XXIII. Haste to the Wedding! . . . . . . . 316
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"A daughter of Jehu, for she driveth furiously" _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
"Oh, Judge, I've come home, I've come home!".....................18
"Filling his pockets with gold, Tom strolled happily
through the streets of Peking, looking in at all the
bazaars"......................................................172
--then the Duke of Lee took his bride away......................323
A DAUGHTER OF JEHU
PROLOGUE
The June sun, lighting up the yard of the big white house, lights up a
pretty scene. To begin with, the yard is pretty in itself, with its
stretch of emerald lawn, its trim gravel sweep, its linden tree, in
which the bees are humming, its fragrant masses of purple lilac; but
though one feels all these things, one looks at the people in the yard.
Two ladies, in light summer dresses, sitting on the steps by the kitchen
door; two children, riding a pony by turns, shrieking with glee. Both
ladies are good to look at: one, she in the pale green muslin, is so
lovely that it takes one's breath; like a dark lily, with her pale clear
skin, her shadowy hair and eyes, her bending grace and languor. The
other contrasts with her prettily enough: a tall, powerful young
creature, vigor in every line of her, color flashing in her red-gold
hair, in her dark blue eyes, in the shell-pink of her cheeks. She is in
white, as befits her; this type should wear white always. A white dimity
gown, made with absolute simplicity, this again contrasting with the
green muslin, which is flounced and ruffled and lace-trimmed, as if the
lily had clad herself in fronds of the lady fern. The two are talking
earnestly together, their eyes on the shouting children.
"No, Eleanor! no! you are wrong. Kitty shall know nothing, if I can help
it, but what is lovely. Think of St. Paul: 'Whatsoever things are pure,
whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if
there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.'
My Kitty shall think on these things, and on nothing else."
"Very well, my dear! but that will never do for my Tom. He must worship
the God of things as they are. The public school for Tommy, the very
minute he strikes six! He must rub shoulders with the ashman's children,
the washerwoman's, the----"
"_Eleanor!_ Kitty shall never know that the washerwoman _has_ any
children! She shall not _touch_, if I can help it, anything that is rude
or squalid or ugly. No, no! My little flower shall be 'a gentlewoman of
high quality'! And she shall marry the Duke of Lee, and go to the King's
levee, or at least to the President's. I don't dare to say, you fierce
republican, that I wish we had a King! Come here, Kitty my Pretty, and
dance the 'Duke of Lee' with Tommy! He shall be the duke--you'd love to
be a duke, wouldn't you, Tommy? See! now Kitty is a gentlewoman of high
quality, and she picks up her petticoats--pick them up, Kitty!--and you
make a low bow, so! left hand on your heart, Tom, right hand on your
sword--so! Now dance, while I sing!"
The boy is perhaps eight years old, the girl six. Here, too, is
contrast; Tommy Lee, a sturdy, square-shouldered, rosy urchin, Kitty
Ross a slender windflower of a child, with all her mother's lissome
grace, but with the fair hair and steady gray eyes of her father. They
are both on the pony digging their heels into his side and shouting to
him to "Go on! go _won_, Rosy Nanty!" Rosinante meanwhile, standing
firm, revolving in his mind whether to rub them off gently against the
fence, or to lie down and make believe go to sleep. They are his second
generation of children; he knows all about them.
At the call, they slide down and come running. Everybody does what Mary
Ross bids. Readily enough they take place opposite each other: they
often dance together. Tom is a bit clumsy, but Kitty has grace enough
for two, her mother thinks; indeed, so does Tom's mother. Now Mary Ross,
leaning forward, claps her hands, and begins to sing:
"When the Duke of Lee would marriéd be
To a gentlewoman of high quality,
How happy would that gentlewoman be
When she's blest with the duke's good company!
Marry oo diddy glu, diddy glu glu glu,
Diddy oo oo oo, diddy goo goo goo,
Marry oo diddy goo, diddy oo oo oo,
Marry oo, diddy glu, diddy glu!
"And she shall have silks and satins for to wear;
And a coach and six for to take the air;
And she shall ride in St. James's Square;
And no lady in the city shall with her compare!
Marry oo, etc.
"And she shall go to the king's levee,
And dance a minuet with his majestie;
And she shall the very finest be
Of all the great nobility!
Marry oo," etc.[1]
[1] Republished by permission of The Page Company from "The Wooing
of Calvin Parks" and "Up to Calvin's," by Laura E. Richards.
Copyright, 1908 and 1910, respectively, by The Page Company.]
"Oh! Eleanor, aren't they darlings? Aren't they _darlings_? They simply
_are_ the Duke and the Gentlewoman! What if--oh, Eleanor, dear!"
The little creatures dance sedately, tiptoeing here, pirouetting there.
The young mothers clap their hands in time to the quaint, old-world
tune. The pony stamps and whinnies, rather vexed at being left out of
the fun after all. The June sun, shining through the linden branches,
thinks, perhaps, that he has seen nothing prettier that day, nor for
many days.
Dance, little Duke! Dance, fairy Duchess! Sing and clap your hands,
sweet, dark lily-lady! It is June, in the world and in your hearts;
dance and sing while yet you may!
CHAPTER I
CYRUS
To understand this story, you must know something of the topography of
Cyrus, which is like no other town in the State. (But every town says
that of itself!)
In the middle is the Common; square, green, with intersecting gravel
paths, each with its marshaled rows of maples, which in summer are just
trees, but in autumn turn to bowers and towers of scarlet and gold. On
one side of the Common are the Churches, Congregational and Baptist; on
two others the Houses, whereof anon; the fourth side, that fronting
west, is mostly occupied by the Mallow House, where Mr. Marshall Mallow
reigns as king and landlord. Under the hill runs the Street proper,
where are the "stores": Abram Hanks's, where you may buy everything from
pins to poplin, from buttons to bonnet wire; the general store, kept by
Orison and Aquila Wesley--peace to their memory! they are gone now, but
one never forgets the large sign which gave their names in full, black
on white, spelled over in wonder by generations of children; the
"bookstore"--how proud we were of having a bookstore! Tinkham had none,
nor Tupham. There were not many books in it, it is true; a selection of
fifty-cent novels, chosen (it was always supposed) by Miss Almeria
Bygood for their "tone." Parents were perfectly safe in buying a book
for their children at Bygood's; "Bygones," Cissy Sharpe called them;
some of the novels, the shopworn ones, were let out at two cents a day.
My first novel, "John Halifax," came from Bygood's; I read "St. Elmo,"
too, and "Queechy," and learned from the latter that a heroine may weep
on every page of two hundred and be none the worse for it. Mr. Bygood
was very old even when I first remember him. He sat mostly in the back
shop, reading the _Farmers' Almanac_; a venerable figure in a black
frock coat with a high dickey. His blue eyes were full of kindness. If a
child of his acquaintance (and what child was not?) came in to buy a
paper or get a library book, he would utter a gentle bellow. Then Miss
Almeria or Miss Egeria would give one a little push and say, "Go on,
dear! Father wants to pass the time of day with you!"
"Nothing could have supported little Margery under the affliction she
was in for the loss of her brother but the pleasure she took in her two
shoes. She ran to Mrs. Smith as soon as they were put on, and stroking
down her ragged apron, cried out: 'Two Shoes, Ma'am; see Two Shoes!' And
so she behaved to all the people she met, and by that means obtained the
name of Little Goody Twoshoes."
This was for little girls. Mr. Bygood did not care much for boys as a
rule; but when Tom Lee came in he always produced "Marmaduke Multiply,"
which was even older than Goody Twoshoes, and read to him from that.
Dear Mr. Bygood! how kind he was! He had peppermints, too, sometimes,
but I fear we were not always grateful for these: they were apt to be
fuzzy, from carrying in his blue cotton handkerchief; and besides, was
not Cheeseman's next door? But we have not come to Cheeseman's yet.
Miss Almeria and Miss Egeria kept the shop, sold the daily paper (that
came from Tinkham; Tinkham was larger, we had to admit that, though
otherwise--well, no matter!) and the _Cyrus Centinel_, our own weekly;
besides pens and paper and the above-described books. They were dear
ladies, Miss Almeria and Miss Egeria: we loved them both, and much of
the romance of old-time Cyrus--long before our own time, Kitty Ross's
and mine--clustered about them. Miss Almeria was tall and handsome, with
jet-black hair and eyes of brilliant Irish blue. She had a fine figure
and great dignity, yet her laugh was as merry as Kitty's own.
Apparently, half Cyrus had wanted to marry Miss Almeria: it was matter
of common knowledge that Mr. Mallow had asked her five times, and Mr.
Jordano three. Hannah Sullivan, who did our chores and waited at our
parties, was a warm partisan of Mr. Mallow's, and could never meet Miss
Almeria without crying, "He'll die but he'll have ye!" Mr. Mallow did
not look as if he would die, but one never could tell.
Miss Egeria was gentle and quiet, a still brook where her sister was a
flashing rapid. She had her father's mild eyes and kind, hesitating way.
She never seemed quite sure of anything, dear Miss Egeria, but would
always appeal to her sister. "I wouldn't wonder but it rained to-morrow,
would you, Almy?" And if Miss Almeria said crisply, "Nonsense, Gerie!
there isn't a cloud in the sky," Miss Egeria would nod her curls with a
gentle, "I wouldn't wonder if 'twas pleasant, after all!"
Miss Egeria, if not such a belle as Miss Almeria, had yet had her
admirers. We all knew that the two gentlemen disrespectfully known as
"Twinnies" had loved Miss Egeria and her alone, the greater part of
their meek lives. They were not twins, not even brothers; but cousins
and closest friends, Mr. Jason and Mr. Josiah Jebus. They kept the
Crewel Shop: it had been opened under that name during the last craze
for crewel work in the seventies, and had never changed. As Mr. Jason
said, if they changed with every turn of fashion in fancy work, where
would they be?
"Why not call it the Fancy Shop once for all, and stick to that?" Kitty
Ross asked him once; but Mr. Jason shook his head. "That would sound
frivolous, Katharine!" he said. "Josiah and I are not frivolous!"
They were not. They carried on their funny little business with a
gravity and decorum that was all their own. Mr. Jason, as a rule, did
the selling, matched the worsteds and yarns, advised the selection of
patterns. Mr. Josiah embroidered. He had a club foot, and walked very
lame, but his fingers were wonderfully nimble; we loved to watch him, as
seated at his embroidery frame, half hidden by the green rep curtain
which divided the front shop from the back (the latter was their living
room), he sent his needle flying back and forth with what seemed to us
miraculous speed.
The Crewel Shop was a tiny building, tucked in between Adams's and the
Mallow House. A minute kitchen behind the back-shop-sitting-room, a
bedroom above:--that was all, but it was enough for the little
gentlemen. They never wanted to lose sight of each other; they had only
one opinion between them on any subject. In this they differed from the
Miss Bygoods. They did not appeal to each other; they simply said, "We
think it will rain to-morrow." This was carried so far that one or the
other might be heard, in "grippy" weather, to say, "We have a cold!" and
Cissy Sharpe insisted--but one did not always believe Cissy
implicitly--that that she had seen Mr. Jason on several occasions try to
walk lame like Mr. Josiah.
This being so, it was no more than natural that both gentlemen should
have loved the same lady. Our theory (a knot of school girls gossiping
over their noonday buns and pickled limes, we had a theory to fit
everything in town) was that they had never told their love, for fear of
interfering with each other. If this was true, it might have been hard
on Miss Egeria, supposing her to have cared for either; but we somehow
doubted if she ever had. They were so very mild, and their wigs (exactly
alike, and dressed every month by Mr. Beard the barber--so appropriately
named, we thought!) were such a peculiar shade of pinkish brown, and so
palpably made of jute!
My mother, who detested gossip, put an end one fine day to all our
romancing about still-remaining possibilities for "Miss Bygoods" by
telling us the simple truth; that the dear ladies had both lost their
lovers in the Civil War, and had never thought of matrimony since. She
added that Kitty and I were a pair of silly girls, and would much better
study our algebra lesson than gossip about people who presumably knew
their own affairs; Kitty and I went off with hanging heads, but more
imbued than ever with sentimental melancholy.
We couldn't help it, we agreed: Cyrus certainly _was_ a romantic place.
There were so many interesting people; so many curious names! Mr. Very
Jordano! How could a man be named Very Jordano and not be romantic? His
mother was a Miss Very, but his father was--_must_ be--of Italian
descent. Look at Mr. Jordano's hair, and eyes, and the way he wore that
picturesque cloak, such as no one else in Cyrus would ever think of
wearing. Mr. Jordano had no objection to our looking at his hair and
eyes and cloak: his Italian aspect was his joy and pride, and he
cultivated it sedulously. "A poor scribbler!" he was wont to say of
himself. "A poor country editor, sir; but in my veins flows the blood
of--h'm! ha! _nimporto!_" and then he would glance over his shoulder
mysteriously, as if to see whether he was being followed, and curl his
long mustache, and hum "Santa Lucia" as fiercely as that plaintive air
can be hummed. He edited the _Centinel_, as I have said, and signed his
own articles "Italio." When, as sometimes happened, his spelling of
_Centinel_ was criticized, he would say: "It is the spelling used by Sir
Walter Scott, sir! what is good enough for the Wizard of the North is
good enough for me--tee! tee!"
I have left Cheeseman's till the last, but it was first in our hearts
and our thoughts. Mr. Ivory Cheeseman's candy shop and kitchen was the
delight and the despair of every child in Cyrus. We knew to a nicety the
day each kind of candy was made. Monday was peppermint day, Tuesday was
devoted to caramels, Wednesday to sticks, Thursday to drops, and so on.
We timed our visits accordingly, and I fear we were shameless little
beggars, for though we clutched our legitimate "nickel" tight, prepared
to surrender it when we had made our choice, we knew very well that if
we were "pretty-behaved," Uncle Ivory would probably ask us to taste
those lemon drops or to see if that batch of cream ribbon wasn't a
little mite better than common. Dear Uncle Ivory! how we loved him,
spite of the sharp tongue that was the terror of "slack" or unmannerly
children!
But this will never do. I am wandering all about Cyrus, shaking hands
with everybody--I wish I could!--as if I still lived there, as if this
were my own story; whereas, it is the story of Kitty Ross, and it is
high time that I brought her in properly, instead of letting her whisk
round an occasional corner, as she has hitherto been doing.
The story begins with Kitty's return to Cyrus after her mother's death.
Her father had died two years before. Mrs. Ross--the gay, lovely,
flower-like little lady, who had never felt a rough wind while he
lived--could not stay long after him. She and Kitty went abroad, and
wandered about here and there. Then came the panic, and most of the
comfortable property Dr. Ross had left was swept away, I am not clear
just how. Very little was left, and much of that little was invested in
western railroads that paid no dividends. I will hurry over this part.
Mrs. Ross drooped like a broken flower; drooped and died, and Kitty was
left alone.
If Tom Lee had been at home that year, this story would never have been
written; but Tom was in China, building railways. So Kitty came back
alone to Cyrus, where she was born and bred. Cyrus people are the
kindest in the world, I believe. They may be fond of gossip (I don't
find that a thousand miles away it is less popular) and they may be a
trifle stiff-necked, like their Puritan ancestors before them, but kind
they certainly are. Ever since the news of Mrs. Ross's death came, Cyrus
had been asking, what _would_ Kitty do? The money was gone, practically
gone, Judge Peters said. There was enough for her clothes and fal-lals,
but little more, sir, little more. Something must be thought of.
Some--thing--must--be--thought--of. The judge looked and spoke
cheerfully, because he had already thought of something. He was Dr.
Ross's executor, and who had a better right, he would like to know?
The Miss Bygoods, talking together in low tones, while Father nodded
over the fire, voiced the same sentiment. The dear child! they said. Of
course she could not stay in that great house alone, even with Sarepta.
Sarepta was good and faithful, of course, and an excellent cook, as
everyone knew; but she was no companion for Kitty, even if her temper
were not--well, uncertain.
"I think the little blue room, Sister!" said Miss Almeria. "There are
bluebirds on the paper, you know, and Kitty always made me think of a
bluebird. Dear me! how pleasant to think of having a young creature in
the house again!"
"And oh, sister!" Miss Egeria beamed softly over her tatting. "We can
give her a little Society! Nothing elaborate, of course, only ice-cream
and sponge-drops, but--wandering about the Continent as she has
been--not that I mean a word in criticism of dear, sainted Mrs. Ross;
no, indeed! but to meet Cyrus people, and have a little social life,
will mean a great deal to dear Kitty. I mean when she puts on half
mourning, of course."
Miss Almeria pondered.
"I wish there were more young people!" she said. "There is no better
society than that of Cyrus, but--but we must acknowledge that most of
our agreeable people are--a--mature, and Kitty is so young!"
"There is Wilson Wibird;" Miss Egeria spoke timidly. "Wilson is young."
Miss Almeria looked grave.
"Wilson is young!" she acknowledged with a dignified bend of her
handsome head. "I fear there is little more to be said in his favor."
She paused. Wilson Wibird had been in Egeria's Sunday School class, and
she could not bear to think ill of him. Why give pain? thought Miss
Almeria.
"I cannot think that Kitty would find him interesting!" she concluded.
Interesting, indeed! Miss Almeria had never heard Wilson Wibird
shrieking from the gutter, "Ma! Ma! Kitty Ross knocked me down and
trompled on me!"
"And there are the Chanters!" Miss Egeria spoke more confidently, as
Miss Almeria's face lightened.
"Yes, there are the Chanters. They will be pleasant playmates for Kitty:
they are young, and gay: I almost think--I fear--Zephine and Rodney may
sometimes be a little _too_ gay, sister, but perhaps not. Yes, the
Chanters will certainly be a resource; still, my dear, we must
acknowledge that there have been great changes in Cyrus. It is not what
it was in our youth."
And Miss Egeria did acknowledge it meekly.
Mr. Marshall Mallow, at the Mallow House, made a careful examination of
his rooms about this time; studying wall-papers, carpets and
decorations, with meticulous care. One room, he decided, a pleasant
corner room, facing south and west, could do with a new paper, and one
or two nice "edgin's." "I don't care for these chromios," he said to
Billy. (Billy was his clerk: if he had another name, I never knew it.)
"They're too glarish. Give me a good edgin' or engravement!"
Mr. Mallow's English was all his own, but nobody minded, because he
never said anything unkind in it. He overflowed with warmth, like the
rising sun, which, indeed, he somewhat resembled, with _his_ round, rosy
face and polished head. He inherited the Mallow House from his father,
who in turn had taken it from _his_ father, who built it. It was a
family affair. Since old Mrs. Mallow died, Mr. Marshall (known as
"Marsh" among his intimates) had been his own housekeeper, major-domo
and butler. "I don't want no woman gormineerin' over me!" he often said;
but this was when youth was past, and with it all hope of Miss Almeria;
or so we girls maintained.
The boarders at the Mallow House--but here I go wandering again. The
boarders must wait.