"Mrs. Saunders," said mother, "don't let that soap boil over. Cassy,
keep away from it."
"Lord," replied Mrs. Saunders, "there's no fat in the bones to bile.
Cassy's grown dreadful fast, ain't she? How long has the old man been
dead, Mis Morgeson?"
"Three years, Mrs. Saunders."
"How time do fly," remarked Mrs. Saunders, mopping her wrinkled face
with a dark-blue handkerchief. "The winter's sass is hardly put in
the cellar 'fore we have to cut off the sprouts, and up the taters
for planting agin. We shall all foller him soon." And she stirred the
bones in the great kettle with the vigor of an ogress.
When I heard her ask the question about Grandfather Locke, the
interval that had elapsed since his death swept through my mind. What
a little girl I was at the time! How much had since happened! But no
thought remained with me long. I was about to settle whether I would
go to the beach and wade, or into the woods for snake-flowers, till
school-time, when my attention was again arrested by Mrs. Saunders
saying, "I spose Marm Tamor went off with a large slice, and Mr. John
Morgeson is mad to this day?"
Mother was prevented from answering by the appearance of the said Mr.
John Morgeson, who darkened the threshold of the kitchen door, but
advanced no further. I looked at him with curiosity; if he were mad,
he might be interesting. He was a large, portly man, over sixty, with
splendid black hair slightly grizzled, a prominent nose, and fair
complexion. I did not like him, and determined not to speak to him.
"Say good-morning, Cassandra," said mother, in a low voice.
"No," I answered loudly, "I am not fond of my grandfather."
Mrs. Saunders mopped her face again, grinning with delight behind her
handkerchief.
"Debby, my wife, wants you, Mis Saunders, after you have made Mary's
soap," he said.
"Surely," she answered.
"Where is the black horse to-day?" he asked mother.
"Locke has gone to Milford with him."
"I wanted the black horse to-day," he said, turning away.
"He's a mighty grand man, he is," commented Mrs. Saunders. "I am
pesky glad, Mis Morgeson, that you have never put foot in his house. I
'plaud your sperit!"
"School-time, Cassy," said mother. "Will you have some gingerbread
to carry? Tell me when you come home what you have read in the New
Testament."
"My boy does read beautiful," said Mrs. Saunders. "Where's the potash,
Mis Morgeson?"
I heard the bell toll as I loitered along the roadside, pulling a
dandelion here and there, for it was in the month of May, and
throwing it in the rut for the next wheel to crush. When I reached
the schoolhouse I saw through the open door that the New Testament
exercise was over. The teacher, Mrs. Desire Cushman, a tall, slender
woman, in a flounced calico dress, was walking up and down the room; a
class of boys and girls stood in a zigzag line before her, swaying to
and fro, and drawling the multiplication table. She was yawning as
I entered, which exercise forbade her speaking, and I took my seat
without a reprimand. The flies were just coming; I watched their
sticky legs as they feebly crawled over my old unpainted notched
desk, and crumbled my gingerbread for them; but they seemed to have no
appetite. Some of the younger children were drowsy already, lulled by
the hum of the whisperers. Feeling very dull, I asked permission to go
to the water-pail for a drink; let the tin cup fall into the water so
that the floor might be splashed; made faces at the good scholars, and
did what I could to make the time pass agreeably. At noon mother sent
my dinner, with the request that I should stay till night, on account
of my being in the way while the household was in the crisis of
soap-making and whitewashing. I was exasperated, but I stayed. In the
afternoon the minister came with two strangers to visit the school. I
went through my lessons with dignified inaccuracy, and was commended.
Going back, I happened to step on a loose board under my seat. I
determined to punish Mrs. Desire for the undeserved praise I had just
received, and pushed the board till it clattered and made a dust.
When Mrs. Desire detected me she turned white with anger. I pushed it
again, making so much noise that the visitors turned to see the cause.
She shook her head in my direction, and I knew what was in store, as
we had been at enmity a long time, and she only waited for a decisive
piece of mischief on my part. As soon as the visitors had gone, she
said in a loud voice: "Cassandra Morgeson, take your books and go
home. You shall not come here another day."
I was glad to go, and marched home with the air of a conqueror, going
to the keeping-room where mother sat with a basket of sewing. I saw
Temperance Tinkham, the help, a maiden of thirty, laying the table for
supper.
"Don't wrinkle the tablecloth," she said crossly; "and hang up your
bonnet in the entry, where it belongs," taking it from me as she gave
the order, and going out to hang it up herself.
"I am turned out of school, mother, for pushing a board with my foot."
"Hi," said father, who was waiting for his supper; "come here," and he
whistled to me. He took me on his knee, while mother looked at me with
doubt and sorrow.
"She is almost a woman, Mary."
"Locke, do you know that I am thirty-eight?"
"And you are thirty-three, father," I exclaimed. He looked younger.
I thought him handsome; he had a frank, firm face, an abundance of
light, curly hair, and was very robust. I took off his white
beaver hat, and pushed the curls away from his forehead. He had his
riding-whip in his hand. I took that, too, and snapped it at our
little dog, Kip. Father's clothes also pleased me--a lavender-colored
coat, with brass buttons, and trousers of the same color. I mentally
composed for myself a suit to match his, and thought how well we
should look calling at Lady Teazle's house in London, only I was
worried because my bonnet seemed to be too large for me. A loud crash
in the kitchen disturbed my dream, and Temperance rushed in, dragging
my sister Veronica, whose hair was streaming with milk; she had pulled
a panful over her from the buttery shelf, while Temperance was taking
up the supper. Father laughed, but mother said:
"What have I done, to be so tormented by these terrible children?"
Her mild blue eyes blazed, as she stamped her foot and clenched her
hands. Father took his hat and left the room. Veronica sat down on the
floor, with her eyes fixed upon her, and I leaned against the wall. It
was a gust that I knew would soon blow over. Veronica knew it also. At
the right moment she cried out: "Help Verry, she is sorry."
"Do eat your supper," Temperance called out in a loud voice. "The hash
is burnt to flinders."
She remained in the room to comment on our appetites, and encourage
Veronica, who was never hungry, to eat.
Veronica was an elfish creature, nine years old, diminutive and pale.
Her long, silky brown hair, which was as straight as an Indian's, like
mother's, and which she tore out when angry, usually covered her face,
and her wild eyes looked wilder still peeping through it. She was too
strange-looking for ordinary people to call her pretty, and so odd in
her behavior, so full of tricks, that I did not love her. She was a
silent child, and liked to be alone. But whoever had the charge of her
must be watchful. She tasted everything, and burnt everything, within
her reach. A blazing fire was too strong a temptation to be resisted.
The disappearance of all loose articles was ascribed to her; but
nothing was said about it, for punishment made her more impish and
daring in her pursuits. She had a habit of frightening us by hiding,
and appearing from places where no one had thought of looking for her.
People shook their heads when they observed her. The Morgesons smiled
significantly when she was spoken of, and asked:
"Do you think she is like her mother?"
There was a conflict in mother's mind respecting Veronica. She did not
love her as she loved me; but strove the harder to fulfill her duty.
When Verry suffered long and mysterious illnesses, which made her
helpless for weeks, she watched her day and night, but rarely caressed
her. At other times Verry was left pretty much to herself and her
ways, which were so separate from mine that I scarcely saw her. We
grew up ignorant of each other's character, though Verry knew me
better than I knew her; in time I discovered that she had closely
observed me, when I was most unaware.
We began to prosper about this time.
"Old Locke Morgeson had a long head," people said, when they talked
of our affairs. Father profited by his grandfather's plans, and
his means, too; less visionary, he had modified and brought out
practically many of his projections. Old Locke had left little to his
son John Morgeson, in the belief that father was the man to carry out
his ideas. Besides money, he left him a tract of ground running north
and south, a few rods beyond the old house, and desired him to build
upon it. This he was now doing, and we expected to move into our new
house before autumn.
All the Morgesons wished to put money in a company, as soon as father
could prove that it would be profitable. They were ready to own shares
in the ships which he expected to build, when it was certain that
they would make lucky voyages. He declined their offers, but they all
"knuckled" to the man who had been bold enough to break the life-long
stagnation of Surrey, and approved his plans as they matured. His mind
was filled with the hope of creating a great business which should
improve Surrey. New streets had been cut through his property and that
of grandfather, who, narrow as he was, could not resist the popular
spirit; lots had been laid out, and cottages had gone up upon them. To
matters of minor importance father gave little heed; his domestic life
was fast becoming a habit. The constant enlargement of his schemes was
already a necessary stimulant.
I did not go back to Mrs. Desire's school. Mother said that I must be
useful at home. She sent me to Temperance, and Temperance sent me to
play, or told me to go "a visitin'." I did not care to visit, for in
consequence of being turned out of school, which was considered an
indelible disgrace and long remembered, my schoolmates regarded me in
the light of a Pariah, and put on insufferably superior airs when they
saw me. So, like Veronica, I amused myself, and passed days on the
sea-shore, or in the fields and woods, mother keeping me in long
enough to make a square of patchwork each day and to hear her read
a Psalm--a duty which I bore with patience, by guessing when the
"Selahs" would come in, and counting them. But wherever I was, or
whatever I did, no feeling of beauty ever stole into my mind. I never
turned my face up to the sky to watch the passing of a cloud, or mused
before the undulating space of sea, or looked down upon the earth with
the curiosity of thought, or spiritual aspiration. I was moved and
governed by my sensations, which continually changed, and passed
away--to come again, and deposit vague ideas which ignorantly haunted
me. The literal images of all things which I saw were impressed on my
shapeless mind, to be reproduced afterward by faculties then latent.
But what satisfaction was that? Doubtless the ideal faculty was
active in Veronica from the beginning; in me it was developed by the
experience of years. No remembrance of any ideal condition comes with
the remembrance of my childish days, and I conclude that my mind, if I
had any, existed in so rudimental a state that it had little influence
upon my character.