One winter morning before daylight, Veronica came to my room, and
asked me if I had heard any walking about the house during the night.
She had, and was going to inquire about it. She soon returned with,
"You have a brother. Temperance says my nose is broken. He will be
like you, I suppose, and have everything he asks for. I don't care
for him; but," crying out with passion, "get up. Mother wants to see
_you_, I know."
I dressed quickly, and went downstairs with a feeling of indignation
that such an event should have happened without my knowledge.
There was an unwonted hush. A bright fire was burning on the
dining-room hearth, the lamps were still lighted, and father was by
the fire, smoking in a meditative manner. He put out his hand, which I
did not take, and said, "Do you like his name--Arthur?"
"Yes," I mumbled, as I passed him, and went to the kitchen, where
Hepsey and Temperance were superintending the steeping of certain
aromatic herbs, which stood round the fire in silver porringers and
earthen pitchers.
"Another Morgeson's come," said Temperance. "There's enough of them,
such as they are--not but what they are good enough," correcting
herself hastily.
"Go into your mother's room, softly," said Hepsey, rubbing her fingers
against her thumb--her habit when she was in a tranquil frame of mind.
"_You_ are mighty glad, Hepsey," said Temperance.
"Locke Morgeson ought to have a son," she replied, "to leave his money
to."
"I vow," answered Temperance, "girls are thought nothing of in this
'ligous section; they may go to the poor house, as long as the sons
have plenty."
An uncommon fit or shyness seized me, mixed with a feeling of dread,
as I crept into the room where mother was. My eyes first fell upon
an elderly woman, who wore a long, wide, black apron, whose strings
girded the middle of her cushion-like form. She was taking snuff. It
was the widow Mehitable Allen, a lady whom I had often seen in other
houses on similar occasions.
"Shoo," she whispered nasally.
I was arrested, but turned my eyes toward mother; hers were closed.
Presently she murmured, "Thank God," opened them, and saw me. A smile
lighted her pale countenance. "Cassy, my darling, kiss me. I am glad
it is not a woman." As I returned her kiss her glance dropped on a
small bunch by her side, which Mehitable took and deftly unrolled,
informing me as she did so that it was a "Rouser."
Aunt Mercy came the next day. She had not paid us a visit in a long
time, being confined at home with the care of her father, Grandfather
Warren. She took charge of Veronica and me, if taking charge means
a series of guerilla skirmishes on both sides. I soon discovered,
however, that she was prone to laughter, and that I could provoke
it; we got on better after that discovery; but Veronica, disdaining
artifice, was very cross with her. Aunt Mercy had a spark of fun in
her composition, which was not quite crushed out by her religious
education. She frequented the church oftener than mother, sang more
hymns, attended all the anniversary celebrations, but she had no
dreams, no enthusiasm. Her religion had leveled all needs and all
aspirations. What the day brought forth answered her. She inspired me
with a secret pity; for I knew she carried in her bosom the knowledge
that she was an old maid.
Before mother left her room Veronica was taken ill, and was not
convalescent till spring. Delicacy of constitution the doctor called
her disorder. She had no strength, no appetite, and looked more elfish
than ever. She would not stay in bed, and could not sit up, so father
had a chair made for her, in which she could recline comfortably. Aunt
Merce put her in it every morning, and took her out every evening. My
presence irritated her, so I visited her but seldom. She said I looked
so well, it hurt her, and wished me to keep out of her sight, begged
me never to talk loud in the vicinity of her room, my voice was
so breezy. She amused herself in her own strange way. One of her
amusements was to cut off her hair, lock by lock, and cut it short
before she was well enough to walk about. She played on a jewsharp,
and on a little fife when her breath permitted, and invented grotesque
costumes out of bits of silk and lace. Temperance was much engaged,
at her dictation, in the composition of elaborate dishes, which she
rarely ate, but forced Temperance to. She was more patient with her
than any other person; with us she was excessively high-tempered,
especially with father. She could not bear to catch a glimpse of the
sea, nor to hear it; if she heard it echoing in the house, she played
on her fife, or jewsharp, or asked Aunt Merce to sing some old song.
But she liked the view from the north windows, even when the boughs
were bare and the fields barren. When the grass came, she ordered
handfuls to be brought her and put in saucers of water. With the
coming of the blossoms she began to mend. As for me, I was as much an
animal as ever--robust in health--inattentive, and seeking excitement
and exhilaration. I went everywhere, to Bible class, to Sunday school,
and to every funeral which took place within our precincts. But I
never looked upon the dead; perhaps that sight would have marred the
slumbrous security which possessed me--the instinctive faith in the
durability of my own powers of life.
But a change was approaching. Aunt Merce considered my present state a
hopeless one. She was outside the orbit of the family planet, and saw
the tendency of its revolutions, perceiving that father and mother
were absorbed in their individual affairs. She called mother's
attention to my non-improvement, and proposed that I should return
to Barmouth with her for a year, and become a pupil in a young lady's
school, which had been recently established there, by a graduate of
the Nipswich Female Seminary, a school distinguished for its ethics.
Mother looked astonished, when she heard this proposal. "What!" she
began with vehemence, "shall I subject"--but checked herself when she
caught my eye, and continued more calmly: "We will decide soon."
It was decided that I should go, without my being consulted in the
matter. I felt resentful against mother, and could not understand
till afterward, why she had consented to the plan. It was because she
wished me to comprehend the influences of her early life, and learn
some of the lessons she had been taught. At first, father "poohed"
at the plan, but finally said it was a good place to tame me. When
Veronica heard that I was going, she told me that I would be stifled,
if I lived at Grandfather Warren's; but added that the plums in his
garden were good, and advised me to sit on the yellow stone doorstep,
under which the toads lived. She also informed me that she was glad of
it, and hoped I would stay forever.
To Barmouth I went, and in May entered Miss Black's genteel school.
Miss Black had a conviction that her vocation was teaching. Necessity
did not compel it, for she was connected with one of the richest
families in Barmouth. At the end of the week my curiosity regarding my
new position was quenched, and I dropped into the depths of my first
wretchedness. I frantically demanded of father, who had stopped to
see me on his way to Milford, to be taken home. He firmly resisted me.
Once a month, I should go home and spend a Sunday, if I chose, and he
would come to Barmouth every week.
My agitation and despair clouded his face for a moment, then it
cleared, and pinching my chin, he said, "Why don't you look like your
mother?"
"But she _is_ like her mother," said Aunt Merce.
"Well, Cassy, good-by"; and he gave me a kiss with cruel nonchalance.
I knew my year must be stayed out.