had been made to the island before they could quit its harbor.
At length one day directly after dinner, a favorable wind having sprung
up, the good ship weighed anchor and pursuing her westward course passed
out of the straits into Lake Michigan.
All night she flew before the wind and when our friends awoke the
following morning she rode safely at anchor in the harbor of Chicago.
Though a large city now, it was then a town of less than five thousand
inhabitants.
This was the port of the Queen Charlotte and her passengers must be
landed, her cargo discharged.
It was with feelings of regret on both sides that her officers and the
Keiths parted; Edward Wells taking an opportunity to say in an undertone
to Mildred that he hoped they would sometime meet again.
St. Joseph, on the opposite side of the lake, was the next port whither
the Keiths were bound. A much smaller vessel carried them across.
They had a rough passage, wind and rain compelling them to keep closely
housed in a little confined cabin, and were glad to reach the town of
St. Joseph; though they found it but a dreary spot, no grass, no trees,
the hotel a large, barn-like, two story building, with the hot summer
sun streaming in through its windows without hindrance from curtain or
blind; for the rain ceased about the time of their arrival and the sun
shone out with fervid heat during the two or three days that they were
detained there, resting the Sabbath day and awaiting the arrival of
their household goods before ascending the St. Joseph river, on which
Pleasant Plains, their final destination, was situated.
There were no railroads in that part of the country then, nor for many
years after; I think there was no stage route between the two places;
there were no steamers on the river; the best they could do was to take
a keel-boat.
The rain had ceased and the sun shone brightly on the rippling, dancing
waters of the lake and river, on the little town and the green fields
and forests of the adjacent country, as they went on board the keel-boat
Mary Ann, and set out upon this the last stage of their long journey.
The boatmen toiled at their oars and the Mary Ann moved slowly on
against the current, slowly enough to give our travelers abundance of
time to take in the beauties of the scenery; which they, the older ones
at least, did not fail to do.
Much of it was unbroken forest, but they passed sometimes a solitary
clearing with its lonely log cabin, sometimes a little village. The
river flowed swiftly along, clear and sparkling, between banks now low,
now high, green to the water's edge.
The sun was nearing the western horizon as, at last, the boat was run in
close to shore and made fast, with the announcement, "Here we are,
strangers; this here's the town of Pleasant Plains."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Chapter Sixth.
"Nor need we power or splendor,
Wide hall or lordly dome;
The good, the true, the tender,
These form the wealth of home."
--MRS. HALE.
PLEASANT PLAINS considered itself quite a town. It stood high above the
river on two plains, the upper familiarly known as the "Bluff." It was
laid out in very wide, straight streets, crossing each other at right
angles; there were perhaps two hundred dwelling houses, principally
frame, but with a goodly proportion of log cabins and a respectable
sprinkling of brick buildings.
The county seat, it had its court-house and jail; there were some half
dozen stores where almost everything could be had, from dress goods to
butter and eggs, and from a plowshare to a fine cambric needle; two
taverns, as many blacksmith, shoemaker, and carpenter shops, a flouring
mill and a bakery.
Also two churches belonging to different denominations; both frame
structures, of extremely plain and unpretentious architecture, with bare
walls, uncurtained windows, rough, uncarpeted floors, and rude hard
benches in lieu of pews.
No thought of architectural beauty or even of comfort and convenience,
beyond that of mere protection from the weather, seemed to have entered
the minds of any of the builders here; the houses were mere shells; with
no cupboards or closets or the slightest attempt at ornamentation.
Nor was their unsightliness concealed by vines, trees, or shrubbery;
almost every one of the beautiful monarchs of the forest once adorning
the locality had been ruthlessly felled, and a stump here and there was
all that was left to tell of their former existence.
As the keel of the Mary Ann grated on the gravelly shore, a tall figure
in rough farmer attire came springing down the bank, calling out in
tones of unfeigned joy, "Hello, Keith! Come at last--wife, children, and
all; eh? I'm glad to see ye! Never was more delighted in my life."
And the speaker catching Mr. Keith's hand in his shook it with hearty
good will, then treating the rest of the party in like manner, as with
his and Mr. Keith's assistance, each in turn stepped from the boat.
Mr. George Ward was an old client and friend of Mr. Keith's, who had
been long urging this removal.
"I declare I wish I lived in town for a few days now," he went on, "but
we're three mile out on the prairie, as you know, Keith. I have my team
here, though, and if you like to pile into the wagon, all of you, I'll
take you home with me, as it is."
The hospitable invitation was declined with thanks.
"There are quite too many of us, Mr. Ward," Mrs. Keith said, smilingly,
"and we want to get into a house of our own just as soon as possible."
"Ah yes, so your husband wrote me; and I've been looking round for you.
But the best that's to be had will seem a poor place to you, Mrs. Keith,
after what you've left behind in Lansdale."
"I suppose so, but of course we must expect to put up with many
inconveniences and probably some hardships even, for the first few
years," she answered, cheerfully.
"I'm afraid that's so, but I hope you'll find yourselves paid for it in
the long run. Now shall I take you to the Union Hotel? You can't, of
course, get into your own house to-night.
"Here, let me carry you, bub," picking up Cyril, "the soil's real sandy
here and makes heavy walking."
"If, as I presume from your recommendation of it, it is your best house
of entertainment," Mr. Keith said, in reply to the question.
"Yes, sir, there's only one other, and it's a very poor affair,"
returned Mr. Ward, leading the way.
Mrs. Prior, the landlady, a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman, with
kind, motherly manners, met them at the door with a welcome nearly as
hearty as that of their old time friend.
"I'm glad to see you," she said, bustling about to wait upon them,
"We've plenty o' room here in town for the right sort o' folks, and glad
to get 'em."
She had taken them into her parlor, the only one the house afforded.
The furniture was plain--a rag carpet, green paper blinds, a table with
a rod and black cover, windsor chairs, two of them rocking chairs with
chintz-covered cushions, the rest straight-backed and hard; on the high
wooden mantel shelf an old-fashioned looking-glass, a few shells and two
brass candlesticks; these last bright as scouring could make them.
"I'm afraid it must seem but a poor place to you, ladies," she
continued, pushing forward a rocking chair for each. "And you're
dreadful tired, ain't you? with your long journey. Do sit down and rest
yourselves."
"You are very kind, and everything looks very nice indeed," Mrs. Keith
answered, looking up at her with a pleased smile as she accepted the
offered seat, and began untying her baby's bonnet strings.
"Indeed, I, for one, didn't expect to find half as good accommodations
out in these western wilds," remarked Aunt Wealthy, glancing round the
room. "I thought you had no floors to your carpets."
"No floors? oh yes; rather rough to be sure;--carpenters here don't make
the best of work; and I think sometimes I could a'most plane a board
better myself--but to get the carpets is the rub; we mostly make 'em
ourselves and the weavin's often done so poor that they don't last no
time hardly. Soil's sandy, you see, and it cuts the carpets right out."
"They say this country's hard on women and oxen," put in Mr. Ward, "and
I'm afraid it's pretty true."
"Now don't be frightening them first thing, Mr. Ward," laughed the
landlady. "Come, take off your things and the children's, ladies, and
make yourselves to home. Here, just let me lay 'em in here," she went
on, opening an inner door and revealing a bed covered with a patch-work
quilt.
"You can have this room if you like, Mrs. Keith; I s'pose you'd prefer a
downstairs one with the baby and t'other little ones? There is a trundle
bed underneath that'll do for them.
"And the rest of you can take the two rooms right over these. They're
all ready and you can go right up to 'em whenever you like. Is there
anything more I can do for you now?"
The query was answered in the negative.
"Then I'll just excuse myself," she said; "for I must go and see to the
supper; can't trust girls here."
She passed out through another door, leaving it ajar.
"That's the dining-room, I know, Fan, 'cause I see two big tables set,"
whispered Cyril peeping in, "and there's not a bit of carpet on the
floor. Guess they're cleanin' house."
"Well, wife, I'll have to leave you for a little, I must see to the
landing of our goods," said Mr. Keith, taking his hat. "Will you go
along, Ward?"
"And let us go up and look at our rooms, girls," said Mildred to her
sisters. "Mayn't we, mother?"
"Yes, go and make yourselves neat for the supper table."
They came back reporting bare floors everywhere, of boards none too well
planed either, but everything scrupulously clean.
"Then we may well be content," said their mother. The gentlemen returned
and the guests were presently summoned, by the ringing of a bell on top
of the house, to the supper table, which they found furnished with
abundance of good, wholesome well-cooked food.
And they were really able to make a very comfortable meal, despite the
presence of deli ware, two-pronged steel forks, and the absence of
napkins.
"What about the goods, Stuart?" asked Mrs. Keith on their return to the
parlor.
"I have had them carted directly to the house; that is, I believe the
men are at it now."
"The house?"
"The one Ward spoke of. I have taken it. It was Hobson's choice, my
dear, or you should have seen it first."
"Can I see it now?"
"Why, yes, if you choose; it won't be dark yet for an hour. If you and
Aunt Wealthy will put on your bonnets, I'll take you round."
"Ada and me, too, father?" cried Zillah eagerly.
"And Fan and Don and me?" chorused Cyril.
"You couldn't think of going without your eldest son;" said Rupert,
looking about for his hat.
Mrs. Keith turned an inquiring eye upon her husband.
"Is it far?"
"No; even Fan can easily walk it. Let them come. You, too, Mildred,"
taking the babe from her arms. "I'll carry baby."
"We'll make quite a procession," laughed the young girl. "Won't the
people stare?"
"What if they do? who of us cares?"
"Not I!" cried Rupert, stepping back from the doorway with a commanding
wave of the hand, "Procession will please move forward Mr. Keith and
wife taking the lead, Miss Stanhope and Miss Keith next in order, Zilly
and Ada following close upon their heels, the three inseparables after
them, while Marshal Rupert brings up the rear to see that all are in
line."
Everybody laughed at this sally while they promptly fell into line as
directed, passed out upon the sidewalk and pursued their way through the
quiet streets.
People did stare to be sure, from open doors and windows, some asking,
"Who are they?" others answering "New comers and they've got a big
family to support."
Some remarked that they were nice looking people; while others shook
their heads wisely, or dubiously, and said they "expected they were real
stuck up folks;--dressed so dreadful fine."
However, the subjects of these charitable comments did not overhear, and
therefore were not disturbed by them.
"Do you see that yellow frame yonder, wife?" Mr. Keith asked as they
turned a corner.
"With the gable-end to the street and two doors in it, one above and one
below?"
"The same."
"It looks like a warehouse."
"That's what it was originally intended for; but finding it not
available for that purpose, the owner offered it for rent."
"And is it the one you have rented?"
"Yes; a poor place to take you to, my dear but, as I told you, it was
Hobson's choice."
"Then we'll make the best of it and be thankful."
"What a horrid old thing!" remarked Mildred in an undertone, heard only
by Aunt Wealthy.
"We'll hope to find the inside an improvement on the out," was the
cheerful rejoinder.
"It has need to be, I should say!" cried the girl as they drew near.
"Just see! it fronts on two streets and there's not a bit of a space
separating it from either; doors open right out on to a sand bank."
"That's what was made by digging the cellar," said Rupert.
"There's a big yard at the side and behind," said Zillah.
"Something green in it, too," added Ada, whose sight was imperfect.
"Nothing but a crop of ugly weeds," said Mildred, ready to cry as memory
brought vividly before her the home they had left with its large garden
carpeted with green grass, adorned with shrubbery and filled with the
bloom of summer flowers.
The June roses must be out now and the woodbine--the air sweet with
their delicious perfume--and they who had planted and tended them, so
far away in this desolate looking spot.
"Not a tree, a shrub, a flower or a blade of grass!" she went on,
sighing as she spoke.
"Never mind, we'll have lots of them next year, if I plant every one
myself," said Rupert.
The last load of their household goods had just been brought up from the
river, the men were carrying in the heavy boxes and setting them down
upon the floor of the front room. The door stood wide open and they all
walked in.
"Not a bit of a hall!" exclaimed Mildred, "not a cupboard or closet;
nothing but four bare walls and two windows each side of the front
door."
"Yes, the floor and ceilings," corrected Rupert.
"And another door on the other side," said Ada, running and opening it.
"Not a mantelpiece to set anything on, nor any chimney at all! How on
earth are we going to keep warm in the winter time?" Mildred went on,
ignoring the remarks of her younger brother and sister.
"With a stove, Miss; pipes run up through the floor into the room above;
there's a flue there," said one of the men, wiping the perspiration
from his forehead with the sleeve of his checked shirt.
Mr. Keith stopped to settle with the men for their work, and the others
walked on into the next room.
It was as bare and more dreary than the first; somewhat larger, but had
only one window, that and an outside door, opening directly upon the
side street.
Back of the two rooms and in a line with them, was the kitchen; smaller
than either of the other rooms, but provided with a chimney and
fireplace; also a small, dark closet under a flight of steep and crooked
stairs which led from it to the story above.
This, as they found on climbing up to it, consisted of two rooms, the
first extending over kitchen and sitting-room, the other over the front
room and of exactly the same size.
The stairs led directly into the first room and it must be passed
through to reach the second; therefore had not the recommendation of
privacy.
"What a house!" grumbled the children; "how'll we ever live in it? Such
a few rooms and not a bit nice."
Mrs. Keith stood in the middle of that large, barn-like upper room,
saying never a word, but her heart sinking lower and lower as she
glanced from side to side taking in the whole situation.
Aunt Wealthy saw it and came to the rescue. "Never mind, dearie; it will
look very different when we have unpacked and arranged your furniture.
With the help of curtains several rooms can be made out of this, and
we'll do nicely."
"Yes, no doubt we shall, auntie," Mrs. Keith answered with determined
cheerfulness. "That front room shall be yours--"
"No, no! you and Stuart must take that--"
"I'm quite set on having my own way in this," interrupted the younger
lady in her turn. "It is the best room, and you must take it. Don't
hesitate or object, for I should be afraid to have my little ones in
there with that outside door opening on to nothing," she concluded, with
a laugh.
"Well, wife, what do you think?" asked Mr. Keith, coming up the stairs.
"That we can be very happy here if we make up our minds to be content
with our lot."
"That is like you, Marcia; always ready to make the best of everything,"
he said, with a pleased look.
"I think it's a dreadful place!" exclaimed Mildred, "like a great barn;
and so dirty! plaster all over the floor and spattered on the windows
too."
"I hope it can be cleaned," her father said, laughing at her rueful
face. "Mrs. Prior can probably tell us where to find a woman to do it."
A little more time was spent in discussing plans for the arrangement of
the inside of the dwelling; then they stepped into the side-yard and
viewed it from the out.
A great dead wall of rough weather boarding broken by one window only
and that in the second story, was what met their view as they looked up;
down below, first a heap of sand, beyond that a wilderness of weeds and
brushwood.
"I'm dumb with despair!" cried Mildred, folding her hands with a
tragical air.
"Can dumb folks talk?" asked Cyril.
"As ugly as mud this side," remarked Zillah, turning up her nose
scornfully as she scanned the unsightly wall.
"We'll cover it with vines," said Aunt Wealthy.
"And I'll clear the yard and sod it," added Rupert, seizing a great
mullein stalk and pulling it up by the roots as he spoke. "Twon't be
nearly so hard as the clearing the early pioneers of Ohio had to do, our
grandfathers among the rest."
"That's the right way to look at it, my boy," responded Mr. Keith,
heartily. "Come now, we'll lock up the house and go back to our hotel
for the night."
"There's a log house nearly opposite," remarked Rupert, when they were
in the street again, "and the next is a real shabby one-and-a-half-story
frame with a blacksmith shop attached. We haven't the worst place in
town after all. Ho! look at the sign, 'G. Lightcap;' what a name!
'specially for a blacksmith."
Mrs. Prior joined her guests in the parlor after the younger portion had
gone to bed.
"Well, how did you like the house?" she asked.
"I hope we shall be able to make ourselves comfortable there," Mr. Keith
answered, in a cheerful tone.
"You can get possession right away, I s'pose."
"Yes; and want to move in as quickly as possible, but must have some
cleaning done first."
Mrs. Prior recommended a woman for that without waiting to be asked,
and offered to "send round" at once and see if she could be engaged for
the next day.
The offer was accepted with thanks and the messenger brought back word
that Mrs. Rood would be at the house by six o'clock in the morning.
"But," suggested Aunt Wealthy in dismay, "she'll want hot water, soap,
cloths, scrubbing brushes!"
"I'll lend a big iron kettle to heat the water," said the landlady; "a
fire can be made in that kitchen fireplace, you know, or out doors, with
the brush wood."
"And brushes and soap can be had at the stores, I presume," suggested
Mr. Keith.
"Yes; and if they ain't open in time, I'll lend mine for her to start
on."
"Thank you very much," said Mrs. Keith. "But, Stuart, we may as well
unpack our own; I can tell you just which box to open."
"What a woman you are for doing things systematically, Marcia," he said,
admiringly. "Yours is the best plan, I think. Can we be up in season to
be on hand there at half-past five, think you?"
"We can try," she answered brightly, "Mrs. Prior, where is your
market?"
"We haven't got to that yet, ma'am," replied the landlady, laughing and
shaking her head.
"No market? why how do you manage without?"
"There's butcher shops where we can buy fresh meat once or twice a
week--beef, veal, mutton, lamb, just whatever they happen to kill--and
we put up our own salt pork, hams, dried beef, and so forth, and keep
codfish and mackerel on hand.
"Most folks have their own chickens, and the country people bring 'em in
too; and butter and eggs and vegetables; though a good many town folks
have garden sass of their own raisin'; keep a cow and make their own
butter."
"That's the most independent way," remarked Mr. Keith. "I think I must
have a cow; if I can get a girl who can milk. Do you know of a good girl
wanting a place, Mrs. Prior?"
"I wish I did; but they're dreadful scarce sir; and so sassy! you can't
keep 'em unless you let 'em come to the table with the family; and you
must be mighty careful what you ask 'em to do."
[Illustration]
Chapter Seventh.
"I feel my sinews slacken'd with the fright,
And a cold sweat thrills down all o'er my limbs,
As if I were dissolving into water."
--DRYDEN'S TEMPEST.
THE Lightcaps were at supper; father and eldest son, each of whom stood
six feet in his stockings, with shirt sleeves rolled up above their
elbows, displaying brown sinewy arms; the mother in a faded calico,
grizzled hair drawn straight back from a dull, careworn face and
gathered into a little knot behind in which was stuck a yellow horn
comb; years of incessant toil and frequent exposure to sun and wind had
not improved a naturally dark, rough skin, and there was no attempt at
adornment in her attire, not a collar or a ruffle to cover up the
unsightliness of the yellow, wrinkled neck.
Rhoda Jane, the eldest daughter, seated at her father's right hand, was
a fac-simile of what the mother had been in her girlhood, with perhaps
an added touch of intelligence and a somewhat more bold and forward
manner.
There were besides several younger children of both sexes, quite
ordinary looking creatures and just now wholly taken up with the
business in hand;--vieing with each other in the amount of bread and
butter and molasses, fried potatoes and fried pork they could devour in
a given space of time.
"Some new comers in town, mother," remarked Mr. Lightcap, helping
himself to a second slice of pork. "The keelboat Mary Ann come up the
river with a lot of travellers."
"Who, father? somebody that's going to stay?"
"Yes; that lawyer we heerd was comin', you know. What's his name?"
"Keith," said Rhoda Jane, "I heerd Miss Prior tell Damaris Drybread last
Sunday after meetin'. And so they've come, hev they?"
"Yes; I had occasion to go up street a bit ago, and saw George Ward
takin' 'em to the Union Hotel; the man hisself and two or three wimmin
folks and a lot of young uns."
"Damaris was wishing there'd be some children;" remarked Rhoda Jane,
"she wants more scholars."
"It don't foller they'd go to her if there was," put in her brother.
"Oh now you just shut up, Goto! you never did take no stock in Damaris."
"No, nor you neither, Rhoda Jane; 'cept once in a while just fur
contrariness. No, I don't take no shine to Miss Drybread; she's a
unmitigated old maid."
"I wish the man had been a doctor and good on curin' the agur," said
Mrs. Lightcap, replenishing her husband's cap. "What's up now, Rhoda
Jane?" as that damsel suddenly pushed back her chair, sprang up, and
rushed through the adjoining room to the front door.
"A wagon goin' by filled full of great boxes o' goods," shouted back the
girl. "There they're stoppin' at the yaller house on the corner. Come
and look."
The whole family, dropping knives and forks, the children with hands and
mouths full, ran pell mell to door and windows to enjoy the sight.
"I wonder what's up, father? are we goin' to have a new store over
there, think?" queried Mrs. Lightcap, standing on the outer step with
her hands on her hips, her gaze turned steadily in the direction of the
corner house.
"Dunno, mother; b'lieve I'll jest step over and ask. Come along Goto, I
guess they'd like some help with them thar big boxes."
They were kind-hearted, neighborly folk--those early settlers of
Pleasant Plains, always ready to lend a helping hand wherever it was
needed.
"It's the new lawyer feller's traps," announced Mr. Lightcap, as he and
his son rejoined the waiting, expectant wife and children; "he's took
the house and we'll have 'em for neighbors."
There was another rush to the door, half an hour later, when the Keiths
were seen passing on their way to inspect their future abode.
"The prettiest gal I ever see," remarked Gotobed, gazing admiringly
after Mildred's graceful, girlish figure.