basket of berries his squaw had set down beside him to the loaf on the
table.
"Oh do let's give it to 'im! no knowin' what 'e'll do if we don't!"
cried Viny in a fright.
"It will be a good enough exchange," said Mr. Keith, taking the loaf and
handing it to the Indian. "Bring a pan for the berries."
The Indian passed the loaf on to his squaw with a grunt of satisfaction,
poured a quart or so of berries into the pan Viny had hastened to bring,
then again pointed to the table.
"What now?" asked Mr. Keith, good-humoredly.
The Indian replied by a gesture as if lifting a cup to his lips; and
Mildred saying, "He's thirsty," hastened to pour out a tumbler of milk
and hand it to him.
He drank it, returned the glass with a nod of thanks and walked away.
"I'll just run hout and water 'em hall," said Viny, hurrying into the
kitchen for a bucket and tin cup, "it's always best to keep on the good
side of 'em, folks tell me, if you don't want to run no risk of losin'
the 'air hoff yer 'ead."
Mr. Keith was standing in the doorway where the Indian had been a moment
before.
"Come and look at them, wife, and all of you," he said, "it's quite a
show and there's not the least danger."
Thus encouraged the children crowded to the door and window and found
much amusement in watching the movements of the savages and Viny's
efforts to win favor with them; efforts apparently well-directed, for
the day was warm and they drank the cool water freshly drawn from the
well in the yard, as if they found it very refreshing.
The troop--some thirty or forty in number--did not tarry long; in less
than an hour they had all remounted and gone on their way.
"There! them savage wild Hinguns is all clear gone and hour scalps is
safe for the present," remarked Viny, with a sigh of relief as the last
one disappeared from view in a cloud of dust far down the street.
She had run out to the corner of the house, dishtowel in hand, to watch
their movements as far as she could see them.
"Don't talk so; you'll frighten the children," said Mildred,
reprovingly, speaking from the front door where she stood with the
little ones grouped about her.
"I don't take my horders from you," muttered the girl, stalking back to
her kitchen.
After an early tea the proposed family walk was taken.
The lot--a little farther to the north than any which had been built
upon as yet, on the high river bank and overlooking the ferry--was
pronounced all that could be desired.
It was on a corner, and on two sides afforded a fine view of the river,
on the others of town and country.
"When we have our house built," remarked Mr. Keith, "we'll be able to
see the Kankakee Marsh from the second story windows."
"Marsh?" repeated his wife in a tone of alarm, "how far off is it?"
"We're about two miles from this end; it is two hundred miles long, you
remember, extending far over into Illinois. But why that sigh?"
"Ague!"
"Well, don't let us cross the bridge before we come to it. This is a
beautiful spot. I think we can, in a few years, make it superior in
point of beauty to any we have ever lived in."
"I think so too, if we can keep these fine old oaks."
There were several of them; grand old trees that had stood the storms of
centuries, perhaps.
"We will; we'll manage our building in a way not to interfere with
them."
At that Mildred's face brightened as it had not since her first sight of
the yellow house.
She had been very homesick for the dear old home in Lansdale, though
not a word of it had she breathed even into her mother's sympathetic
ear.
"How soon can the house be done?" she asked.
"Better inquire first how soon it will be begun," laughed her father.
"If we get into it by next spring we may consider ourselves fortunate."
"Oh dear!" sighed the children with one accord.
"The time will slip around before you know it, dears," remarked their
aunt cheerily.
"And we'll soon get the ground fenced in and let you spend your leisure
time, and exercise your taste and ingenuity in beautifying it," said
their father.
"And may we all help plan the house?" asked Rupert.
Mr. Keith smiled, a kindly good-natured smile, with some amusement in it
too.
"You may all make suggestions; it is to be our house:--not the parents'
only, but the children's, too."
[Illustration]
Chapter Tenth.
"Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene."
--YOUNG.
"OH, Rhody Jane, Rhody Jane, I say just come an' look!"
"Look at what, Emmaret? you're always makin' a fuss about nothin',"
returned Miss Lightcap scornfully, but nevertheless, stepping very
promptly, plate and dishcloth in hand, to the front door whence the
hasty summons had come.
"'Tain't nothin' this time," Emmaretta went on; "they're agoin' to
Sunday school, them Keith girls, and just see how they're dressed up!"
"Did you ever see anything so fine?" chorused Minerva; "sech lovely
dresses; and black silk aprons with colored lace onto 'em. Oh my! I wish
I had one like 'em!"
"Maybe you shall some o' these days when your pop gits rich," said her
mother, who was gazing from the window.
"But the bonnets is what takes me. Did you notice 'em, Rhoda Jane?
they're gimp with blue ribbings and blue flowers."
"And the white and red in their faces makes them powerful becoming,"
remarked Gotobed, standing just outside.
But he turned his head the other way, shamefacedly, as Mildred, looking
sweet and fair in white muslin and pink ribbons, followed her younger
sisters into the street, and sent a casual glance in his direction.
"Don't she think she's some!" said Rhoda Jane enviously.
"And so she is; she looks like a posey," said Gotobed.
"Is that the grandmother? the old lady walking with Mr. Keith."
"No; Viny Apple says she's Mrs. Keith's aunt; and talks in the funniest
way sometimes;--gets things hind part before--telling her to make up the
floors and sweep the beds, and the like.
"There they're all out o' sight. I guess the mother's stayin' to home
with the baby; Viny said she wasn't agoin' to, and I s'pose she's up
stairs primpin'."
"And that's what you'd ought to be doin' 'forelong, if you're goin' to
meetin', Rhoda Jane," observed Mrs. Lightcap, drawing in her head.
"Hurry up now with them dishes. And you children walk right in here and
hunt up your Sunday things, and wash your hands and faces and comb your
hair; it'll be meetin' time 'fore we know it."
A narrow foot-path, bordered on each side by grass still wet with dew,
led past the grove of saplings to the little church whither the Keiths
were bound.
Mildred, lifting her white skirts daintily, and warning her sisters and
brothers of the danger of wet and soiled shoes, should they step aside
from the beaten track, picked her way with careful steps, rejoicing in
the fact that the distance was not great.
The church membership was as yet very small; Sabbath school ditto. The
newly arrived family made an important addition to the ranks of both
teachers and scholars.
Two Bible classes were organized this morning and given, respectively,
into the charge of Mr. Keith and Miss Stanhope; Rupert becoming a member
of his father's, Mildred of Aunt Wealthy's. There were but two others in
this latter class; Claudina Chetwood and Lucilla Grange; both
intelligent, lady-like, refined girls, who made an agreeable impression
upon Miss Stanhope and Mildred also. And this was mutual.
The morning service followed immediately upon the close of Sabbath
school. The sermon was excellent; the singing, though not artistic, and
somewhat interrupted by the necessity of lining out the hymn, on account
of the scarcity of books, earnest and spirited; the people singing,
apparently with the understanding and the heart also; the prayer was
fervent, and the behavior of the congregation throughout the whole
service was quiet and devotional.
Most of them were town folk, but a few families had come in from the
surrounding country.
There was little display of fashion or style in dress; no one was
expensively attired; most of the women and girls wore calico; but all
were neat, some really tasteful; and in intellect and moral worth, the
majority of faces would have compared favorably with an equal number in
the older States.
People lingered after church for mutual introductions and the exchange
of friendly remarks and inquiries. The Keiths were warmly welcomed,
assured of intentions to call, hopes expressed that they would "like the
place," feel quite at home in the church and be sociable; the country
people adding "Come out and see us whenever you can."
Squire Chetwood and Mr. Keith, who had made acquaintance during the
preceding week, now introduced their families; each with very excusable
fatherly pride in the good looks and good manners of his offspring.
The young Chetwoods were nearly as numerous, as handsome and intelligent
as the Keiths.
"I hope we shall be good friends," said Claudina, as she and Mildred
walked away together. "Mother was not out to-day because of a headache;
but she and I are coming to see your mother and you this week."
"We shall be pleased to see you," Mildred answered heartily, "and I am
very glad to accept your offer of friendship."
They parted at Mr. Keith's door, mutually pleased, and Mildred carried a
brighter face into the house than she had worn for weeks.
Her mother remarked upon it with delight.
"Yes, mother," she responded gayly, "I begin to feel a little happier
about living here, now that I find we are to have good preaching, Sunday
school--with an excellent and competent teacher for my share"--glancing
archly at Aunt Wealthy's kindly, sensible face--"and pleasant friends;"
going on to give a flattering description of the Chetwoods, particularly
Claudina.
"I hope she will prove a valuable friend and a very great comfort to
you, daughter," said Mrs. Keith. "You need young companionship and I am
very glad to know that it will be provided."
The little girls had been up stairs putting away their best bonnets.
"Where's Viny?" asked Zillah, running back into the sitting-room where
the older people still were.
"She went out telling me that she wouldn't be back till bedtime,"
replied the mother.
"Leaving us to do our own work!" cried Mildred. "Oh, mother, what made
you let her?"
"Let her, my child? she did not ask my permission," laughed Mrs. Keith;
"but indeed I think we are quite as well off without her for to-day; as
we do no cooking on Sunday."
Before another week had passed, Mildred was ready to subscribe to the
opinion that they were as well without her altogether--she having proved
herself utterly inefficient, slow and slovenly about her work, unwilling
to be directed, impertinent, bold and forward.
There was not a day when Mildred's indignation did not rise to fever
heat in view of the many and aggravated sins of omission and commission
on the part of their "help;" yet it seldom found vent in words. She was
striving with determined purpose to rule her own spirit, and asking
daily and hourly for strength for the conflict from Him who has said,
"In me is thine help," "My strength is made perfect in weakness."
The example set her by her mother and aunt was also most helpful. They
were both cheerful, patient, sunny-tempered women; never a word of
fretfulness or complaint from the lips of either; Aunt Wealthy calm and
serene as an unclouded summer day, Mrs. Keith often bringing to her aid
a strong sense of the ludicrous; turning her vexations into occasions
for jesting and mirth.
Mildred knew that they were trials nevertheless, and her love and
admiration, and her resolve to show herself worthy to be the daughter of
such a mother, grew apace.
To the affectionate heart of the unselfish girl there seemed no greater
trial than seeing this dear mother overburdened with care and toil; but
try as she might to take all the burdens on her young shoulders, it was
utterly impossible; and while the conviction that to see her impatient
and unhappy would add to her mother's troubles, helped her to maintain
her self-control, the reflection that Viny's shortcomings added largely
to those trials, made it tenfold more difficult to bear with them.
So also with the little tempers, untidinesses, and mischievous pranks of
her younger brothers and sisters.
Home, even a happy home, is often a hard-fought battle-field; and who
shall say that there is not sometimes more true courage displayed there
than in another kind of conflict amid the roar of cannon and clash of
arms, where earthly glory and renown are to be won.
The Chetwoods and Granges, and several others of the same standing in
society, called that week; also Mr. Lord, the minister, brought his old
mother who kept house for him, he being a bachelor.
When Viny happened to be the one to admit callers, she seemed to think
it incumbent upon her to take a seat in the parlor with them and exert
herself for their entertainment.
Mildred speedily undertook to disabuse her of this impression, but the
girl haughtily informed her that "she had as good a right in the parlor
as anybody else."
"But I wouldn't go into it to visit with anybody that didn't come to see
me," said Mildred, with a determined effort to keep down her rising
anger.
"Well, I guess they're about as likely to want to see me as any o' the
rest; and if they don't they'd ought to. So there!"
"But you have your work to attend to."
"The work can wait. And the rest o' you's got plenty to do too."
The only remedy was to keep Viny busy in the kitchen while some of the
family watched the doors into the streets and admitted visitors.
Even this stratagem sometimes failed and they could only console
themselves that the visitors understood the situation.
"Ain't you goin' to call on the Keiths?" asked Gotobed Lightcap at the
dinner table one day about the middle of the week.
"Who? me?" queried his mother; then pushing away her empty plate, and
resting her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, while she looked
reflectively off into vacancy. "Well, I s'pose a body'd ought to be
neighborly, and I'm as willin' to do my part as the next one; but
there's always a sight of work to do at home; and then I feel kinder
backward 'bout callin' on 'em; they live so fine, you know; Viny Apple
says they use real silver spoons and eat off real chaney every day; an'
that's more'n we can do when we have company."
"Well, old woman, I guess the victuals don't taste no better for bein'
eat off them things," responded her husband, cheerfully, passing his
empty cup.
"Maybe. And they don't have no tea nor coffee for dinner, Viny says. I
think it's real stingy."
"P'raps they don't want it," remarked Gotobed.
"Don't you b'lieve no such thing!" exclaimed Rhoda Jane, scornfully,
"'tain't fashionable; and they'd ruther be fashionable than comfortable.
Viny says they're awful stuck up; wouldn't let her come to the table or
into the parlor if they could help themselves.
"But I don't keer, I'm not afeard on 'em, if mother is; and I'm goin'
over there this afternoon; if it's only to let 'em see that I feel
myself as good as they be any day; and I'll tell 'em so too, if they
don't treat me right."
"Pshaw, Rhoda Jane, how you talk!" said her mother.
"Well, I'm spunky, mother; that's a fact; and I ain't a bit ashamed of
it nuther."
"Don't you go if you can't behave yourself," said Gotobed, leaving the
table and the room.
Mrs. Keith had gathered her children about her in the parlor, it being
the shadiest and coolest apartment in the house in the afternoon. She,
herself, Aunt Wealthy and the little girls were sewing, while Rupert
kept the little boys quiet and interested with the making of a kite, and
Mildred read aloud from Mrs. Sherwood's "Roxobelle."
Mildred had a clear, sweet-toned voice, enunciated distinctly, and read
with feeling and expression; so that it was a pleasure to listen to her.
Rupert, Zillah and Ada were also good readers, and would take their
turns as such; for this was no new thing, but one of the mother's ways
of educating her children and training them to a love of literature.
While many another thing had been left behind in Ohio, they had brought
all their books with them. Poetry, histories, biographies, books of
travel, religious and scientific works, juvenile story-books and a few
novels, all of the best class, were to be found among their treasured
stores, reveled in by old and young.
Mr. Keith had his volumes of legal lore too, but with these the other
members of the family seldom if ever cared to interfere.
Mrs. Sherwood was a favorite author with the young people; they were
reading "Roxobelle" for the first time and had reached a most exciting
part--the scene where the little dog had led Sophie Beauchamp into the
room where his invalid and much abused mistress lay, chained by disease
to her wretched bed, when Mrs. Lightcap and Rhoda Jane appeared in the
open doorway.
They were dressed with the utmost simplicity--gowns, aprons and
sunbonnets of calico, made without regard to fashion; no collars or
cuffs; hands bare and brown; faces sunburnt, the mother's stolid, the
girl's sufficiently sharp but lacking education and refinement.
It was far from being a welcome interruption. Mildred closed her book
with a half suppressed sigh, the little girls exchanged glances of
vexation and disappointment; Rupert, too scowled and uttered an
exclamation of impatience half under his breath; but Mrs. Keith and Miss
Stanhope rose smilingly, gave the visitors a cordial greeting, asked
them to be seated and entered into conversation.
"It's powerful warm," remarked Mrs. Lightcap, accepting the offered
chair and wiping the perspiration from her heated face with the corner
of her apron.
"Yes, it has been an unusually warm day," responded Miss Stanhope,
handing a fan; while Mrs. Keith asked if they would not take off their
bonnets.
"Well ma'am, I don't care if I do," returned Mrs. Lightcap, pulling hers
off and laying it on her lap; Rhoda Jane doing likewise.
"Let me lay them on the table," Mildred said, recovering her politeness.
"No, thank you; 'tain't worth while fur the few minutes we're agoin' to
set; they's no ways hefty.
"Our names is Lightcap; this here's my daughter Rhoda Jane and she says
to me, 'mother,' says she, 'we'd ought to be sociable with them new
neighbors of ourn; let's go over and set a bit.' No, now what am I
talkin' about?' 'twan't her nuther, 'twas Gote that spoke of it first,
but my gal here was more'n willing to come."
"Yes, we always try to be neighborly," assented the girl. "How do you
like Pleasant Plains, ladies?"
"It seems a pleasant town and we find very pleasant people in it," was
Mrs. Keith's smiling rejoinder.
"That's the talk!" exclaimed Miss Lightcap laughing. "You'll do, Mis'
Keith."
"Comin' so late you won't be able to raise no garden sass this year,"
remarked the mother; then went on to give a detailed account of what
they had planted, what was growing well, and what was not, with an
occasional digression to her husband, her cooking and housework, the
occasional attacks of "agur" that interfered with her plans; and so on
and so on--her daughter managing to slip in a word or two now and then.
At length they rose to go.
"How's Viny?" queried Rhoda Jane, addressing Mildred.
"Quite well, I believe," replied Mildred in a freezing tone, and drawing
herself up with dignity.
"Tell her we come to see her too," laughed the girl, as she stepped from
the door, "Good-bye. Hope you won't be ceremonious, but run in sociable
any time o' day."
[Illustration]
Chapter Eleventh.
"Zeal and duty are not slow:
But on occasion's forelock watchful wait."
--MILTON.
"THE impudent thing!" exclaimed Mildred to her mother with a flushed and
angry face; "putting us and our maid of all work on the same level!
Visit her? Not I, indeed, and I do hope, mother, that neither you nor
Aunt Wealthy will ever cross their threshold."
"My dear, she probably did not mean it," said Mrs. Keith.
"And now let us go on with our story. You have all waited quietly and
politely like good children."
"Gotobed Lightcap! Lightcap! Gotobed Nightcap!" sang Cyril, tumbling
about on the carpet. "O Don, don't you wish you had such a pretty name?"
"No, I wouldna; I just be Don."
"There, dears, don't talk now; sister's going to read," said their
mother. "If you don't want to be still and listen you may run out and
play in the yard."
"Somebody else tumin'," whispered Fan, pulling at her mother's skirts.
Mildred closed again the book she had just resumed, rose and inviting
the new comer to enter, handed her a chair.
She was a tall, gaunt, sallow-complexioned woman of uncertain age, with
yellow hair, pale watery blue eyes, and a sanctimonious expression of
countenance.
Her dress was almost austere in its simplicity; a dove-colored calico,
cotton gloves of a little darker shade, a white muslin handkerchief
crossed on her bosom, a close straw bonnet with no trimming but a skirt
of plain, white ribbon and a piece of the same put straight across the
top, brought down over the ears and tied under the chin.
"My name is Drybread," she announced with a slight, stiff courtesy; then
seating herself bolt upright on Mildred's offered chair, waited to be
addressed.
"Mrs. or Miss?" queried Mrs. Keith pleasantly.
"Miss. And yours?"
"Mrs. Keith. Allow me to introduce my aunt, Miss Stanhope, and my
daughter Mildred. These little people too belong to me."
"Gueth we do so?" said Don, showing a double row of pearly teeth, "cauth
you're our own mamma. Ain't she, Cyril?"
"Do you go to school, my little man?" asked the visitor, unbending
slightly in the stiffness of her manner.
"Ain't your man! don't like dwy bwead, 'cept when I'se vewy hungwy."
"Neither do I," chimed in Cyril. "And we don't go to school. Papa says
we're not big enough."
"Don! Cyril! my little boys must not be rude," reproved the mamma. "Run
away now to your plays."
"They're pretty children," remarked the caller as the twain disappeared.
"Very frank in the expression of their sentiments and wishes," the
mother responded smiling.
"Extremely so, I should say;" added Mildred dryly.
"Is it not a mother's duty to curb and restrain?" queried the visitor,
fixing her cold blue eyes upon Mrs. Keith's face.
"Certainly; where she deems it needful."
Mrs. Keith's tones were perfectly sweet-tempered; Mildred's not quite
so, as she added with emphasis, "And no one so capable of judging when
it is needful as my mother."
"Quite natural and proper sentiments for her daughter, no doubt. How do
you like Pleasant Plains?"
The question was addressed more particularly to Miss Stanhope, and it
was she who replied.
"We are quite disposed to like the place Miss Stalebread; the streets
are widely pleasant and would be quite beautiful if the forest trees had
been left."
"My name is _Dry_bread! a good honest name; if not quite so aristocratic
and fine sounding as Keith."
"Excuse me!" said Miss Stanhope. "I have an unfortunate kind of memory
for names and had no intention of miscalling yours."
"Oh! then it's all right.
"Mrs. Keith, I'm a teacher; take young boys and girls of all ages.
Perhaps you might feel like entrusting me with some of yours. I see you
have quite a flock."
"I will take it into consideration," Mrs. Keith answered; "What branches
do you teach?"
"Reading, writing, arithmetic, geography and English grammar."
"I've heard of teachers boarding round," remarked Mildred, assailed by a
secret apprehension; "is that the way you do?"
"No; I live at home, at my father's."
Miss Drybread was scarcely out of earshot when Ada burst out vehemently.
"I don't want to be distrusted to her! she doesn't look distrusty, does
she, Zillah? Mother please don't consider it!"
"But just say yes at once?" asked mother playfully, pressing a kiss upon
the little flushed, anxious face.
"Oh no, no, no! please, mamma dear;" cried the child returning the
caress and putting her arms lovingly about her mother's neck. "You
didn't like her, did you?"
Mrs. Keith acknowledged laughingly that she had not been very favorably
impressed, and Zillah joining in Ada's entreaties, presently promised
that she would try to hear their lessons at home. A decision which was
received with delight and a profusion of thanks and caresses.
Mildred was glad to find herself alone with her mother that evening for
a short time, after the younger ones were in bed; for she had a plan to
unfold.