Mildred, "teaching the young ideas how to shoot;" for they could not
endure the thought of resigning the precious darlings to the tender
mercies of Damaris Drybread, whose school was still the only one in
town.
The old intimacy was kept up in just the old way among the coterie of
six, and the gossips vainly puzzled their brains with the question which
girl was the admired and admirer of which young man.
Mildred was happily freed from the visits of Ransquattle--of which Lu
Grange had become the impatient and disgusted recipient--and saw little
of Gotobed Lightcap, who, upon one excuse, or another, absented himself
from most of the merry-makings of the young people.
Indeed there had been scarcely any intercourse between the two families
since the removal of the Keiths from the immediate neighborhood of the
Lightcaps; for there was no similarity of taste, no common bond of
interest to draw them together; nothing in truth, save a kind and
friendly feeling toward each other; and as regarded Rhoda Jane, even
this was lacking.
She had never yet forgiven Mildred's rejection of her brother and almost
hated her for it, though she knew naught of her added offense in the
matter of the criticism on his letter. That was a secret which Gotobed
kept faithfully locked in his own breast.
The spring opened early for that climate; with warm rains that brought
vegetation forward rapidly.
The Keith children revelled in out door work and play; each of the
younger ones had a little garden to dig and plant as he or she pleased,
and a pet hen or two in the chicken yard, and there was much
good-natured rivalry as to who should have the earliest vegetables, the
greatest variety of flowers, the largest broods of young chicks, or the
most newly laid eggs to present to father and mother, or the invalid of
the hour; for the old enemy--ague--still visited them occasionally; now
one, now another, or it might be several at once, succumbing to its
attacks.
However, the lion's share of both gardening and poultry-raising fell to
Rupert; who busied himself out of study hours, with these and many
little odd jobs of repairing and adorning--such as mending fences,
putting up trellises, training vines and trimming shrubbery and trees.
The mother and Mildred found so much to do within doors, that some
oversight and direction of these younger workers, and the partial care
of a few flower-beds near the house, were all they could undertake
outside.
They had been without a domestic for some weeks, had passed through the
trying ordeal of the regular spring house-cleaning with only Mrs. Rood's
assistance, when one pleasant May morning, while dishing up breakfast,
their hearts were gladdened by the sight of the sinewy form and
energetic countenance of Celestia Ann Hunsinger as she stepped in at the
kitchen door with a characteristic salutation.
"How d'ye, Mis' Keith? You don't want no help round here, do ye?"
"We want just the sort of help we'll be sure of if you'll take off your
bonnet and stay," Mrs. Keith answered, giving her a hearty grip of the
hand.
"Then that's what I'll do and no mistake," returned the girl, setting
down a bundle on a chair, with the remark, "You see I've brought some o'
my duds along," pulling off her sunbonnet and hanging it on a nail.
"Here, Miss Mildred, let me smash them 'taters."
"So Mis' Keith, you've been buildin' since I was here last."
"Yes; a new kitchen; so we could take the old for a dining-room and be
less crowded."
"It's awful nice; I always did like a good big kitching;--room to turn
round and keep things straight."
"It's going to be nicer still, Celestia Ann," said Rupert who had just
come in from his work in the garden, and was washing his hands
preparatory to taking a seat at the table, "it wants a coat of paint on
the outside and I'm going to put it on myself, to-day."
"Well, I never!" she ejaculated, "do ye think you're up to that?"
"Of course I do; and so, I suppose, do father and mother; or they
wouldn't have consented to let me try."
"Well, there's nothin' like tryin'; as I've found out in my own
experience," returned Miss Hunsinger, using her potato masher
vigorously, "and I allers enjoy meetin' with folks that's willin' fur
it. But do you know, Mis' Keith, 'pears to me like 'I can't' comes the
easiest to most human critters' tongues of any two words in the American
language; and with more'n half on 'em they're lyin' words; yes, there's
more lies told in them two words than in any other ten. So there!" as
she laid down her masher to stir in the milk, butter and salt.
"I'm afraid there is only too much truth in your remark," said Mrs.
Keith, "but certainly no one can accuse you of a fondness for that
favorite phrase of the indolent and ease-loving."
"Thank you, Mis' Keith. I've lots of faults and failin's as well's the
rest o' the human family, but I'm certain sure there ain't no lazy bone
in my body.
"Here these taters is ready to set on the table, and I see you've got
your steak and biscuits dished up. But I hain't inquired after the
fam'ly. Anybody got the agur?"
"No, I believe we are all well this morning thanks to a kind Providence.
Rupert, call your father and the rest to breakfast."
No frowns greeted Celestia Ann as she, with her accustomed nonchalance,
took her place with the others. Everybody was glad to see her, because
her arrival meant comparative rest for mother and Mildred, and more time
to be devoted by them to the loving care and entertainment of father and
the younger children.
After breakfast, family worship. Then Mr. Keith went to his office and
the others scattered to their work or play. Sunbonnets and hats were in
request among the little ones; for mother had given permission to go out
if they would be careful to keep on the gravel walks till the dew was
off the grass.
Sister Mildred gave kind assistance, and away they ran, while she and
Zillah and Ada, old enough now to begin to be useful about the house,
made beds, dusted and set things to rights in sleeping and dwelling
rooms, and Rupert donned a suit of overalls and went to his chosen
task.
Celestia Ann needed but little direction or oversight, and in half an
hour Mrs. Keith repaired to the sitting-room.
What a pleasant place it seemed as she came in!--fresh and bright from
its recent cleaning, neat as a new pin, the open windows looking out
upon the grassy side yard, with its shrubbery and trees clothed in vivid
green, and giving a charming view of the clear waters of the swiftly
flowing river sparkling in the sunlight.
"Isn't it a lovely morning, mother?" cried Mildred, whose graceful
figure was flitting about here and there, putting a few finishing
touches to the adornments of the room. "I think the sunshine was never
brighter, the air never sweeter. It is a luxury just to live! Hark to
that robin's song and the sweet prattling of the little voices you and I
love so well! And I feel as blithe and gay as a bird."
"Yes, dear child," said the mother, happy tears springing to her eyes,
"Oh, how great is His goodness to us unworthy creatures! so much of
mercy and blessing here and the certainty of endless joy and bliss
beyond! Life has its dark and dreary days, but after all there is more
of brightness, to those who look for it, than of gloom."
"I believe that is true, mother," responded Mildred, "though when the
dark and dreary days are upon us, it is sometimes very difficult to hold
fast to one's faith.
"I do love this time of year," she added, leaning from the window to
watch the ferryboat slowly crossing,
"'Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie.'"
"Come, let us go out; I think we may spare an hour to the garden this
morning," Mrs. Keith said gayly, leading the way. "What a blessing,
among others, it is to have a good reliable girl in the kitchen!"
"Yes," laughed Mildred, "I could almost have hugged Celestia Ann; I was
so glad to see her. What do you suppose brought her just at this time,
mother?"
"Need of money for summer finery, I presume. See, our morning glories
are coming up nicely."
"Mother, mother, and Milly," cried Fan running to them in an ecstasy of
delight, "my speckled hen has thirteen little chicks, the prettiest bits
of fuzzy things you ever saw. Do come and look!"
She turned and sped back again toward the chicken yard, mother and
sister following.
The other three little ones were there watching "Speckle" and her brood
with intense interest.
"See! see! mamma, Milly! see! see!" cried Baby Annis in a flutter of
delight, holding her little skirts close to her chubby legs, as the
"bits of fuzzy things" ran hither and thither about her feet, "pitty
'ittle chickies, dust tum out of eggs."
"Yes, dears, they are very pretty," Mrs. Keith said; "but they are very
tender little things; so be careful not to hurt them. No, Cyril, don't
pick them up, and be sure you don't step on them. You may go to the
house for some bread crumbs, Fan, and you and Annis may feed them."
This permission gave great pleasure, and Fan's small feet went skipping
and dancing through the garden in the direction of the kitchen door.
Then mother must look at Annis's hen sitting on her nest, and notice how
the older broods, belonging to Cyril and Don, were growing in size and
strength; Zillah's and Ada's also; and hear how many eggs the other
nests had furnished this morning.
After that the gardens were submitted to her inspection, Mildred still
bearing her company, both making suggestions and giving assistance.
And so a full hour had slipped by before they returned to the house, and
Rupert, they found, had made great progress with his work.
"I've painted the whole end, mother; do you see?" he called to her; "and
now I'm beginning this side. I think I'll have the whole job done
to-day."
"You have been very industrious," she said, "but don't make haste so
fast that it will not be done well."
"Oh, no, ma'am, I don't intend to."
He was at the top of his ladder and near the roof of the new one-story
addition to their house.
"Take care, my son," said Mrs. Keith; "it seems to me your ladder
doesn't stand very securely. Is there no danger of its slipping?"
"Never a bit, mother," laughed the boy "why what should make it slip?"
She and Mildred turned and walked on toward the front of the house, had
just set foot upon the porch there, when a shout from Rupert startled
them and made them pause and look back at him.
They saw the ladder slip, slip then slide rapidly to the ground, while
with a cry of alarm they rushed toward him.
But they were much too far off to reach him in time to be of the least
assistance. Down he came to the ground, falling with considerable
impetus and alighting upon his feet, his brush in one hand, his paint
pot in the other, striking with a force that sent the paint all over his
person.
He reeled and dropped.
"Are you hurt? oh, my boy, are you much hurt?" asked his mother
tremulously, as she hurried to him, looking very pale and frightened.
"My clothes have got the worst of it, I believe, mother," he said,
laughing and staggering to his feet. "I'm afraid they've robbed the
house of half its new coat."
The others came running from chicken-yard and garden; Celestia Ann poked
her head out of the kitchen window, and a peal of laughter met him from
all sides.
"I dare say I cut quite a comical figure," he said, taking it in good
part, "but since I've broken no bones, I wouldn't care a red cent, if it
wasn't for the loss of the paint and the damage to my illegant attire.
"'O what a fall was there, my countrymen.'"
"Since you are unhurt, no matter for the clothes; even if they were an
elegant suit," said his mother, with a sigh of relief.
"But half the paint's gone, mother--or at least put upon my person where
it's worse than useless," cried the lad, surveying himself with an
expression so comically lugubrious that there was a fresh explosion of
mirth.
"Never mind; it will not cost a great deal to replace it," said Mrs.
Keith. "But I think the job may wait now till we can get a regular
house-painter to finish it up."
"What! would you have me give up so easily, mother, and own myself
beaten? I don't like to do it. Please let me try again, and I'll place
the ladder more carefully."
"I don't know; we'll ask your father first. There's no special haste
and--how would you all like to go with me for a walk? a nice long stroll
down to the bridge, and over the river, to look for wild flowers."
The proposal was greeted with loud acclamations and clapping of hands.
"Oh, delightful!" "Oh goodie! goodie!" "May we mother?"
"Yes; we've all been working hard this long time, and I think really
deserve a holiday. Rupert, make yourself decent and we'll set out at
once, taking a lunch with us, so that we need not hurry home."
"Tan I do, mamma? tan Annis do?" asked the baby girl eagerly, the rosy
face all aglow with delight.
"Yes, indeed, mother's darling; you shall go in your little coach;
because your dear little feet couldn't travel fast enough to keep up
with the rest, and would get so tired."
"Do we need to be dressed up, mother?" asked Fan, "me and Don and all
the children?"
"No, dear; we don't go through town and are dressed quite enough for the
woods."
They were soon on the way, strolling leisurely along, drinking in with
keen enjoyment the sweet sights and sounds.
The sky over their heads was of a dark celestial blue with here and
there a floating cloud of snowy whiteness, whose shadow flitted over the
landscape, giving to it a charming variety of light and shade.
Their road lay along the bank of the river and its soft murmur mingled
with the hum of insects and the song of birds. The grass beneath their
feet was emerald green thickly studded with wild flowers of every hue,
and the groves of saplings through which they passed were fast donning
their summer robes.
The bridge was a rough wooden structure half a mile below the town;
quite out of danger of crowding the houses of the citizens or doing much
injury to the custom of the ferry.
The walk was a longer one than the younger children were accustomed to
take, but there was no occasion for haste--they were in search of rest
and pleasure, and when little feet grew weary, mother let them stop and
amuse themselves with making wreaths and bouquets of the flowers they
had gathered, or by throwing stones into the river, till they were ready
to go on again.
They did not go far beyond the bridge; only climbed the bank, on the
other side, picked a few flowers there, and were ready to return.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Chapter Twenty-first.
"You are meek and humble mouth'd;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
With meekness and humility; but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride."
--SHAKS. HENRY VIIITH.
"OH, what's that? what's that?" cried a chorus of young voices, as Mrs.
Keith and her little troop, returning from their morning stroll, stepped
into the front porch at home.
"What indeed!" echoed the mother, as much surprised as any one of the
others. "It looks very like a box of goods; but where could it come
from?"
"Aunt Wealthy," suggested Mildred, examining it with a curious eye.
"Ah, so you have come back at last, eh?" said Mr. Keith coming out with
a smiling face. "That's been waiting for you for over an hour,"
consulting his watch. "Come let's have dinner and then we'll see what's
inside."
"Is it ready?" asked Mrs. Keith, taking off her bonnet.
"Yes; barely time for the washing of small hands and faces," he said,
picking up Annis and racing off to the nursery with her; for so they
called the room where the little ones slept and were dressed and
undressed, though but a small part of the day was ordinarily spent
there.
There was no lingering over the dinner table, though the meal was a good
one, and the children's appetites had been sufficiently keen until they
saw the box.
They ate and drank with dispatch, taking time for but little talk beyond
a few conjectures as to its probable contents.
Father and mother certainly shared their curiosity and eagerness to some
extent, and did not keep them waiting long.
A few minutes' work with the hatchet and the lid was off.
"Just newspapers!" cried Don, in a tone of bitter disappointment.
"Wait a bit, laddie," laughed Rupert.
"Something else under, I guess," said Cyril, while father, mother and
Mildred made haste to lift and lay aside the papers for further perusal,
for newspapers were too rare in those days to be despised, even though
some weeks old.
"Books! oh delightful!"
"How good and kind in her!"
"Now we'll have a feast!" exclaimed one and another in varying tones of
gladness.
"What are they? let us see," said Mr. Keith proceeding to lift them out
one or two at a time, and with a glance at the titles on the backs,
handing them to wife, son or daughter.
"Cooper's Naval History of the United States! There, that will
particularly interest you, Rupert.
"And here are his novels, which mother and Mildred will enjoy. Scott's
works also: those for older folks and his 'Tales of a Grandfather' for
the children. Two more little books--'Anna Ross,' and 'Ruth Lee.'"
"Oh, they look pretty!" cried Zillah and Ada, peeping into these last.
"'Dunallan' for me! oh how glad I am!" exclaimed Mildred the next
instant.
"Here's a bundle," said Mr. Keith, handing it out.
"Remnants, I presume," his wife said laughingly, and opening it found
her surmise correct.
Groceries, candies and toys for the children, and some few other
miscellaneous articles filled up the rest of this most welcome box.
"Dear old auntie! She shouldn't have wasted so much of her money on us,"
Mrs. Keith said with tears in her eyes, as she glanced over a note
pinned to a dress pattern for herself. "But she says she has enjoyed it
intensely, and I know that is so; for giving, especially to us, is her
greatest delight."
"Yes, there never was a more generous soul," assented her husband.
"Ah, if we could only do something for her in return!" exclaimed
Mildred.
"Yes, indeed! what a feast she has provided us!" cried Rupert, taking a
peep here and there into the history. "Mother, can't we begin on them
this afternoon?"
"I'm not ready for Mr. Lord," objected Mildred, "and in an hour it will
be time to go to him."
That reminded the lad that he, too, had a lesson to prepare, and he left
the room to attend to it.
"Wife," said Mr. Keith, "do you know that little Mary Chetwood is
seriously ill?"
"No, I did not, I'll put on my bonnet and go over there at once."
"Mother," said Mildred, "I've been thinking it would be nice to lend one
of these books to Effie Prescott. I do not know her at all intimately,
but Claudina says she is very intelligent and fond of reading, and in
such poor health that she is often too miserably weak and ill to do
anything but read."
"Certainly! she must have the reading of every book in the house, if she
wishes, and will not abuse them."
"Claudina says she is always very careful of those she lends her, and
very glad to get them. She's a lovely Christian, too, and very patient
under her trials."
"Yes; I have been pleased with the little I have seen of her. I believe
I owe Mrs. Prescott a call; so I shall take their house on my way to the
squire's and carry a book with me."
Mrs. Keith found Mrs. Prescott out, the invalid girl lying back in a
large rocking chair, and Damaris Drybread seated, in her accustomed bolt
upright fashion, directly opposite.
At sight of Mrs. Keith, Effie started up in nervous haste and
trepidation, to offer her hand and then a chair.
"Never mind, dear child, I will help myself," said the lady, pressing
the trembling hand tenderly in hers. "How are you to-day?"
"About as usual, thank you; which is neither very sick nor very well,"
the girl answered with a faint smile, sinking back again, breathing
short and hard.
"Now don't talk so; you look very well," remarked Miss Drybread in a
cold, hard tone. "Just make up your mind that there's nothing much the
matter, and you're not going to give up to the hypo, and ten to one it
won't be long till you find yourself well enough."
Tears sprang to Effie's eyes, for she was both nervous and sensitive to
the last degree.
"I know I look well," she said. "I'm not thin, and I have a good color;
but it's often brightest when I feel the worst. And I've tried to
believe my sickness was all imagination, but I can't; it's too real."
"No, Effie, you do not look well," said Mrs. Keith; "that brilliant
bloom hardly belongs to health, and your eyes are heavy, your
countenance is distressed."
"Of course she'll wear a distressed countenance as long as she imagines
she's sick," observed the schoolma'am severely. "And you, Mrs. Keith,
are only making matters worse by talking in that way."
"Not so," said the sick girl, "such kind sympathy does me good. Oh,
thank you a thousand times!" as Mrs. Keith put "Dunallan" into her
hands. "I shall enjoy it so much, and will be very careful of it, and
return it soon. I read it years ago and liked it exceedingly, and it
will be new to me now. Grace Kennedy is such a sweet writer; what a pity
she died so early!"
"A novel!" sniffed Damaris. "If you are really sick you oughtn't to read
anything but the Bible."
"The teachings of this book are so fully in accord with those of the
Scriptures, that I can not think it will hurt her," said Mrs. Keith.
"I love the Bible," said Effie, "I never could do without it; its words
often come to me when I am sad and suffering and are 'sweeter than honey
and the honeycomb,' but reading other good books seems like talking with
a Christian friend, and refreshes me in the same way."
At this moment Mrs. Prescott came in and greeting the two callers with a
pleasant "Good afternoon," sat down to chat with them.
The talk presently turned upon their gardens, and Mrs. Prescott invited
the visitors to walk out and look at hers.
Mrs. Keith accepted the invitation, but Miss Drybread said she would
just sit with Effie till they came back.
"Aren't you teaching now, Miss Damaris?" asked the girl, as the others
left the room.
"No, I've closed my school for a couple of weeks to do my spring
sewing."
"It was kind in you to take time to call to see me when you are always
so busy."
"I try to attend to every duty," returned the schoolma'am, with a
sanctimonious air "and I felt that I had a duty to perform here. I've
been thinking a good deal about you, Effie; trying to find out why your
afflictions are sent; and I've concluded that it's as a punishment for
your sins, and that when you repent and reform, your health will be
better.
"You know Christians (and I really hope you're one; I know you belong to
the church) won't have any punishment in the other world; so they have
to take it in this, and so, as I said, I've been considering about you,
and I think if you thought better of Brother Smith and enjoyed his
sermons and prayers and talks in the meetin's, 'twould be better for
you.
"He's a good Christian and so you'd ought to like what he says, and be
his friend with other folks that isn't inclined to listen to him."
"He may be a Christian; I hope he is," returned Effie, "though it is
very difficult for me to realize that a man has much true love to Christ
and for souls, when his tone and manner are utterly indifferent and
business like (or perhaps that isn't quite the right word; for men
generally show some interest in their business).
"Besides it requires other things in addition to conversion to fit a
man for teaching; he must have knowledge and the ability to impart it.
"I have nothing against Mr. Smith personally, but he does not instruct
me, does not give me any food for thought, or help me on my way to
heaven. So I felt it my duty to object to having him become my pastor.
But I haven't been going about slandering him, and don't know why you
come and talk to me in this way.
"It strikes me, too, that you are the last person to do it--as I have
heard you say far harder things of other ministers than ever I've said
of him."
An angry flush rose in the sallow cheek of the spinster at that.
"I've tried to do my duty always," she said, bridling. "I've never
indulged in any vanities of dress; but that's been one of your sins,
Effie Prescott; bows and even flowers and feathers on your bonnets, and
knots of bright ribbon at your throat and in your hair. It's sinful and
you may depend you'll be afflicted till you'll give up and be consistent
in all things."
"I know better than you can tell me, that I deserve all I suffer and a
great deal more," said the girl humbly, tears gathering in her eyes;
"but for all that I don't believe you are right. You are a Job's
comforter, and God reproved those men for talking so to him.