A VISIT.
"DO you think we could go to Middleville to-day?" Kathie asked, one
bright Saturday morning.
It was a sharp, keen winter's day, but the roads had been worn tolerably
smooth with the sleighing, and it was by far too cold for alternate
freezing and thawing; but the sky was of a clear, steely blue, and the
sun as brilliant as a midwinter's sun could be.
"If you did not mind the cold. What is your opinion, Dora?"--turning to
Mrs. Alston.
"I suppose you could stand it if you were wrapped up good and warm."
"Would you take the buggy?" asked Aunt Ruth.
"O yes!" answered Kathie, eagerly; "I cannot bear to be shut up in a
close prison, as if I was being taken off somewhere for my misdeeds."
"It will be a good deal colder."
Uncle Robert laughed as he met Kathie's mirthful eyes.
"I shall not freeze, auntie. I like the sensation of this strong, fresh
wind blowing square into my face; it takes the cobwebs out of my
brains."
So the ponies had orders, and pricked up their ears as if they were
rather interested in trying the bracing wind as well.
Kathie bundled herself up quite to mamma's liking. She slipped a little
parcel under the seat,--two books that she had read time and again, and
which she fancied might interest Sarah, and a few other little matters,
the giving of which depended upon circumstances.
They said good by, and were off. "Up in the mountains" was always spoken
of rather sneeringly by the Brookside community. They really were not
mountains, but a succession of rough, rocky hills, where the vegetation
was neither lovely nor abundant. Several different species of cedar,
scrubby oaks, and stunted hemlocks, were the principal variety, with a
matted growth of underbrush; and as there were many finer "woods" around
Brookside, these were seldom haunted by pleasure-lovers or
wonder-seekers.
The dwellers therein were of the oldest-fashioned kind. You could
always tell them when they came to shop at Brookside by their queer
bonnets and out-of-date garments, as well as by the wonderful contrast
of colors. But the small settlements enjoyed their own manner of living
and their own social pleasures as thoroughly as their more refined
neighbors.
For quite a stretch the road was level and good, then the ascent began,
the houses were wider apart, and with an air of indifference as to paint
and repairs, while fences seemed to be vainly trying to hold each other
up.
The ponies were fresh and frisky, and did not mind the tug. Kathie was
silent for the most part, her brain in a kind of floating confusion, not
at all unpleasant, but rather restful.
"Now, which is the back road, I wonder?" said Uncle Robert, slowly,
checking the horses a trifle.
Both roads were exceedingly dreary-looking, but they decided to take the
one farther north, and before they had gone a quarter of a mile they met
a team, driven by a young lad.
"Is this Middleville?" asked Uncle Robert.
"Yes."
"Which is the back road?"
"Keep straight along. You're right."
"Where does Mr. Jotham Strong live?"
"Over there in that yaller house," the boy answered, nodding his head.
The place began to take on quite a village look. There was a brown,
weather-beaten meeting-house, a small country store, and houses
scattered around at intervals. Some were quite tidy-looking, but the
most had a kind of dilapidated air.
Mr. Strong's was large and roomy on the ground-floor, as numerous
additions had been made on three sides of the building. There was a
door-yard in front, where in summer they must have an abundance of
roses, and two wide flower-beds down the path. Such signs went to
Kathie's heart at once.
Uncle Robert sprang out and knocked at the door. The hard-featured face
that Kathie remembered so well in connection with the purple bonnet
peered through the kitchen window.
The child would have laughed at the commotion inside, if she could have
seen it,--how Sary Ann dragged the floating ends of her hair into a
knot, caught up a towel and wiped her face, making it redder than
before, jerked down her sleeves, which, having neither hooks nor
buttons, hung round her wrists.
She stared as she opened the door to a strange man, but glanced past him
to the carriage.
"I have brought Miss Kathie Alston up to see you," Mr. Conover
announced, in his warm, cheerful voice, for he recognized Sarah from
Kathie's graphic description.
"O my! and I'm all in a heap; but I'm so glad!" and she ran out to the
wagon, but stopped at the gate with a sudden sensation of bashfulness,
and a wonder if she ought not to have said something more to the
gentleman.
"How do you do, Sarah?" Kathie's voice was like the softest of silver
bells pealing on the frosty air.
"O, I'm so glad! I didn't hardly believe you'd come. I looked last
Sat'day. Your letter was so nice. I'm glad you liked the lichen. Jim and
me hunted over hundreds of 'em, and found the very biggest. Do get out
and come in the house; you must be perished! Is that the uncle you wrote
about in your letter?"
"Yes." Uncle Robert had come down the path by this time. "My uncle, Mr.
Conover," Kathie said, gracefully, "and Miss Sarah Strong."
Sarah made a dash at her hair again as if she was afraid of its tumbling
down, and courtesied to Uncle Robert so in the style of a country
school-girl that he smiled inwardly. "O, coax her to get out!" she
exclaimed, appealingly. "I've got a fire all ready to light in the best
room, and I want you to see my pictures,"--with a very long emphasis on
the last syllable. "Mother 'xpects you to stay to dinner, and my
Sat'day's work is 'most done. Come in,--do."
By this time Mrs. Strong had made herself tidy and appeared at the hall
door.
"Come in," she exclaimed, cordially,--"come in. Sary Ann, show the
gentleman how to drive right down to the barn. Jim's there thrashin' and
he'll see to the hosses!"
Kathie was handed out. Sarah turned the horses to face the path to the
barn.
"Down there," she said. "Steve, come here!"
Steve, thirteen or thereabout, sheepishly obeyed, and took the rest of
his sister's order in silence.
"Don't you go," said Mrs. Strong to Mr. Conover. "There's boys enough to
the barn, and they know all about hosses. Come in an' get warm. You must
be about froze! I'm right glad to see you, child."
Kathie introduced Uncle Robert again. They were marshalled into a large,
uncarpeted kitchen, full of youngsters, with a great red-hot stove in
their midst.
"Get out of the way, childern! Sary Ann, run light the fire in the
parlor while they're gettin' warm."
"It is not worth while to take that trouble," returned Uncle Robert. "We
came up for a call, but judged it best to take the pleasantest part of
such a cold day. So do not let us interfere with your usual
arrangements."
"You ain't a goin' to stir a step until after dinner. Sary'll be awful
disapp'inted. We've plenty of everything, and you won't put us out a
bit. We've been looking for you, like, ever sence Sary Ann had her
letter. Take off your things, child! Ain't your feet half froze?"
"O no."
There was no resisting, however. Mrs. Strong talked and worked, tumbled
over the children, picked them up and set them on chairs, bidding them
keep out of the way, insisted that Kathie should sit beside the roasting
stove, and presently Sarah returned. She had brushed her hair into a
more respectable shape, and tied a most unnecessary scarlet ribbon in
it, seeing that the hair was of a sandy reddish color.
But her clean calico dress certainly did improve her. Yet as she entered
the room she was seized with a fit of awkward bashfulness.
"I believe I will go out and look at the ponies," remarked Mr. Conover.
"Mind they're put out. You're not going to stir a step till you've had
your dinner. Marthy, you peel them taters; quick now." This to a rather
pretty girl of ten, who had been writing with a pin on the steamed
window-pane.
"Come in the other room," said Sarah to Kathie.
The child followed. It was not very warm yet, but there was a great
crackling, blazing fire upon the hearth, which was a delightful picture
in itself.
Sarah stood and viewed her guest wonderingly. The long golden curls, the
clear, fine complexion, the neat-fitting dress, the small white hands,
and the dainty kid boots, were all marvels to her.
"You're very rich," she said, presently, in a peculiar manner, as if she
could almost find it in her heart to envy Kathie and grow discontented
with herself. Kathie's fine sense and tact detected it.
She stretched out her hand and took Sarah's,--a little rough, but soft
and plump. "My uncle is," she answered; "he is very good to us children.
My father died when I was a tiny little girl."
"Did he?" Sarah knelt down, and began to wind the silken curls over her
finger. "But you are so--so different. You don't have to work,--do you?"
"A little," and Kathie smiled.
"What! a lady like you? Don't you keep servants? For Jim said the place
was like a palace!"
"We keep one servant only, and a gardener. Mamma thinks it right that
every one should learn to be useful."
"But if I was rich I wouldn't do a thing! I actually wouldn't."
"I am afraid you would soon get tired of idleness."
"O, I'd have books, and read, and paint pictures, and a pianny--"
"Piano," corrected Kathie, gravely, as if she had been a teacher with
her class.
Sarah turned scarlet, then gave a little embarrassed laugh. "I never can
get the words all right. They do plague me so; but I haven't been to
school for two years. Mother wanted me home, for Martha was so little.
That's why I'd like to be a lady, and know just what was right to do and
say. I thought you was so elegant that night!"
"There are a great many 'ladies,' as you call them, much poorer than
you; and some rich people who are coarse and ignorant."
"There ain't only two or three men in Middleville any richer than
father. He owns sights of land and timber, but he thinks that if you can
read and write and cipher a little it is enough. I don't suppose I could
ever be as nice as you are, though,"--with a sadness in her tone and a
longing in her eyes.
"In what respect?" Kathie smiled encouragingly.
"Well--to talk as you do. I thought that night at the Fair that it was
just like a story-book or music. I know I'm always makin' mistakes."
"Then you must try to be careful. Does not your teacher correct you?"
"Well, I am learning a little; but it seems to be such hard work. How
did you do it?"
"I have always been sent to school, and then my mother has taken a good
deal of pains with me. It seems unfortunate that people should fall into
such careless habits of pronouncing, and oftentimes of spelling."
"Was my letter all right?" Sarah asked, with quick apprehension. "I
tried so hard, and wrote it over ever so many times."
"I let my uncle read it, and he said he had seen letters from older
women that would hardly bear comparison. There were very few mistakes in
it."
Kathie's honesty impelled her to say this, though under some
circumstances she would have uttered no comment.
"Tell me what they were. I think I could do better now."
"Do you really wish me to?"
"Yes, I do," with a good deal of rising color.
"Your pronoun I, when you speak of yourself, must always be a
capital,--never a small i, and dotted."
"But how can you tell?"
"It is a personal pronoun, and is never used in any other way. A single
I must always be a capital."
"Always! I'll be sure to remember that," Sarah answered, with great
earnestness; "and what else?"
"Christmas wasn't quite right. That begins with a capital, because it is
a proper name, and the first syllable is spelled just like Christ."
"Is it? Why, I never thought! and I've seen it so many times too. What
other mistakes were there?"
"I really cannot remember," said Kathie, laughing; and she spoke the
truth. "The lichen was so lovely, Uncle Robert put it up in the library.
Where do you find such beautiful specimens?"
"Over in the swamp, about a mile south of here. There are so many pretty
things. Do you know Indian pipe?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Kathie, with a touch of enthusiasm.
"Isn't it lovely?--just as if it was cut out of white wax. I like to go
rambling round to find all manner of odd things; but I never thought of
putting them up anywhere, or making frames. O, come see mine!"
Both girls rose, and Kathie really took her first survey of the parlor.
There was a dull-colored ingrain carpet on the floor, the flowers of
which ran all over it; a square, stiff-backed sofa, studded with brass
nails; some rush-bottomed chairs, two old family portraits, and a pair
of high brass candlesticks on the mantelpiece.
But above this Sarah had hung her two pictures, and put up the lichen
brackets.
"I couldn't make my frame as pretty as yours," she said; "and I broke
ever so many straws."
"But you succeeded very well, I think."
"And I made this. I took the picture out of a book."
It was a moss frame, very neatly manufactured, but the picture was a
rather coarsely colored fashion-plate.
"I do love pictures so! I wish I had a whole houseful! And if I could
only make 'em myself,--them, I mean," coloring, and correcting her
speech.
"I have brought you two more--O, they were left in the wagon!--and some
books."
Sarah's eyes sparkled. "Would you mind running out? The boys have some
rabbits down to the barn, and there's a great swing,--O, and loads of
nuts! Do you ever go chestnutting?"
"I have been, but there are not a great many trees around Brookside."
"Here's a shawl; just wrap yourself head and ears in it. We're going
down to the barn, mother."
They found Uncle Robert entertaining Jim and Steve, the latter of whom
sat in wide-eyed astonishment; but the entrance of the girls broke up
the conclave.
Sarah took, Kathie all round, showed her Whitefoot and Jenny, both of
whom whinnied gratefully. Then there was the beautiful little Durham
heifer that Jim was raising, hens of every variety, the rabbits, the
loft strewn with corn, nuts, and strings, and packages of seeds.
Then Kathie must swing. Steve pushed her until the dainty kid boots
touched the beam, and she experienced the sensation of standing upon her
head.
In the midst of this a shrill blast from a horn reached their ears.
Kathie started.
"That's for dinner. Father's gone to mill to-day with Mr. Ketcham, and
he won't be home."
The three younger ones took the lead, while Uncle Robert and Jim
lingered behind, discussing ways and means of making money at farming.
Such a table full of youngsters looked strange to Kathie's eyes. On the
whole they behaved very well, a little awed, perhaps, by the presence of
strangers. Sarah paused now and then to watch Kathie, whose quiet
manners were "so like a lady." She made no clatter with her knife and
fork, did not undertake to talk with her mouth full, and said "Thank
you" to everything that was handed to her.
"I never can be like that!" she thought with a despairing sigh, and yet
unconsciously her manners took tone from this unobtrusive example.
Uncle Robert and Kathie made themselves at ease with truest politeness.
Mrs. Strong talked over the Fair, and how much she enjoyed it, and told
Kathie that the children were delighted with their gifts. Then followed
some conversation on the war. The Strongs were very patriotic, to say
the least. Sarah was excused from helping to wash the dishes, so she and
Kathie went to the parlor again, and the package was opened.
A very pretty story-book, one of Kathie's favorites, and a copy of
Longfellow's Evangeline, illustrated. She had also brought two colored
photographs,--the sad-eyed Evangeline, and the "Children," companion
pictures.
"I don't know whether you like poetry or not, but it always seems to me
that it is pleasant to know the story of anything that interests you."
"I like--some verses--" Sarah returned, rather hesitatingly, "and the
book is beautiful. But--I can't say anything at all--"
The tears were so near to her voice that it rendered her almost
ungracious.
"You will enjoy them better by and by," Kathie went on, softly. "Some
day you may be able to make pretty frames for the pictures. And I
brought you a set of crochet-needles. Can you crochet?"
"Only to make a chain. I can do that with my fingers. I wish I did know
how. And if I could ever knit a cap like the baby's!"
"We will sit down here and talk, and I can show you one or two patterns
of edgings that are simple and pretty."
"How good you are!"
Sarah was no dullard, after all. Though her fingers appeared rather
clumsy at first, she soon managed to conquer the intricate loops,
turnings, and stitches.
"Why, I wouldn't have believed it!"--in great joy. "I've done a whole
scallop by myself."
Kathie laughed in answer.
"Now, if you'll only tell me something more about grammar, and putting
the right word in--the place where it belongs. You see all the big girls
at school know so much more than I do--"
Kathie understood. She explained several matters that had been great
mountains to her in the beginning.
Now and then a bright light illumined the clear hazel eye, and a pleased
smile played around the lips. "How good you are to take so much
trouble!" she exclaimed, gratefully.
By and by Mrs. Strong came in to have a little visit with their guests.
Sarah displayed the books and pictures, and the three inches of rather
soiled crocheted edging.
"Sary Ann's a curis girl," explained her mother; "she has a great notion
of larnin', and all that, but her father hasn't much faith in it. He
thinks gals and wimmen were a good deal better when they didn't know so
much; and then you begin to want--everything. There's so much dressin'
and foolin' goin' on nowadays."
"It is rather the lack of education, I should imagine. True knowledge
expands one's soul as well as one's mind," said Uncle Robert.
"Well, mebbe, if it's the right sort; but this gettin' their heads so
full of dress--"
"Which is a sign that something better should be in them," was the
pleasant response.
"And then they're ashamed of their homes, and their parents as slaved to
bring them up, and make fun of everything that isn't right according to
their thinking. I've seen it more'n once."
Kathie blushed, remembering Lottie Thome's criticism. Mrs. Strong
certainly did look prettier in this clean calico gown and white collar
than in her purple bonnet with red roses.
"Yes," he answered; "it does happen, I know. But it seems to me that any
daughter or sister who acquired with her other knowledge true views of
her duty towards God and those around her could hardly fail to be
benefited by an enlargement of her narrow sphere of thought. Our first
duty is at home, but we do not stop there."
"Few people think of duties of any kind nowadays."
"Does not God leave a little to us? We who know them ought to make them
attractive to others."
"It's so much easier to be bad; and I often wonder at it," whispered
Sarah, through Kathie's shimmering curls. "But if some one would make
all that is right and good attractive, as your uncle says--I wish I
could live with you awhile. I don't believe you ever have anything to
worry you!"
"Yes, I do," answered Kathie; "I have to try pretty hard sometimes."
Sarah studied her in surprise. "But if I were to try I never could be
half so good."
"Will you try?" Kathie uttered it with unconscious earnestness, and the
light that so often shone about her came out in her face.
But Uncle Robert, looking at his watch, declared that it was time for
them to go. Mrs. Strong was so sorry not to have "Father" see them, and
begged them to come again.
"It's been such a beautiful visit," exclaimed Sarah, with a tremble in
her voice. "I'll try to remember everything you have told me!"
Steve brought a bag of nuts to put in the wagon, and Jim shook hands
rather sadly with Uncle Robert.
"He is one of the right kind"; and with that he went back to the barn,
whistling thoughtfully.