LIFE AT GARLAND'S
This was the first night of the Marches and Plummers in their
strange new home in Colorado. When they waked up the next morning,
Mr. March and Deacon Plummer rolled up in buffalo robes on the hay
in the barn, Mrs. March and Nelly in one bed in one little bedroom,
Mrs. Plummer in another opening out of it, and Rob on an old black
leather sofa in the kitchen, they could hardly believe their eyes as
they looked around them. They all got up very early, and now their
new life had begun in good earnest. Immediately after breakfast, Mr.
March drove away in the big wagon with Fox and Pumpkinseed. He would
not tell his wife where he was going, nor take any one with him. The
truth was, that in the night Mr. March had taken two resolutions:
one was that he would get a servant for Mrs. March; the other was
that he would buy furniture enough to make the house pleasant and
comfortable, and china enough to make their table look a little like
their old home table. But he knew if he told Mrs. March what he
meant to do, she would think they ought not to spend the money. All
their own pretty china which they had used at home, she had packed
up and left behind them, saying: "We shall not want any thing of
that kind in Colorado." Mrs. March did not care about such things
half so much as Mr. March and Nelly did; that is, she could do
without them more easily. She liked pretty things very much, but she
could do without them very well if it were necessary. She watched
Mr. March driving off down the road this morning with an uneasy
feeling.
"I don't know what Mr. March's got in his head," she said to Mrs.
Plummer; "but I think he is going to do something rash. He looks as
children do when they are in some secret mischief."
"Why, what could it be?" said good Mrs. Plummer. "I don't see what
there is for him to do."
"Well, we shall see," said Mrs. March. "I wish I'd made him take me
along."
"Made him!" exclaimed Mrs. Plummer. "Can you make him do any thing
he's sot not to? I hain't never been able to do that with Mr.
Plummer, not once in all the thirty years I've lived with him. It's
always seemed to me that men was the obstinatest critters made, even
the best on 'em; an' I'm sure Mr. Plummer's as good a man's ever was
born; but I don't no more think o' movin' him if his mind's made up,
than I should think o' movin' that rock up there," pointing to a
huge rock which was at the top of one of the hills to the southwest
of the house.
The day flew by quickly in putting their new home in order. Both
Mrs. March and Mrs. Plummer worked very hard, and Rob and Nelly
helped them. They swept and washed floors; they washed windows; they
washed even the chairs and tables,--which sadly needed it, it must
be owned. Rob and Nelly enjoyed it all as a frolic.
"This is like last Christmas, when Sarah was drunk: isn't it,
mamma?" said Rob. "It's real fun."
"Don't you wish Sarah was here to help you, mamma?" said Nelly.
"No, dear," replied Mrs. March, "I do not. I would rather do all the
work ourselves, and save the money."
"Are we very, very, very poor, mamma?" said Nelly, with a distressed
face.
"Oh, no, dear! not so bad as that," laughed Mrs. March; "but papa's
salary has all stopped now, as I explained to you; and that was the
greater part of our income: and, till we have more money coming in
regularly from something out here, we must spend just as little as
possible."
Just before dinner, Rob came in with a big armful of kindling-wood,
and on the top of the wood he carried a long piece of a beautiful
green vine.
"Oh, Rob, Rob, let me see that! Where did you find it?" said his
mother.
"Upon the hills, mamma, back of the saw-mill. There's oceans of it
up there."
"There _is_ oceans, Rob?" said his mother.
"There _are_ oceans, then! You knew what I meant. It's just like a
carpet; and you can pull up great, long pieces of it: it comes up
just as easy as any thing."
Mrs. March turned the vine over and over in her hands. It had a
small glossy leaf, like the leaf of the box. Some of the long,
slender tendrils of it were bright red.
"The leaf is so thick I think it would keep a long time," said Mrs.
March. "I wish you and Nelly would bring me several armfuls of it.
I'll tack it up all round the room: the walls won't look so bare,
then."
"Oh, goody!" said the children; "that's just like Christmas." And
they ran off as fast as they could go. In an hour they had heaped
the whole floor with piles of the vine. The more they brought, the
more beautiful it looked: the leaves shone like satin, and there
were great mats of it nearly two yards long. Mrs. March had never
seen it before, and did not know its name. Afterward she found out
that it was the kinnikinnick vine, and that the Indians used it to
smoke in their pipes. Some of the branches had beautiful little red
berries like wintergreen berries on them. Nelly sorted these all
out by themselves; then Mrs. March stood up on a chair, and some of
the time on a table, and nailed a thick border of these vines all
round the top of the room; then she took the branches which had red
berries on them; and, wherever there was an upright beam in the
wall, she nailed on one of these boughs with the red berries and let
it hang down just as it would. Then she trimmed the fireplace and
the door and the windows. It took her about two hours to do it. When
it was all done, you would hardly have known the room. It looked
lovely: the yellow pine boards looked much prettier with the green
of the vines than any paper in the world could have looked. Rob and
Nelly fairly danced with delight.
"Oh, mamma! mamma! it's prettier than any Christmas we ever had:
isn't it?"
"Yes," said Mrs. March; "if the vines will only last, it is all we
need to keep our walls pretty till summer time."
"Well, I never!" said Zeb, who came in at that moment. "If wimmen
folks don't beat all! Why, mum, ye look's if you was goin' to have
an ice-cream festival."
Zeb's only experience of rooms decorated with green vines had been
when he had attended ice-cream festivals, given by churches to raise
money.
"Well, we'll have one some day, Zeb," said Mrs. March, laughing;
"and we won't charge you any thing. I can make very good ice-cream."
"Oh, to-night! to-night! mamma," exclaimed the children.
"Can't to-night," Mrs. March said; "for the freezer's in the big box
with all the other kitchen things."
"I might make some crullers," said Mrs. Plummer.
"Do! do! do!" cried Rob. "Mrs. Plummer's famous for crullers!" And
he ran off, singing--
"Plummer!
Cruller!
Plummer!
Cruller!"
at the top of his lungs.
It was nearly dark before Mr. March returned. Rob was the first to
spy him.
"Why, there's Pumpkinseed!" he exclaimed. "And what in the world's
papa got in the wagon?" And he ran down the road to meet him. All
the others ran too. The wagon did indeed present a very singular
appearance. Four red wooden legs stuck far out in front; Mr. March
was wedged in between them; high above his head bulged out a great
roll of bolsters and pillows; and as far as you could see, away back
in the wagon, there seemed to be nothing but bed-ticking, and legs
of furniture.
"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Mrs. March; "What did I tell you, Mrs.
Plummer? That's what he went off for,--to buy furniture. Mr. March
always must have things just right. Dear me! I wish he hadn't done
it."
But, as I told you long ago, it was Mrs. March's way always to make
the best of what couldn't be helped. So she went forward to welcome
her husband as pleasantly as if she were delighted to see all this
new furniture.
"Ah, Robert," she said, "now I know why you wouldn't take me. You
wanted to surprise us all."
"Yes," said Mr. March, his face beaming all over with satisfaction,
"I didn't mean you should spend another night in such a desolate
hole. There's another wagon load behind."
At this Mrs. March could not help groaning.
"Oh, Robert! Robert!" she said, "what did you buy so much for?"
"Oh, part of the other load is feed for the cattle," said Mr.
March. "That I'm responsible to Deacon Plummer for. Those were his
orders."
When the two wagons were unloaded, the space in front of the little
house looked like an auction. Rob and Nelly ran from one thing to
another, exclaiming and shouting. Mr. March had indeed furnished the
whole house. He had bought two pretty little single bedsteads for
Rob and Nelly, and a fine large bedstead for himself and Mrs. March;
he had bought mattresses and pillows and bolsters and blankets; a
whole piece of pretty rag-carpet, in gray and red stripes; two large
rocking-chairs with arms, two without, and two small low chairs; a
work-table with drawers, two bureaus, a wardrobe, and two sets of
book-shelves to hang on the walls; two student lamps, and a table
with leaves that could open out. Then he had bought a whole piece of
pretty chintz in stripes of black and green.
"There, wife," he said, as he showed her this, last of all, "now we
can make a decent little home out of it, after a few days."
As he spoke, he stepped into the kitchen: he started back with
surprise.
"Why, how perfectly lovely!" he exclaimed; "where did you get it?
And what is it? I never saw a place so transformed. Why, it looks
even elegant."
"I thought you would like it," said Mrs. March, much pleased.
"Perhaps if you had seen it so before you went away, you wouldn't
have bought so many new things."
"Why, Sarah, I haven't bought a thing that wasn't absolutely
necessary," said Mr. March.
"They are all very nice, dear," replied Mrs. March; "and of course
we shall be much more comfortable with them. It was very kind of
you. But haven't you spent a great deal of money?" she asked
anxiously.
"Oh, no!" said Mr. March, "I think not; though things are much
higher here than at home. I didn't get the bills; but I don't
believe it's over two hundred dollars."
This seemed a great deal to Mrs. March; but she said no more. And
the next day, when all the things were arranged, a square of the
rag-carpet laid on the floor, and the pretty chintz curtains at the
window, she could not help admitting to herself that life looked
much easier and pleasanter than it had before.
"And I ought to be thankful that he did not buy more," she thought;
"and that he could not find a servant to bring out here."
On inquiring after servants, Mr. March had found that it was almost
impossible to get any good ones; and their wages were so high, he
had at once given up all idea of hiring one now.
"I'll let you try it, Sarah, for the present," he said, "but, if I
see you in the least breaking down, I shall have a servant, if I
have to send home for one."
"I won't break down," said Mrs. March; "I never felt so well in my
life. I am never tired. I suppose it is the air."
"Yes," said Mr. March; "it must be. I, too, feel like another man. I
can draw such full, long breaths; I shouldn't know there was such a
thing as asthma in the world."
As day after day went on, they all came to like their new home
better and better. The little room which had been a lumber room was
made into a sitting-room, and trimmed all round with the
kinnikinnick vines; the big table with leaves stood in the centre,
and the book-shelves hung on the walls. Zeb and Deacon Plummer built
pine shelves across one end of the room, way to the top; these were
filled with Mr. March's books. There were two small school-desks by
the east window; and at these Rob and Nelly sat for two hours every
morning, and studied and recited their lessons to Mr. March. In the
afternoon, they played out of doors; they climbed the hills and the
rocks; and, at four o'clock, they went after the cows. This was
something they were never tired of, because they never knew just
where they should find the cows: they rambled into so many little
nooks and corners among the hills; but three of the cows had bells
on their necks, and the rest never went far from them. Watch always
went with Rob and Nelly, and he seemed to have a wonderful instinct
to tell where to look for a cow. Whenever it stormed too much for
the children to be out, Zeb went. Sometimes Watch went all alone. He
could bring the cows home as well as anybody. But Nelly and Rob
never liked to miss it. It was the great pleasure of their day; and
the out-door air and the exercise were making them brown and strong.
They looked like little Italian peasant children: wherever they went
they sang; up hill and down, and on the tops of the highest rocks,
their merry voices rang out. Felix--that Frenchman I told you about
that they saw in the cars, the one who was servant to the English
gentleman--had taught Rob how to make the cry which the Swiss
hunters make in the Alps. It is called the "Jodel"--and it sounds
very fine among high hill-tops. It is something like this:--
[Illustration: _He would ring out such a "jodel", that the people
would stop and look up amazed. Page 132._]
"Yo-ho! yo-ho! yo-ho!" The syllables are pronounced one after the
other just as fast as you can, in a high shrill tone, and there is a
sort of tune to it which I could not describe; but perhaps you know
some traveller who has been in Switzerland, who can describe it to
you. Rob used to "jodel" beautifully; and many a time when he was on
a high rock, way up above the road, and saw people riding or driving
below him, he would ring out such a "jodel," that the people would
stop and look up amazed. They could not believe they were in
America. Rob was fast growing as strong and well as Nelly. He
never had sore throats here: and Mr. and Mrs. March often said that
they would be glad they had come to Colorado, if it were for nothing
except that it had made Rob so well. As he grew stronger, he grew to
be a much better boy. He was not selfish nor cross as he used to be
at home; and he was as full of fun as a squirrel, all day long. One
thing he very much enjoyed doing, was taking Fox and Pumpkinseed up
to the tops of the high hills to graze. The best grass grew very
high up on the hills; but neither Fox nor Pumpkinseed had ever been
used to such steep hills, and they both hated to climb them. Deacon
Plummer was very droll about it. "Don't blame 'em," said he, "don't
blame 'em a mite. Who'd want to be for ever climbing up garret to
get a mouthful of something to eat?" However, since the food was
chiefly "up garret," as the Deacon called it, "up garret" the horses
must go; and it was somebody's duty every morning to lead them up.
Often, in the course of the day, they would ramble slowly down: then
they would have to be taken up again; and Rob was always on the
lookout for a chance to do this. He always took Fox; he was easier
to lead than Pumpkinseed. You had to lead only one: the other would
follow; and it was a funny sight to see Rob way up on the steep
hill, tugging away at Fox's halter, and Fox half holding back, half
going along, and Pumpkinseed behind, following on slowly with a most
disgusted expression, every now and then stopping short and looking
up at Rob and Fox, as much as to say, "Oh, dear! why will you drag
us up this horrible hill?"
The hill opposite the house was so high that when Rob was at the
very top of it with the horses, he didn't look bigger than a
"Hop-o'-my-thumb," and the horses looked like goats. After he got
them fairly up, and saw them grazing contentedly, Rob would run down
the hill at full speed. At first he got many a tumble flat on his
nose doing this; but after a while he learned how to slant his body
backwards, and then he did not tumble.
But while Rob and Nelly were growing well and strong, and having
such a good time that they never wanted to go back to Mayfield, I am
sorry to say that the grown people were not so contented. In the
first place, good old Mrs. Plummer could not sleep. Her cough was
all gone; and if she could only have slept, she would have been as
well as anybody; but her heart beat too fast all the time, and kept
her awake at night. She did not know that she had any trouble with
her heart when she was at home; and nobody had told them that people
with heart-trouble could not live in Colorado: but that is the case;
the air which is so pure and dry is also so light that it makes your
pulse beat a good many times more a minute, and it takes a good
strong heart to bear this. You know your heart is nothing but a pump
that pumps blood to go through your veins, just as water goes
through pipes all over a house; and the pump has to be very strong
to pump so many strokes a minute as it does in Colorado. So poor
Mrs. Plummer, instead of growing better, was growing worse; and this
made them all unhappy.
Then Deacon Plummer and Mr. March had to acknowledge that they were
paying out more money than they took in, and this worried them both.
"We've got to get out on't somehow, that's clear and sartin," said
the Deacon. "It won't take very long at this rate to clear us both
out. I hate to give up. I'm sure there must be better places in the
country somewhere for stock raisin' than this is; but we won't stir
till warm weather sets in. Then we'll look round."
The last week in April and the first in May were hard weeks.
Snow-storm after snow-storm fell. At one time, all travel through
the Pass was cut off for two days. The snow lay in great drifts in
the narrowest places. In such weather as this, all the cattle had to
be kept in the barns and yards, and fed; hay was very dear; and as
Deacon Plummer said, "It don't take a critter very long to eat his
own head off, and after it's eaten it off six times over, its head's
on all the same for you to keep a feedin'."
When June came in, matters brightened. The cows had plenty of grass,
gave good milk, and Mrs. March and Mrs. Plummer made a good many
pounds of butter each week, which they sold at Manitou without
difficulty. Here at last was a regular source of income; but it was
small: "a mere drop in the bucket," Mrs. March said when she was
talking over matters with Mrs. Plummer. I must tell you how this
butter was made, because it was such a pleasure to Rob and Nelly to
watch it. It was made in a little shed which joined on to the old
saw-mill, and the old saw-mill wheel did the churning. Wasn't that a
funny way? We must give Zeb the credit of this. He was turning the
grindstone one day for Deacon Plummer to sharpen up his axes. It is
very hard work to turn a grindstone, and Zeb was very tired before
the axes were half ground. Suddenly the thought popped into his
head, "Why shouldn't I make that old water-wheel turn this
grindstone for us?" After dinner he went up to the saw-mill and
looked at it. There was the old wooden wheel as good as ever; the
gate which had shut the water off and let it on was gone; "but
that's easy fixed," said Zeb, and to work he went; and before
sundown, he had the water-wheel bobbing round again as fast as need
be. The next day he took the grindstone and sunk it in between two
old timbers in a broken place in the floor, just back of the wheel;
then he put a strap round the grindstone and fastened it to the
water-wheel; then he pulled up the little gate, and let the water in
the water-wheel. Hurrah! round went the water-wheel, and round went
the grindstone keeping exact pace with it! Zeb clapped his knee,
which was the same thing as if he had patted himself on the
shoulder. "Good for you, Abe Mack!" he said. Then he looked around
frightened, to see if anybody had heard him. No one was near. He
drew a long breath. "Lord!" he said; "to think o' my saying that
name out loud after all this time!" and he wiped his forehead with
the back of his hand. "I'd better be more keerful than that," he
said. "I'll get tracked yet, if I don't look out." Two years before,
in a fight in a mining town a great many miles north of his present
home, Zeb had had the misfortune to kill a man. He never intended to
do such a thing. He really drew his pistol in self-defence; but he
could not prove this, and he had fled for his life, and had been
ever since living hidden away on this lonely farm in the mountains.
He had intended to go still farther away where there would be no
possibility of his ever being seen by any of the men who had known
him before, but he had fallen so in love with these hills he could
not tear himself away from them. But he had never told his true name
to any one, and when he pronounced it now the sound of it frightened
him almost as if it had been a sheriff who was calling him by it.
After dinner, Zeb invited the whole family out to see his new
water-works. They all looked on with interest and pleasure. Mr.
March had often looked at the old mill and wished he had money
enough to put it in order.
"Well done, Zeb!" he said. "You've turned the old thing to some
account, haven't you? That's a capital idea; we'll grind knives and
axes now for anybody who comes along."
"Zeb," said Mrs. March, "can't you make it churn the butter for
you?"
Zeb was struck by the idea.
"Lor, ma'am," he said; "I never heard o' such a thing! but I don't
know why not. I'll try it, sure's my name's--" he stopped short, and
gasped out "Zebulon Craig."
No one observed his agitation. They were all too busy watching the
grindstone and water-wheel. The next day and the next, Zeb was seen
steadily at work in the saw-mill. He would not let the children stay
with him.
"Run away! run away!" he said. "I've got a job o' thinkin' to do:
can't think with you youngsters a lookin' on."
Rob and Nelly were almost beside themselves with curiosity.
"Zeb's making a churn to go by water like the grindstone: I know he
is," said Rob. "It's real mean for him not to let us see."
"But, Rob," said the wise Nelly, "he says he can't think if we're
round. He'll show it to us's soon's it's done."
"I don't care," said Rob; "I want to see how he does it;" and Rob
hovered round the mill perpetually, much to Zeb's vexation.
Late in the second afternoon, Zeb called out:--
"Rob, go fetch me the churn, will you?"
Rob was only too happy to be admitted into the partnership on any
terms. The churn was quite heavy, but he rolled it and tugged it to
the shed-door. Zeb lifted it over the threshold: and then Rob saw
that there was a long slender beam fastened to the water-wheel, and
reaching half way across the wall of the shed; an upright beam was
fastened to this, a hole was cut in the shed wall, and another beam
run through this hole, and fastened to the upright beam on the other
side. When the water-wheel turned round and round, it made this
upright beam go up and down. Zeb took the dasher of the churn and
fastened it to this beam: up and down, up and down it went, faster
than anybody could churn.
"Tain't quite long enough," said Zeb. "We'll have to stand the churn
on something." Then he ran back to the house and asked Mrs. Plummer
for some cream. She gave him about three gallons; he put it into the
churn, raised the churn a little higher, and set the machinery in
motion. In about ten minutes he looked in.
"It's comin'! it's comin'!" he cried. "Run, call all the folks,
Rob."
Rob ran, and in a few minutes the whole family were looking on at
this new mode of churning. It worked beautifully; in fifteen minutes
more the butter was made.
"There!" said Zeb, as he drew up the dasher with great solid lumps
of butter sticking to it. "If that ain't the easiest churned three
gallons o' cream ever I see!"
"Yes, indeed, Zeb," said Mrs. March, "it is. We sha'n't dread
churning-day any more."
Mr. March examined the machinery curiously. "Zeb," he said, "if we
had two good iron wheels we could make shingles here, couldn't we? I
believe it would pay to rig the old place up again."
"Yes, sir," said Zeb. "There's nothin' ye can't make with such a
stream o' water's that if ye've got the machinery to put it to. It's
only the machinery that's wantin'. We've got water power enough here
to run a factory."
You would not have thought so to look at it; the water did not come
right out of the brook; it came through a wooden pipe, high up on
wooden posts. It was taken out of the brook a mile or two farther up
the Pass, where the ground was a great deal higher than it was here
at the mill. So it came running all the way down through this pipe,
high up above the brook, and when it was let out it fell with great
force. The pipe was quite old now, and it leaked in many places; in
one place there was such a big leak it made a little waterfall; this
water dripping and falling into the brook beneath made it sound like
a shower, and all the bushes and green things along the edges of the
brook were dripping wet all the time. There was a big pile of the
old sawdust on the edge of the brook; this was of a bright yellow
color: the old saw-mill had fallen so into decay that three sides of
it were open, and it looked hardly safe to go into it. You had to
step carefully from one beam to another: there was not much of the
floor left. But it was a lovely, cool, shady place, and almost every
day some of the teamsters who were driving heavy teams through the
Pass would stop here to take their lunch at noon: often Rob and
Nelly would go out and talk with them, and carry them milk to drink.
Zeb kept out of sight at such times. He was always in fear of being
seen by somebody who had known him in the northern country.
As the summer came on, all sorts of beautiful flowers appeared along
the edges of the brook, in the open clearings, and even in the
crevices of the rocks. Nelly gathered great bunches of them every
morning. She loved flowers almost as well as she loved mountains.
She used to go out late in the afternoon and gather a huge basketful
of all the kinds she could find,--red and white, and yellow and
blue,--then she would set the basket in the brook and let the water
run through it all night, keeping the stems of the flowers very wet.
In the morning they would look as fresh as if she had just picked
them. Remember this, all of you little children who love flowers and
like to pick them. If you pick them in the morning, they will wither
and never revive perfectly, no matter how much water you put them
in. Pick them at sundown, and leave them in a great tub full of
water out of doors all night, and in the morning you can arrange
them in bouquets, and they will keep twice as long as they would if
you had not left them out of doors all night. Nelly used to sit on
the ground in the open space west of the saw-mill and arrange her
bouquets; sometimes she would tie up as many as eight or ten in one
morning, and sometimes travellers driving past would call to her and
ask her to sell them: but Nelly would not sell them; she always gave
them away to anybody who loved flowers. Rob thought she was very
foolish. "Nell, why didn't you take the money?" he would say. "It's
just the same to sell flowers as milk: isn't it?"
"No," said Nelly, "I don't think it is. The flowers are not ours."
"Whose are they?" exclaimed Rob.
"God's," said Nelly, soberly. Rob could not appreciate Nelly's
feeling.
"Well, what makes you steal 'em, then?" he asked, in a satirical
tone.
"God likes to have us pick them: I know he does," said Nelly,
earnestly. "He gives them all to us for every summer as long as we
live."
"Oh, pshaw, Nell!" said Rob. "He don't do any such thing. They just
grow: that's all."
"Well, papa says that God makes them grow on purpose for us to see
how pretty they are. They aren't of any other use: they aren't the
same as potatoes. And don't you know the little verse,--
"'God might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small;
The oak tree and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.'
"I'm always thinking of that. 'Twould be horrid here if we didn't
have any thing but things to eat."