SINFUL OR NOT?
"You should have seen me when Jane tied a white sash about my waist.
Then I was just complete."
"But you looked beautiful before--like a--well, a queen couldn't have
looked prettier. Or the Empress Josephine."
Betty laughed and kissed the little girl whose eyes were still full of
admiration. She had not come home until ten, and found her father
waiting at the fireside, but Doris was snuggled up in bed and soundly
asleep. She had risen at her father's call, made the breakfast, and sent
the men off in time; then heard the lesson Doris wasn't quite sure of,
and sent her to school; and now the dinner was cleared away and they
were sitting by the fire.
The Empress Josephine was in her glory then, one of the notables of
Europe.
"And Mrs. Morse said such lace as that would be ten dollars a yard now.
Think of that! Thirty dollars! But didn't you get lonesome waiting for
father?"
"He came just half an hour afterward. And, oh, we had such a grand,
funny time getting supper. It was as good as a party. I poured the tea.
And he called me Miss Adams, like a grown lady. And, then, what do you
think? We played fox and geese! And do you know I thought the geese were
dumb to let the fox get them all. And then he took the geese and soon
penned my fox in a corner. Then he told me about the fox and the goose
and the measure of corn and the man crossing the stream. It was just
delightful. I wanted to stay up until you came home, but I did get so
sleepy. And was the party splendid? I don't think anyone could have been
prettier than you!"
"Sally Prentiss had a pink silk frock, and the ruffles were fringed out,
which made them fluffy. It was beautiful! Oh, I should have felt just
awful in my gray cloth or my blue winter frock. And I owe most of the
delight to you, little Doris. I've been thinking--sometime I will work
you a beautiful white frock, fine India muslin."
"And what did they do?"
"We didn't sew much," Betty laughed. "We talked and talked. I knew all
but one girl, and we were soon acquainted. Jane didn't have a thing to
do, of course. Then the gentlemen came and we went out to supper. The
table was like a picture. There was cold turkey and cold ham and cold
baked pork. They were all delicious. And bread and biscuits and puffy
little cakes quite new. Mrs. Morse's cousin brought the recipe, and she
has promised it to mother. And there were jams and jellies and ever so
many things, and then all the plates and meats were sent away, and the
birthday cake with seventeen tiny candles was lighted up. And cake of
every kind, and whipped cream and nuts and candies. Then we went back to
the parlor and played "proverbs" and "What is my thought like?" and then
black Joe came with his fiddle. First they danced the minuet. It was
beautiful. And then they had what is called cotillions. I believe that
is the new fashionable dance. It takes eight people, but you can have
two or three at the same time. They dance in figures. And, oh, it is
just delightful! I _do_ wonder if it is wrong?"
"What would make it wrong?" asked Doris gravely.
"That's what puzzles me. A great many people think it right and send
their children to dancing-school. On all great occasions there seems to
be dancing. It is stepping and floating around gracefully. You think of
swallows flying and flowers swinging and grass waving in the summer
sun."
"But if there is so much of it in the world, and if God made the world
gay and glad and rejoicing and full of butterflies and birds and ever so
many things that don't do any real work but just have a lovely time----"
Doris' wide-open eyes questioned her companion.
"They haven't any souls. I don't know." Betty shook her head. "Let's ask
father about it to-night. When you are little you play tag and
puss-in-the-corner and other things, and run about full of fun. Dancing
is more orderly and refined. And there's the delicious music! All the
young men were so nice and polite,--so kind of elegant,--and it makes
you feel of greater consequence. I don't mean vain, only as if it was
worth while to behave prettily. It's like the parlor and the kitchen.
You don't take your washing and scrubbing and scouring in the parlor,
though that work is all necessary. So there are two sides to life. And
my side just now is getting supper, while your side is studying tables.
Oh, I do wonder if you will ever get to know them!"
Doris sighed. She would so much rather talk about the party.
"And your frock was--pretty?" she ventured timidly.
"All the girls thought it lovely. And I told them it was a gift from my
little cousin, who came from old Boston--and they were so interested in
you. They thought Doris a beautiful name, but Sally said the family name
ought to be grander to go with it. But Adams is a fine old name,
too--the first name that was ever given. There was only one man then,
and when there came to be such hosts of them they tacked the 's' on to
make it a noun of multitude."
"Did they really? Some of the children are learning about nouns. Oh,
dear, how much there is to learn!" said the little girl with a sigh.
Betty went at her supper. People ate three good stout meals in those
days. It made a deal of cooking. It made a stout race of people as well,
and one heard very little about nerves and indigestion. Betty was
getting to be quite a practiced cook.
Mr. Leverett took a good deal of interest hearing about the party.
Warren had enjoyed it mightily. And then they besieged him for an
opinion on the question of dancing. Warren presented his petition that
he might be allowed to join a class of young men that was being formed.
There were only a few vacancies.
"I do not think I have a very decided opinion about it," he returned
slowly. "Times have changed a good deal since I was young, and
amusements have changed with them. A hundred or so years ago life was
very strenuous, and prejudices of people very strong. Yet the young
people skated and had out-of-door games, and indoor plays that we
consider very rough now. And you remember that our ancestors were
opposed to nearly everything their oppressors did. Their own lives were
too serious to indulge in much pleasuring. The pioneers of a nation
rarely do. But we have come to an era of more leisure as to social life.
Whether it will make us as strong as a nation remains to be seen."
"That doesn't answer my question," said Warren respectfully.
"I am going to ask you to wait until you are of age, mostly for your
mother's sake. I think she dreads leaving the old ways. And then Betty
will have no excuse," with a shrewd little smile.
Warren looked disappointed.
"But I danced last night," said Betty. "And we used to dance last winter
at school. Two or three of the girls were good enough to show us the new
steps. And one of the amusing things was a draw cotillion. The girls
drew out a slip of paper that had a young man's name on it, and then she
had to pass it over to him, and he danced with her. And who do you think
I had?" triumphantly.
"I do not know the young men who were there," said her father.
"I hope it was the very nicest and best," exclaimed Doris.
"It just was! Jane's cousin, Morris Winslow. And he was quite the leader
in everything, almost as if it was his party. And he is one of the real
quality, you know. I was almost afraid to dance with him, but he was so
nice and told me what to do every time, so I did not make any serious
blunders. But it is a pleasure to feel that you know just how."
"There will be years for you to learn," said her father. "Meanwhile the
ghost of old Miles Standish may come back."
"What would he do?" asked Doris, big-eyed.
Warren laughed. "What he did in the flesh was this: The Royalists--you
see, they were not all Puritans that came over--were going to keep an
old-time festival at a place called Merry Mount. They erected a May pole
and were going to dance around it."
"That is what they do at home. And they have a merry time. Miss Arabella
took me. And didn't Miles Standish like it?"
"I guess not. He sent a force of men to tear it down, and marched Morton
and his party into Plymouth, where they were severely reprimanded--fined
as well, some people say."
"We do not rule our neighbors quite as strictly now. But one must admire
those stanch old fellows, after all."
"I am glad the world has grown wider," said Warren. But he wished its
wideness had taken in his mother, who had a great fear of the evils
lying in wait for unwary youth. Still he would not go against her wishes
while he was yet under age. Young people were considered children in
their subjection to their parents until this period. And girls who
stayed at home were often in subjection all their lives. There were men
who ruled their families with a sort of iron sway, but Mr. Leverett had
always been considered rather easy.
Doris begged to come out and dry the dishes, but they said tables
instead of talking of the seductive party. Mr. Leverett had to go out
for an hour. Betty sat down and took up her knitting. She felt rather
tired and sleepy, for she had gone on with the party the night before,
after she was in bed. A modern girl would be just getting ready to go to
her party at ten. But then she would not have to get up at half-past
five the next morning, make a fire, and cook breakfast. Suddenly Betty
found herself nodding.
"Put up your book, Doris. I'll mix the cakes and we will go to bed. You
can dream on the lessons."
The party had demoralized Doris as well.
Among the real quality young men came to inquire after the welfare of
the ladies the next morning, or evening at the latest. But people in the
middle classes were occupied with their employments, which were the main
things of their lives.
And though the lines were strongly drawn and the "quality" were
aristocratic, there were pleasant gradations, marked by a fine breeding
on the one side and a sense of fitness on the other, that met when there
was occasion, and mingled and fused agreeably, then returned each to his
proper sphere. The Morses were well connected and had some quite high-up
relatives. For that matter, so were the Leveretts, but Foster Leverett
was not ambitions for wealth or social distinction, and Mrs. Leverett
clung to the safety of the good old ways.
Jane ran over in the morning with a basket of some of the choicer kinds
of cake, and some nuts, raisins, and mottoes for the little girl. There
were so many nice things she was dying to tell Betty,--compliments,--and
some from Cousin Morris. And didn't she think everything went off
nicely?
"It was splendid, all through," cried Betty enthusiastically. "I would
like to go to a party--well, I suppose every week would be too often,
but at least twice a month."
"The Chauncey Winslows are going to have a party Thanksgiving night.
They are Morris' cousins and not mine, but I've been there; and Morris
said last night I should have an invitation. It will be just splendid,
I know."
"But you are seventeen. And mother thinks I am only a little girl,"
returned Betty.
"Oh, yes; I didn't go scarcely anywhere last winter. Being grown up is
ever so much nicer. But it will come for you."
"Electa wants me to visit her this winter. The assembly is to meet, you
know, and she has plenty of good times, although she has three children.
I _do_ hope I can go! And I have that lovely frock."
"That would be delightful. I wish I had a sister married and living away
somewhere--New York, for instance. They have such fine times. Oh, dear!
how do you get along alone?"
"It keeps me pretty busy."
Jane had come out in the kitchen, so Betty could go on with her dinner
preparations.
"Mother thinks of keeping Cousin Nabby all winter. She likes Boston so,
and it's lonely up in New Hampshire on the farm. That will ease me up
wonderfully."
"If I go away mother will have to get someone."
"Although they do not think we young people are of much account,"
laughed Jane. "Give your little girl a good big chunk of party cake and
run over when you can."
"But I can't now."
"Then I will have to do the visiting."
Dinner was ready on the mark, and Mr. Leverett praised it. Doris came
home in high feather. She had not missed a word, and she had done all
her sums.
"I think I am growing smarter," she announced with a kind of grave
exultation. "Don't you think Aunt Elizabeth will teach me how to knit
when she comes back?"
Not to have knit a pair of stockings was considered rather disgraceful
for a little girl.
Aunt Priscilla came over early Saturday afternoon. She found the house
in very good order, and she glanced sharply about, too. They had not
heard from Mary yet, but the elder lady said no news was good news. Then
she insisted on looking over the clothes for the Monday's wash and
mending up the rents. Tuesday she would come in and darn the stockings.
When she was nine years old it was her business to do all the family
darning, looking askance at Doris.
"Now, if you had been an only child, Aunt Priscilla, and had no parents,
what a small amount of darning would have fallen to your share!" said
Betty.
"Well, I suppose I would have been put out somewhere and trained to make
myself useful. And if I'd had any money that would have been on
interest, so that I could have some security against want in my old age.
Anyway, it isn't likely I should have been allowed to fritter away my
time."
Betty wondered how Aunt Priscilla could content herself with doing such
a very little now! Not but what she had earned a rest. And Foster
Leverett, who managed some of her business, said _sub rosa_ that she was
not spending all her income.
"You can't come up to your mother making tea," she said at the supper
table. "Your mother makes the best cup of tea I ever tasted."
Taking it altogether they did get on passably well without Mrs. Leverett
during the ten days. She brought little James, six years of age, who
couldn't go the long distance to school in cold weather with the two
older children, and so was treated to a visit at grandmother's.
Mary was doing well and had a sweet little girl, as good as a kitten.
Mr. Manning's Aunt Comfort had come to stay a spell through the winter.
And now there was getting ready for Thanksgiving. There was no time to
make mince pies, but then Mrs. Leverett didn't care so much for them
early in the season. Hollis' family would come up, they would ask Aunt
Priscilla, and maybe Cousin Winthrop would join them. So they were busy
as possible.
Little James took a great liking to his shy cousin Doris, and helped her
say tables and spell. He had been at school all summer and was very
bright and quick.
"But, Uncle Foster," she declared, "the children in America are much
smarter than English children. They understand everything so easily."
Then came the first big snowstorm of the season. There had been two or
three little dashes and squalls. It began at noon and snowed all night.
The sky was so white in the early morning you could hardly tell where
the snow line ended and where it began; but by and by there came a
bluish, silvery streak that parted it like a band, and presently a pale
sun ventured forth, hanging on the edge of yellowish clouds and growing
stronger, until about noon it flooded everything with gold, and the
heavens were one broad sheet of blue magnificence.
Doris did not go to school in the morning. There were no broken paths,
and boys and men were busy shoveling out or tracking down.
"It is a heavy snow for so early in the season," declared Uncle
Leverett. "We are not likely to see bare ground in a long while."
Doris thought it wonderful. And when Uncle Winthrop came the next day
and took them out in a big sleigh with a span of horses, her heart beat
with unwonted enjoyment. But the familiarity little James evinced with
it quite startled her.
Thanksgiving Day was a great festival even then, and had been for a
long while. Christmas was held of little account. New Year's Day had a
greater social aspect. Commencement, election, and training days were in
high favor, and every good housewife baked election cake, and every
voter felt entitled to a half-holiday at least. Then there was an annual
fast day, with church-going and solemnity quite different from its modern
successor.
The Hollis Leveretts, two grown people and four children, came up early.
Sam, or little Sam as he was often called to distinguish him from his
two uncles, was a nice well-grown and well-looking boy of about ten.
Mrs. Hollis had lost her next child, a boy also, and Bessy was just
beyond six. Charles and the baby completed the group.
Uncle Leverett made a fire in the best room early in the morning. Doris
was a little curious to see it with the shutters open. It was a large
room, with a "boughten" ingrain carpet, stiff chairs, two great square
ottomans, a big sofa, and some curious old paintings, besides a number
of framed silhouettes of different members of the family.
The most splendid thing of all was the great roaring fire in the wide
chimney. The high shelf was adorned with two pitchers in curious
glittering bronze, with odd designs in blue and white raised from the
surface. The children brought their stools and sat around the fire.
Adjoining this was the spare room, the guest chamber _par excellence_.
Sometimes the old house had been full, when there were young people
coming and going, and relatives from distant places visiting. Electa and
Mary had both married young, though in the early years of her married
life Electa had made long visits home. But her husband had prospered in
business and gone into public life, and she entertained a good deal, and
the journey home was long and tedious. Mary was much nearer, but she had
a little family and many cares.
Sam took the leadership of the children. He had seen Doris for a few
minutes on several occasions and had not a very exalted opinion of a
girl who could only cipher in addition, while he was over in interest
and tare and tret. To be sure he could neither read nor talk French.
This year he had gone to the Latin school. He hadn't a very high opinion
of Latin, and he did not want to go to college. He was going to be a
shipping merchant, and own vessels to go all over the world and bring
cargoes back to Boston. He meant to be a rich man and own a fine big
house like the Hancock House.
Doris thought it would be very wonderful for a little boy to get rich.
"And you might be lord mayor of Boston," she said, thinking of the
renowned Whittington.
"We don't have _lord_ mayors nor lord anything now, except occasionally
a French or English nobleman. And we don't care much for them," said the
uncompromising young republican. "I should like to be Governor or
perhaps President, but I shouldn't want to waste my time on anything
else."
Grandfather Leverett smiled over these boyish ambitions, but he wished
Sam's heart was not quite so set on making money.
There were so few grown people that by bringing in one of the kitchen
tables and placing it alongside they could make room for all. Betty was
to be at the end, flanked on both sides by the children; Mrs. Hollis at
the other end. There was a savory fragrance of turkey, sauces, and
vegetables, and the table seemed literally piled up with good things.
Just as they were about to sit down Uncle Winthrop came in for a moment
to express his regrets again at not being able to make one of the
family circle. Doris thought he looked very handsome in his best
clothes, his elegant brocaded waistcoat, and fine double-ruffled
shirt-front. He wore his hair brushed back and tied in a queue and
slightly powdered.
He was to go to a grand dinner with some of the city officials, a
gathering that was not exactly to his taste, but one he could not well
decline. And when Doris glanced up with such eager admiration and
approval, his heart warmed tenderly toward her, as it recalled other
appreciative eyes that had long ago closed for the last time.
What a dinner it was! Sam studied hard and played hard in the brief
while he could devote to play, and he ate accordingly. Doris was filled
with amazement. No wonder he was round and rosy.
"Doesn't that child ever eat any more?" asked Mrs. Hollis. "No wonder
she is so slim and peaked. I'd give her some gentian, mother, or
anything that would start her up a little."
Doris turned scarlet.
"She's always well," answered Mrs. Leverett. "She hasn't had a sick day
since she came here. I think she hasn't much color naturally, and her
skin is very fair."
"I do hope she will stay well. I've had such excellent luck with my
children, who certainly do give their keeping credit. I think she's been
housed too much. I'm afraid she won't stand the cold winter very well."
"You can't always go by looks," commented Aunt Priscilla.
After the dinner was cleared away and the dishes washed (all the grown
people helped and made short work of it), the kitchen was straightened,
the chairs being put over in the corner, and the children who were
large enough allowed a game of blindman's buff, Uncle Leverett watching
to see that no untoward accidents happened, and presently allowing
himself to be caught. And, oh, what a scattering and laughing there was
then! His arms were so large that it seemed as if he must sweep
everybody into them, but, strange to relate, no one was caught so
easily. They dodged and tiptoed about and gave little half-giggles and
thrilled with success. He did catch Sam presently, and the boy did not
enjoy it a bit. Not that he minded being blindfolded, but he should have
liked to boast that grandfather could not catch him.
Sam could see under the blinder just the least bit. Doris had on red
morocco boots, and they were barely up to her slim ankles. They were
getting small, so Aunt Elizabeth thought she might take a little good
out of them, as they were by far too light for school wear. Sam was sure
he could tell by them, and he resolved to capture her. But every time he
came near grandfather rushed before her, and he didn't want to catch
back right away, neither did he want Bessy, whose half-shriek betrayed
her whereabouts.
Mrs. Leverett opened the door.
"I think you have made noise enough," she said. People believed in the
old adage then that children should "be seen and not heard," and that
indoors was no place for a racket. "Aunt Priscilla thinks she must go,
but she wants you to sing a little."
This was for Mr. Leverett, but Sam had a very nice boy's voice and felt
proud enough when he lifted it up in church.
"I'll come, grandmother," he said with some elation, as if he alone had
been asked. And as he tore off the blinder he put his head down close to
Doris, and whispered:
"It was mean of you to hide behind grandfather every time, and he didn't
play fair a bit."
But having a peep at the red shoes as they went dancing round was fair
enough!
Hollis Leverett sang in the choir. They had come to this innovation,
though they drew the line at instrumental music. He had a really fine
tenor voice. Mr. Leverett sang in a sort of natural, untrained tone,
very sweet. Mrs. Hollis couldn't sing at all, but she was very proud to
have the children take after their father. There were times when Aunt
Priscilla sang for herself, but her voice had grown rather quivering and
uncertain. So Betty and her mother had to do their best to keep from
being drowned out. But the old hymns were touching, with here and there
a line of rare sweetness.
Hollis Leverett was going to take Aunt Priscilla home and then return
for the others. Sam insisted upon going with them, so grandfather
roasted some corn for Bessy and Doris. They had not the high art of
popping it then and turning it inside out, although now and then a grain
achieved such a success all by itself. Bessy thought Doris rather queer
and not very smart.
The two little ones were bundled up and made ready, and the sleigh came
back with a jingle for warning. Mrs. Hollis took her baby in her arms,
grandfather carried out little Foster, and they were all packed in
snugly and covered up almost head and ears with the great fur robes,
while little Sam shouted out the last good-night.
Mrs. Leverett straightened things in the best room until all the
company air had gone out of it. Doris felt the difference and was glad
to come out to her own chimney corner. Then Betty spread the table and
they had a light supper, for, what with dinner being a little late and
very hearty, no one was hungry. But they sipped their tea and talked
over the children and how finely Sam was getting along in his studies,
and Mrs. Leverett brought up the Manning children, for much as she loved
Hollis, her daughter Mary's children came in for a share of
grandmotherly affection. And in her heart she felt that little James was
quite as good as anybody.
Warren had promised to spend the evening with some young friends. Betty
wished she were a year older and could have the privilege of inviting in
schoolmates and their brothers, and that she might have fire in the
parlor on special occasions. But, to compensate, some of the neighbors
dropped in. Doris and James played fox and geese until they were sleepy.
James had a little cot in the corner of grandmother's room.