VARIOUS OPINIONS OF LITTLE GIRLS
"You have kept up wonderfully for being absent a whole week. You haven't
fallen back a bit," said Mrs. Webb.
Doris flushed with delight. The little training Uncle Winthrop had given
her had borne fruit.
But she was shocked that Jimmie boy was so bad he had to be punished
with the ruler. He had been punished twice in the week before.
"Don't you darst to tell grandmother," he said as they were turning into
Sudbury Street. "If you do I'll--I'll"--she was a girl, and he couldn't
punch her--"I won't take you on my sled."
"No. I won't tell."
"Honest and true? Hope to die?"
"I'll say honest and true."
"A little thing like that aint much, just two or three slaps. You ought
to see the teacher at Salem? My brother Foster gets licked sometimes,
and he makes us promise not to tell father."
James had stood a little in awe of Doris on the point of good behavior.
But Sam had been up, and James had gone down to Aunt Martha's, and he
felt a great deal bigger now.
Uncle Leverett was very glad to get his little girl back. They had heard
from Betty, who had spent two delightful days with Mrs. Eastman, and
then they had gone to Hartford together. Electa and the children were
well, and she had a beautiful house with a Brussels carpet in the parlor
and velvet furniture and vases and a table with a marble top. Betty sent
love to everybody, and they were to tell Aunt Priscilla that the beaver
bonnet was just the thing, and she was going to have the silk frock made
over right away. Electa thought the India silk lovely, and she was so
glad she had brought the extra piece along, for she was going to have
the little cape with long tabs to tie behind, and she should use up
every scrap putting a frill on it.
Aunt Priscilla had not waited until March, but taken another cold and
was confined to the house, so Aunt Elizabeth went over quite often.
Martha Grant proved very efficient, and she was industry itself. She,
too, was amazed that Doris wasn't "put to something useful."
Doris had brought home a Latin book, but Aunt Elizabeth could not
cordially indorse such a boyish study. Women were never meant to go to
colleges. But she did not feel free to thwart Cousin Adams' plans for
her.
He came over on Saturday and took her out, and they had a nice laughing
French talk, though he admitted he and Miss Recompense had missed her
very much. She told him about Betty, and what Mrs. Webb had said, and
seemed quite happy.
Just at the last of the month they were all very much interested in a
grand affair to which Uncle Winthrop was an invited guest. It was at the
great Exchange Coffee House, and really in honor of the gallant struggle
Spain had been making against the man who bid fair then to be the
dictator of all Europe. On one throne after another he had placed the
different members of his family. Joseph Bonaparte, who had been King of
Naples, was summarily transferred to the throne of Spain, with small
regard for the desires of her people. He found himself quite unable to
cope with the insurgents rising on every hand. And America sent Spain
her warmest sympathy.
Uncle Leverett read the account aloud from his weekly paper. Now and
then there appeared a daily paper for a brief while, and a tolerably
successful semi-weekly, but the real substantial paper was the weekly.
How they would have found time then to read a morning and an evening
paper--two or three, perhaps--is beyond comprehension. And to have heard
news from every quarter of the globe before it was more than a few hours
old would have seemed witchcraft.
Napoleon was now at the zenith of his fame. But the feeling of the
country at his divorcing Josephine, who loved him deeply, was a thrill
of indignation, for the tie of marriage was now considered irrevocable
save for the gravest cause. That he should marry an Austrian princess
for the sake of allying himself to a royal house and having an heir to
the throne, which was nearly half of Europe now, was causing people even
then to draw a parallel between him and our own hero, Washington. Both
had started with an endeavor to free their respective countries from an
intolerable yoke, and when this was achieved Washington had grandly and
calmly laid down the burdens of state and retired to private life, while
Napoleon was still bent upon conquest. The sympathies of America went
out to all struggling nations.
There had been an ode read, and toasts and songs; indeed, it had called
together the notable men of the city, who had partaken of a grand feast.
It was much talked of for weeks; and Doris questioned Uncle Winthrop and
began to be interested in matters pertaining to her new country.
She was learning a good deal about the city. Warren took her to Aunt
Priscilla's one noon, and came for her when they had "shut up shop."
Aunt Priscilla did not mend rapidly. She called it being "pudgicky," as
if there was no name of a real disease to give it. A little fresh cold,
a good deal of weakness--and she had always been so strong; some fever
that would persist in coming back even when she had succeeded in
breaking it up for a few days. The time hung heavily on her hands. She
did miss Betty's freshness and bright, argumentative ways. So she was
glad to see Doris, for Polly sat out in the kitchen half asleep most of
the time.
Solomon as well always seemed very glad to see Doris. He came and sat in
her lap, and Aunt Priscilla told about the days when she was a little
girl, more than fifty years ago. Doris thought life must have been very
hard, and she was glad not to have lived then.
She did like Miss Recompense the best, but she felt very sorry for Aunt
Priscilla's loneliness.
"She and Polly have grown old together, and they need some younger
person to take care of them both," said Uncle Leverett. "She ought to
take her comfort; she has money enough."
"It is so difficult to find anyone to suit," and Aunt Elizabeth sighed.
"I shall crawl out in the spring," declared Mrs. Perkins; but her tone
was rather despondent.
Doris wondered when the spring would come. The snow and ice had never
been entirely off the ground.
Besides going to Uncle Winthrop's,--and she went every other
Saturday,--she had been asked to Madam Royall's to tea with the
children. The elder lady had not forgotten her. Indeed, this was one of
the houses that Mr. Adams thoroughly enjoyed, though he was not much of
a hand to visit. But people felt then that they really owed their
neighbors some social duty. There were not so many public amusements.
The Chapman children had real dolls, not simply rag babies; and the
clothes were made so you could take them off. Doris was quite charmed
with them. Helen's had blue eyes and Eudora's brown, but both were
red-cheeked and had black hair, which was not really hair at all, but
shaped of the composition and curled and painted over.
They had a grand long slide in their garden at the back. The servant
would flood it over now and then and make it smooth as glass. Doris
found it quite an art to stand up. Helen could go the whole length
beautifully, and balance herself better than Eudora. But if you fell you
generally tumbled over in the bank of snow and did not get hurt.
Playing graces was a great delight to her and after several trials she
became quite expert. Then on one occasion Madam Royall found that she
had a very sweet voice.
"You are old enough to learn some pretty songs, my child," she said. "I
must speak to your uncle. When the weather gets pleasanter he must place
you in a singing class."
Singing was quite a great accomplishment then. Very few people had
pianos. But young ladies and young men would sometimes spend a whole
evening in singing beautiful old songs.
In March there was a new President, Mr. Madison. Everybody was hoping
for a new policy and better times, yet now and then there were quite
sharp talks of war.
One day Mrs. Manning and the baby came in and made quite a visit. The
baby was very sweet and good, with pretty dark eyes, and Mrs. Manning
looked very much like Aunt Elizabeth. Mrs. Hollis Leverett came and
spent the day, and young married women who had been Mary Leverett's
friends came to tea. Warren went over in the old chaise and brought Aunt
Priscilla. Everybody seemed personally aggrieved that Betty should stay
away so long.
But Betty was having a grand time. Her letters to her mother were very
staid and respectful, but there were accounts of dinners and evening
parties and two or three weddings. Her brother King had given her a
pretty pink silk, and that was made pompadour waist and had a full
double plait at the back that hung down to the floor in a train. He had
taken her and Electa to a grand affair where there were crowds of
beautifully attired ladies. Betty did not call it a ball, for she knew
they would all be shocked. And though her mother had written for her to
come home, Mrs. King had begged for a little longer visit, as there
seemed to be something special all the time.
"What extravagance for a young girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Manning. "Pink silk
indeed, and a train! Betty will be so flighty when she comes back there
will be no getting along with her. 'Lecty has grown very worldly, I
think. I have never found any occasion for a pink silk."
Mrs. Leverett sighed. And Betty was not yet seventeen!
Mrs. Manning took James home with her, for she said grandmother was
spoiling him. She kept the children with a pretty strict hand at home,
and they soon jumped over the traces when you gave them a little
liberty. She was very glad to have him go to school all winter and hoped
he had made some improvement.
She was very brisk and energetic and was surprised to think they were
letting Doris grow up into such a helpless, know-nothing sort of girl.
And her daughter of nine was like a steady little woman.
"Still it isn't wise to put too much on her," said Mrs. Leverett in mild
protest. "Where one cannot help it, why, you must; but I think life is
getting a little easier, and children ought to have their share of it."
"I'm not asking anything of her that I did not do," returned Mrs.
Manning. "And I am proud of my training and my housekeeping."
"But it was so different then. Your father and I began life with only a
few hundred dollars. Then there was his three years in the war, and
people were doing everything for themselves--spinning and weaving and
dyeing, and making clothes of every kind. To be sure I make soap and
candles," laughing a little; "but we have only one cow now and give half
the milk for her care. I really felt as if I ought not have Martha, but
father insisted."
"I don't see why Doris couldn't have done a good deal instead of poring
over books so much."
"Well--you see she isn't really our own. Cousin Winthrop has some ideas
about her education. She will have a little money, too, if everything
turns out right."
"It's just the way to spoil girls. And you will find, mother, that Betty
will be none the better for her visit to 'Lecty. Dear me! I don't see
how 'Lecty can answer to her conscience, spending money that way. We
couldn't. It's wrong and sinful. And it's wrong to bring up any child in
a helpless, do-little fashion."
They were sitting by the south window sewing, and Doris was at the other
side of the chimney studying. Now and then she could not help catching a
sentence. She wondered what little Elizabeth Manning was like, who could
cook a meal, work butter, tend babies, and sew and knit stockings. She
only went to school in the winter; there was too much work to do in the
summer. She was not left alone now; one of the Manning aunts had been
staying some time. This aunt was a tailoress and had been fitting out
Mr. Manning, and now James must go home to have some clothes made.
Jimmie boy privately admitted to Doris that he would rather stay at
grandmother's. She was a good deal easier on him than his mother, and he
didn't mind Mrs. Webb a bit. "But you just ought to see Mr. Green. He
does lick the boys like fury! And there's such lots of errands to do
home. Mother never gives you a chunk of cake either. I don't see why
they couldn't all have been grandmothers instead of mothers."
James was not the first boy who had wished such a thing. But he knew he
had to go home, and that was all there was about it.
Martha wanted to go also. She had bought a good stout English
cambric--lively colored, as she called it--and a nice woolen or stuff
frock, as goods of that kind was often called. She was going to do up
her last summer's white frock to be married in. They would have a
wedding supper at her father's and then go home, and begin housekeeping
the next morning. Mrs. Leverett added a tablecloth to her store.
Betty must be sent for imperatively. Her mother was afraid she would be
quite spoiled. And she could not help wishing that Mrs. King would be a
little more careful and not branch out so, and Mary take life a little
easier, for Mr. Manning was putting by money and had his large farm
clear.
Then Aunt Priscilla was suddenly at sea. Jonas Field had bought a place
of his own where he could live over the store. In spite of a changed
name, King Street had dropped down and down, and was now largely given
to taverns. The better class had kept moving out and a poorer class
coming in, with colored people among them. No one had applied for the
store, but a man who wanted to keep a tavern combined with a kind of
sailor lodging house had made her a very good offer to buy the property.
"I'm going to live my time out in this very house," declared Aunt
Priscilla with some of her olden energy. "I came here when I was married
and I'll stay to be buried. By the looks of things, it won't be a great
many years. And I haven't made a sign of a will yet! Not that the
Perkinses would get anything if I died in this state--that aint the
word, but it means the same thing, not having your will made, and I aint
quite sure after all that would be right. I worked and saved, and I had
some when we were married, but husband had farsight, and knew how to
turn it over. Some of his money ought to go back to his folks."
This had been one of the decisions haunting Aunt Priscilla's conscience.
Down at the bottom she had a strict sense of justice.
"It is hardly nice to go there any more," said Aunt Elizabeth. "And I
shall not enjoy a young girl like Betty running over there, if Aunt
Priscilla shouldn't be very well, and she is breaking. Polly gets worse
and really is not to be trusted."
It was Polly after all who settled the matter, or the summons that came
to Polly one night. For in the morning, quite late, after a good deal of
calling and scolding, Aunt Priscilla found she had taken the last
journey. It was a great shock. Jonas Field's errand boy was dispatched
to the Leveretts'.
The woman who came soon gave notice that she "couldn't stay in no such
neighborhood for steady company."
Mr. Leverett and Cousin Adams urged her to sell. If there should be war
she might not have a chance in a long while again.
"But I don't know the first thing in the world to do," she moaned. "I
haven't a chick nor a child to care about me."
"Come over and stop with us a bit until you can make some plans. There's
two rooms upstairs in which you could housekeep if you wanted to. Our
family gets smaller all the time. But if you liked to live with us a
spell----" said Mr. Leverett.
"I don't know how 'Lizabeth could stand an old woman and a young
one"--hesitatingly.
"If you mean Doris, she is going over to Winthrop's," he replied.
"Ready to jump at the chance, I'll warrant. You can't count on
children."
"No, Aunt Priscilla, she didn't jump. She's a wise, fond little thing.
Win asked her about Christmas, and she wouldn't consent until Betty came
back, for fear we would be lonesome. It quite touched me when I heard of
it. Win has some ideas about her education, and I guess he's nearer
right. So that needn't trouble you. It would be so much better for you
to sell."
"I'll think it over," she said almost gruffly, for she was moved
herself. "I never could get along with this Rachel Day. She doesn't
allow that anyone in the world knows anything but herself, and I kept
house before she was born. I don't like quite such smart people."
Miss Hetty Perkins came in to offer her services as housekeeper. Every
now and then she had "edged round," as Aunt Priscilla expressed it.
Everybody said Hetty was closer than the skin, but then she had no one
except herself to depend upon. And Amos Perkins called to see if Aunt
Priscilla had anyone she could trust to do her business. He heard she
was going to sell.
"I haven't made up my mind," she answered tartly. She was not fond of
Amos either.
Then the would-be purchaser found he could have a place two doors below.
He did not like it as well, but it would answer.
"It seems as if I was bound to have a rum shop and a sailor's
boarding-house under my nose. There'll be a crowd of men hanging round
and fiddling and carousing half the night. I don't see what's getting
into Boston! Places that were good enough twenty year ago are only fit
for tramps, and decent people have to get out of the way, whether they
will or no."
Betty came home the last of March. She looked taller--perhaps it was
because she wore her dresses so long and her hair so high. She had a
pretty new frock--a rich warm brown ground, with little flowers in green
and yellow and a kind of dull red sprinkled all over it. It had come
from New York, and was called delaine. She had discarded her homespun
woolen. And, oh, how stylishly pretty she was, quite like the young
ladies at Madam Royall's!
She held Doris to her heart and almost smothered her, kissing her
fondly.
"You have grown lovely by the minute!" she cried. "I was so afraid
someone would cut your hair. 'Lecty said at first that I had only one
idea, and that was Doris Adams, I talked about you so much. And she's
wild to see you. She's quite grand and full of fun, altogether different
from Mary. Mary holds onto every penny until I should think she'd pinch
it thin. And I've had the most magnificent time, though Hartford is
nothing compared to Boston. It is like a country place where you know
everybody that is at all worth knowing. I have such lots of things to
tell you."
It came rather hard to take up the old routine of work, and get up early
in the morning. She was dismayed by the news that Aunt Priscilla was
coming and Doris going.
"Though I don't know," she declared after reflecting a day or two on the
subject. "I'll have such a good excuse to go to Uncle Win's, and we can
have delightful talks. But Aunt Priscilla is certainly a dispensation of
Providence equal to St. Paul's thorn in the flesh."
"I've made her some visits this winter, and she has been real nice,"
said Doris. "I shouldn't mind her at all now. And I told Uncle Win that
I would like to be two little girls, so one _could_ stay here. I love
Uncle Win very much. I love your father too."
"Is there anybody in the whole wide world you do not love?"
Doris flushed. She had not been able to feel very tenderly toward Mrs.
Manning, and Mrs. Hollis Leverett talked about her being so backward,
and such a "meachin" little thing.
"I dare say if the truth was known, her mother died of consumption. And
that great mop of hair is enough to take the strength out of any child.
I wouldn't have it on Bessy's head for an hour," declared Mrs. Hollis.
But Bessy told her in a confidential whisper that she thought her curls
the sweetest thing in the world, and when she was a grown-up young lady
she meant to curl her hair all over her head.
Doris was glad Uncle Winthrop did not find any fault with them.
Of course she should be sorry to go. It was curious how one could be
glad and sorry in a breath.
Mrs. Leverett went over to Aunt Priscilla's to help pack. Oh, the boxes
and bundles and bags! They were tied up and labeled; some of them had
not been opened for years. Gowns that she had outgrown, stockings she
had knit, petticoats she had quilted--quite a fashion then.
"It's lucky we have a big garret," said Mrs. Leverett. "And whatever
will you do with them?"
"There's that flax wheel--it was grandmother's. She was like Benjamin
Franklin, who gave his sister Jane a spinning wheel on her wedding day:
she gave me that. And Jane's gone, though I did hear someone bought the
wheel for a sort of keepsake. Oh, Elizabeth, I don't know what _you_
will do with all this old trumpery!"
Elizabeth hardly knew either. It was good to have children and
grandchildren to take some of these things just to keep one from
hoarding up. Elizabeth, sweet soul, remembered the poor at her gates as
well. But most people were fond of holding onto everything until their
latest breath. There was some virtue in it, for the later generations
had many priceless heirlooms.
One of the south rooms was emptied, and after a great deal of argument
Aunt Priscilla was prevailed upon to use her best chamber furniture for
the rest of her life. She had not cared much for the housekeeping
project, and decided she would rather board a while until she could get
back some of her strength.
"What are you going to do with Solomon?" asked Doris.
"Well--I don't know. Aunt Elizabeth doesn't like cats very much. He's
such a nice fellow, I should hate to leave him behind and have him
neglected. But it's bad luck to move cats."
"I should like to have him."
"Would you, now? He's almost like a human. I've said that many a time;
and he went round asking after Polly just as plain as anyone could. I
declare, it made my heart ache. Polly had been a capable woman, and Mr.
Perkins bought her, so I didn't feel free to turn her away when he was
gone. And I'd grown used to a servant, too. I don't know what I should
have done without her the two years he was ailing. Though when she came
to be forgetful and lose her judgment it did use to try me. But I'm glad
now I kept her to the end. I'd borrowed a sight of trouble thinking what
I'd do if she fell sick, and I might just as well have trusted the Lord
right straight along. When I come to have this other creetur ordering
everything, and making tea her way,--she will boil it and you might as
well give me senna,--then I knew Polly had some sense and memory, after
all. You can't think how I miss her! I'm sorry for every bit of fault
I've found these last two years."
Aunt Priscilla stopped to take breath and wipe her eyes. Polly's death
had opened her mind to many things.
Doris sat and stroked Solomon and rubbed him under the throat. Now and
then he looked up with an intent, asking gaze, and a solemn flick of one
ear, as if he said, "Can't you tell me where Polly is gone?"
"You'd have to ask Uncle Winthrop. And I don't know what Miss Recompense
would say."
"She likes cats."
"Oh. Well, I'm afraid Uncle Winthrop doesn't."
"If he _should_," tentatively.
"I think I'd miss Solomon a good deal. But he'd be a bother to keep at
the Leveretts'. I would like him to have a good home. And he is very
fond of you."
Uncle Win was over the very next day, and Doris laid the case before
him.
"I like the picture of comfort a nice cat makes before the fire. I
haven't any objection to cats in themselves. But I dislike cat hairs."
"Uncle Win, I could brush you off. And Solomon has been so well trained.
He has a box with a cushion, so he never jumps up in chairs. And he has
a piece of blanket on the rug where he lies. He loves me so, and Aunt
Elizabeth can't bear cats. Oh, I wish I might have him."
"I'll talk to Miss Recompense. She's having a little room fixed up for
you just off of hers. It opens on the hall, and it has a window where
you can see the sun rise. I think through the summer you need not go to
school, but study at home as you did Christmas week."
"That will be delightful! And I shall be so glad when it is truly
spring."
It had been a long cold winter, but now there were signs everywhere of a
curious awakening among the maples. Some were already out in red bloom.
The grass had begun to spring up in its soft green, though there were
patches of ice in shady places and a broad skim along the edge of the
Charles River marsh. But the bay and the harbor were clear and
beautiful.
Betty and Doris had confidential chats after they were in bed--in very
low tones, lest they should be heard.
"Everybody would be shocked to see how really gay Electa is. There are
very religious people in Hartford, too, who begin on Saturday night. But
the men insist upon parties and dinners, and they bring their fashions
up from New York. Boston is just as gay in some places, and Jane Morse
has had a splendid time this winter going to dances. The gentlemen who
come to Mr. King's are so polite, some of them elegant. I envy 'Lecty.
It's just the kind of world to live in."
"And I want to hear about your pink silk."
"I left it at 'Lecty's. It was too gay to bring home. It would have
frightened everybody. And 'Lecty thinks of going to New York next
winter, and if she does she will send for me. I should have had to
rumple it all up bringing it home, and I don't believe I'd had a chance
to wear it. I have the other two, and Mat thought the blue and white one
very pretty. Mat laughs at what he calls Puritanism, and says the world
is growing broader and more generous. He is a splendid man too, and
though he is making a good deal of money he doesn't think all the time
of saving, as Mary and her husband do. He is good to the poor, and
generous and kind, and wants everyone to be happy. Of course they go to
church, but there is a curious difference. I sometimes wonder who is
right and if it _is_ a sin to be happy."
Doris' mind had no especial theological bent, and her conscience had not
been trained to keep on the alert.
"It was very nice in him to give it to you. And you must have looked
lovely in it."
"Oh, the frock," Betty laughed. "Yes, I did. And when you know you look
nice you stop feeling anxious about it. It was just so at Jane's party.
But I should have been mortified in my gray woolen gown. Well--the
mortification may be good, but it isn't pleasant. I wore the pink silk
to the weddings and to some dinners. Dinners are quite grand things
there, but they last so long I should call them suppers. And sometimes
there is a grand march afterward, which is a kind of stately dancing. It
has been just delightful. I don't know how I will settle down and wash
and iron and scrub. But I would a great deal rather be in 'Lecty's place
than in Mary's, and saving up money to buy farms isn't everything to
life. I think the Mannings worship their farms and stock a good deal
more than 'Lecty and Mat do their fine house and their money and all."
Her admirers and her conquests she confided to Janie Morse. There was
one very charming young man that she liked a great deal, but her sister
said she was too young to keep company, and there might be next winter
in New York.
It spoke volumes for the wholesome, sensible nature of Betty Leverett
that she could take her olden place in the household, assist her mother,
and entertain her father with the many interesting events of her gay and
happy winter.