I had taken down a note which day it was I saw him before. I remember it
was washing-day, for I had to take my hands out of the tub and wipe the
suds off when Johnnie came to tell me that the rag-man was on the
street. He was just turning the corner by the Wylies when I got to the
front gate. But whether we washed on Monday I can't think. It rained
that Monday, or the week before, and we had to wait till Tuesday; but
which it was I couldn't say. I was in such a whirl fitting Artemas off,
and much as ever I made him hear; and he wasn't the right man after all,
for he wouldn't give more than a cent and a half a pound for the papers,
and Mrs. Carruthers got two cents. She could not remember what was his
day for coming, but agreed to send him if she should see him again.
* * * * *
Mrs. Carruthers sent the rag-man to-day; but I can't say much for the
bargain, though he was a different man from the one that came Monday,
and it seems it was Monday. He agreed to give me the same he gave Mrs.
Carruthers,--two cents a pound. And I had a lot of newspapers,--all the
papers Artemas has been taking through the winter; for he doesn't like
me to take them for kindlings, says he would rather pay separate for
kindlings, as I might burn the wrong one. And there were the papers that
came around his underclothes and inside the packing boxes he has taken
away. So I expected to make something; but he gave me no more than
forty-five cents! He weighed them, and said himself there were thirty
pounds. That ought to have come to sixty cents at least, according
to my arithmetic. But he made out it was all right, and had them all
packed up, and went off, though I followed him out to the gate and told
him that it didn't amount to no more than I might have got from the
other man at a cent and a half. He said it was all they were worth; that
he wished he could get as much for them. Then I asked him why he took
the trouble to come for them, under the circumstances. But by that time
he was off and down the street.
* * * * *
I was just sitting at the window this morning, and there were Mr. and
Mrs. Peebles walking down the street,--he on one side and she on the
other. I do wonder why they didn't go on the same side! If they hadn't
got so far past the gate, I'd have asked them. I never heard there was
any quarrel between them, and it was just as muddy this side of the
street as that. They have been spending their winters in the city
lately, and perhaps it's some new fashion.
I declare it's worth while to sit at the window now and then, and see
what is going on. I'm usually so busy at the back of the house, I don't
know. But now Lavinia has taken to going to school with the boys, and
they are willing to take care of her, half my work seems taken out of my
hands. Not that she was much in the way for a girl of four, but she
might slip out of the gate at any time, as there are so many of those
grinding organs around with their monkeys.
* * * * *
Mrs. Carruthers was in yesterday afternoon, and she said the Peebles
were looking up the numbers on the doors to find the Wylies. They got
puzzled because the numbers go up one side of the street and down the
other, and they haven't but just been put on. And it seems that up in
the city they have them go across. It does appear to me shiftless in our
town officers, when they undertook to have the streets numbered as they
do elsewhere, that they didn't number them the same way. But I can't see
but our way is as good, and more sensible than having to cross a muddy
street to look up the next number.
* * * * *
Artemas has been gone a whole week. I told him I would put down the most
important things in a diary, and then he can look at it, if he has time,
when he comes home. He thinks it is a more sensible way than writing
letters every week.
He expects to be up and down in Texas, and perhaps across the mountains;
and in those lawless countries letters would not stand much
chance,--maybe they wouldn't ever reach him, after I'd had the trouble
of writing them. There's the expense of stamps too,--not so very much
for one letter, but it counts up.
Nothing worries me more than getting a letter, unless it's having a
telegraph come,--and that does give one a start. But even that's sooner
over and quicker read; while for a letter, it's long, and it takes a
good while to get to the end. I feel it might be a kind of waste of time
to write in my diary; but not more than writing letters, and it saves
the envelopes and hunting them up. I'm not likely to find much time for
either, for the boys are fairly through their winter suits; if I can
only keep them along while the spring hangs off so.
* * * * *
Mrs. Norris was in yesterday, just as I was writing about the boys'
suits, to know if I would let Martha off to work for her after the
washing is over. I told her I didn't like to disoblige, but I couldn't
see my way clear to get along without Martha. The boys ought to be
having their spring suits this very minute, and Martha was calculating
to make them this week; and they'd have to have their first wear of them
Sundays for a while before they start on them for school. I never was so
behindhand; but what with fitting off Artemas and the spring cleaning
being delayed, I didn't seem to know how to manage. Martha is good at
making over, and there are two very good coats of Artemas's that she
would do the right thing by; while there was a good many who could scrub
and clean as well as she,--there was that Nora that used to live at
Patty's. But Mrs. Norris did not take to Nora. The Wylies tried her, but
could make nothing out of her. I said I thought it would be hard to find
the person Mrs. Wylie could get on with. Not that I ever knew anything
about her till she came to live on our street last winter, but they do
say she's just as hard on her own family; for there's a story that she
won't let that pretty daughter of hers, Clara, marry Bob Prince's son,
Larkin.
Mrs. Norris said she didn't wonder, for Larkin Prince hadn't found
anything to do since he came home. I thought there was enough to live
upon in the Wylie family, even if Larkin didn't find something the first
minute he'd got his education.
* * * * *
I can see that Mrs. Norris didn't take it well that I was not willing to
give up Martha; but I don't really see why I should be the one to give
up. But I must say I haven't got on as well with the work as I had
hoped, Lavinia's going with the boys so much keeps her clothes half torn
off her back, and I can't seem to see how to make her tidy. I was real
ashamed when I went to lift her out of a mud-puddle yesterday outside
the gate; and there was Clara Wylie looking as clean as a white lily,
and she stopped to help her out. It seemed that Lavinia had left her
boot in the last mud-puddle, and I would have liked to have gone through
the ground. I hope it will be a lesson to Lavinia, for Miss Wylie
oughtn't to have touched her with her hand. But she did, yellow gloves
and all, and said it was dreadful walking now, the frost so late coming
out of the ground, and she had quite envied Lavinia running across the
fields after the boys. But Lavinia has taken to envying Miss Wylie, and
wishes she could wear that kind of boots she has, with high heels that
keep her out of the mud-puddles.
* * * * *
I am thinking of having my ruby cashmere colored over. I don't seem to
feel like ripping it all up, pleatings and all; but Mrs. Peebles says
it can be dipped just as well made up, and I needn't take out a seam.
I might have it a kind of dark olive, like Mrs. Carruthers' dress.
* * * * *
I have had a start! It is a letter from Artemas; nothing particular
about himself, only I should say he was well. But he wants to take
out a young man farther west with him,--somebody with something of an
education, who understands chemicals or engineering, and he wants me to
pick out somebody. There's my brother Sam, of course. I thought of him
the first thing. But Artemas never took to Sam, though he is my brother.
Still, I dare say he would do right by him. And Sam don't seem to find
the work here that suits, and I hate to have him hanging round. But he
don't know more than I about chemicals, as much as even what they are,
though I dare say he could find out, for Sam is smart and always could
make out if he chose to lay his hands to anything. And I dare say
Artemas thought of Sam, and that is why he sent to me to give him a
chance. From what he says it must be a pretty good chance, exactly what
Sam would like if he knew anything about the business. I dare say he'd
do quite as well as half the fellows who might go. He can be steady if
he's a mind to.
But I can't but think of Larkin Prince; how he's taken all the pains to
get an education, and his father for him laying up money for the very
purpose, and that pretty Clara Wylie waiting to be married till he
should get something fit to do, and maybe her father wanting to marry
her off to some rich man while she's waiting, when her heart is set on
Larkin. And he'd be just the man for Artemas, seeing as he's been
studying just such things.
* * * * *
It wasn't no use taking up the time writing in my diary, as Artemas must
have a telegraph before night, and the boys home from school to know if
they might go to the swamp after checkerberries, and Lavinia with them,
and I let her go, clean apron and all, and I put on my bonnet to go over
to Mrs. Prince's. It made my heart bump to think how much Sam would set
on having the situation, and Artemas kind of expecting him; but I said
to myself, if Larkin should be out of town, or anything, that would
settle the matter for Sam.
As it happened, who should I meet but Larkin just at the gate! and I
asked him if he would turn back and step in with me for a minute. He
looked kind of provoked, and I shouldn't wonder if he hadn't expected to
meet Clara Wylie coming out of her gate just below, as it's natural she
should at this time. But he came in, and I gave him Artemas's letter to
read, for there wasn't anything in it except particulars of the work. He
quite started as he read it, and then he looked at me inquiring, and I
asked him if he had the kind of knowledge Artemas wanted. I supposed he
might have it, as he'd been to the new schools. It told in the letter
about the expenses, and what the pay would be, and where he would find
the free pass, and that he'd have to telegraph right off, and perhaps he
noticed he'd have to start to-night. Well, I guess he needn't care even
to thank me; for that look in his face was enough, and I shan't forget
it. He wanted to know was it Artemas thought of him. But before I could
answer, he saw somebody out in the street, and went to rushing out, only
he gave me another of those looks as he went, and said he'd see me
before he sent the telegraph, and would take any message from me to
Artemas.
* * * * *
I hadn't more than time to write this yesterday, when Mrs. Norris came
in to inquire about some garden seeds, but I guess she expected to find
out what Larkin Prince had been in for, for she was calling over at Mrs.
Carruthers'. I offered her some squash seeds, and took her out the back
way, through the garden, to show her how the squashes were likely to
spread. Last summer they were all over the garden. It seems the only
thing the boys let to grow.
She hadn't more than gone when Larkin came in. It was all settled, and
other things seemed to be settled too; for who should come in with him
but Clara Wylie, crying and smiling all at once. She had to come and
help Larkin to thank me because he had got the place. After he was gone
she came back for a little cry. She didn't seem to wonder that Larkin
was the one chosen, and supposed Artemas must have known all about him,
she said, as well as the company he is working for. They probably had
seen his name in the papers, she thought, when he graduated so honorably
from the school.
I didn't tell her that there wasn't any company; that Artemas never had
time to read that kind of thing in the newspapers, and would not have
noticed it if he had; and that he'd left it all to me.
I can't but say after it was all settled I had a kind of a turn myself,
to think that Sam might have gone just as well, and I had been standing
in his way.
* * * * *
I shall have to let down Lavinia's gowns full two inches this summer.
Lucky I put tucks in them all last year. Mrs. Carruthers wanted me to
finish them off with a frill; lucky I didn't, it would have been up to
her ears this summer. As for the boys, I can take them in turn,--last
year's clothes for the next boy all the way down, and Cyrus can have his
father's. But it seems harder to fit out Lavinia. The ruby cashmere is
as good for me as new; it is dipped.
* * * * *
I'm real sorry about the Jones's losing their cow; it comes hard for
them. It's better for our potato patch, particularly if they do not have
another. Cyrus ought to fence it in.
Sam came in last night. He had heard that Larkin Prince was summoned off
by a company out West, for work that would pay, and would set him up for
years, and he had a free pass, and old Wylie had given his consent to
his marrying Clara. Some people, he said, had luck come to them without
trying for it, just standing round. There was he himself had been
looking for just such work last year, and nobody had thought of him.
* * * * *
I hope I wasn't hard on Sam. I couldn't help telling him if he'd gone up
to the schools, as Larkin Prince did, and he might have done, he could
have made himself fit for an engineer or a chemical agent. Well, it took
him kind of surprised, and I agreed to go round this evening, when
father is at home, and talk to father and mother about Sam's going to
some of them schools. At least he might try; and, anyhow, it would get
him out of the kind of company he's taken a fancy to.
I must say I didn't think of how he'd feel about Clara Wylie; but, of
course, her father would never have given Sam any encouragement more
than Larkin. And as for Clara Wylie--well, I saw her look at Larkin
that night.
* * * * *
I don't know but I made a mistake in sending so many of his woollen
socks to Artemas by Larkin Prince. Perhaps I had better have sent more
of the cotton ones. Larkin said he would tell him we were all well, and
how he found us. Lavinia had gone up to bed, and was hollering to me
to come up to her, and Cyrus slung Silas's cap into the window, and it
most hit Larkin; Silas came in after it through the window, and the rest
of the boys were pounding on the barn door, where they were having a
militia meeting, or some kind of a parade, with half the boys in town.
So Artemas will know things goes on about as usual.
* * * * *
An excellent sermon from Mr. Jenkins today. I can't seem to think what
it was about, to put it down; but we are all of us more and more pleased
with him as a minister. You can't expect all things of any man; and if
a minister preaches a good sermon twice a Sunday and perhaps at evening
meeting, and goes around among the people as much as Mr. Jenkins, and
holds meetings through the week, and Bible class every Friday evening,
and sits by the bedside of the sick and the dying, and gives a hand in
his own farming or a neighbor's, and stands on the committee for the
schools, I don't know as you can expect much more of him.
Mrs. Carruthers says there's a talk of the Peebles moving up to the city
for good and all. I should think they might as well go as careening back
and forth, spring and fall; though she says they will still go down to
the seashore or up to the mountains, summers. When I had a home, I will
say, I liked to stay in it.
There, now! I do believe that I have not mentioned in my diary that our
house is burned down, and much as ever we all got out alive, coming in
the night so. I suppose I ought to have put it in as being one of the
principal events; but somehow I have been so unsettled since the fire, I
haven't seemed to think to write it down. And, of course, Artemas would
see from the depot, the minute he arrived, that the house wasn't there,
and he wouldn't need to wait and read about it in my diary; and I have
been pretty busy getting set to rights again. Everything being burnt,
there 's all the summer clothes to be made over again, except a few
things I brought off in a bundle along with the diary. Still, it might
have been better than writing about my neighbors, as I did about the
Peebles.
* * * * *
Mr. Jenkins came in as I was writing. He says that diaries are good
things, and if you didn't put in only your thoughts in a sentimental
kind of way, they'd be useful for posterity. I told him I didn't write
for posterity, but for Artemas, instead of a letter. He was surprised
I hadn't written him about the fire, as the news might reach him
exaggerated. I could not help from laughing, for I don't see how it
could be made out much worse,--the house burnt down, and the barn with
the horse in it, and Cyrus's crop of squashes. Much as ever we got out
alive, and I had to come to rooms--two pair, back. I did bring the diary
out in my apron.
Mr. Jenkins spoke of the insurance, and maybe Artemas might have
something to say about that; but we talked it all over the night before
he went away, and he spoke of the insurance being out, and he didn't
think it worth while to renew; there never had been a fire, and it
wasn't likely there would be.
* * * * *
Mrs. Carruthers came in to inquire when was a good time to try out soap.
I told her I managed generally to do it when Artemas wasn't at home, as
he was not partial to the smell in the house. But Mr. Carruthers never
does go away, and she doesn't believe he'd notice it. I don't know but
I'd rather have my husband coming and going like Artemas, instead of
sticking around not noticing, especially if he was Mr. Carruthers.
* * * * *
Clara Wylie has been with letters in her hands, and it seems she wrote
to Larkin Prince all about our fire; how our boys dropped matches in the
hay, and the fire spread to the house from the barn, and how we were
waked up, and had to hurry out just as we were. I don't believe she told
how the Wylies took us in that night, and found us these rooms at their
aunt Marshall's till Artemas comes home. But it seems that Artemas has
told Larkin it ain't no kind of consequence, the house burning down,
because he never liked it facing the depot, and he'll be glad to build
again, and has money enough for it, and can satisfy the neighbors if
there's a complaint that our boys burned down all that side of the
street, with being careless with their matches. And there was a note
inclosed to me from Artemas. He says he'd had a kind of depressed time,
when things were going wrong, but matters began to look up when Larkin
Prince came, who had just the information needed. So it's just as well
I didn't write about the fire. I hope Artemas don't talk too large about
his earning so much; anyhow, I shall try to get along spending next to
nothing, and earning what I can making buttonholes.
* * * * *
I've made over my ruby cashmere for Lavinia, and I'm sorry now that
I had it dyed over so dark, the olive is kind of dull for her; but I
can't seem to lay my hand on anything else for her, and she must have
something. Lucky it was lying on the chair, close by the door, so I
brought it off from the fire.
* * * * *
Artemas has come home.
X.
JEDIDIAH'S NOAH'S ARK.
I.
"I don't see how we can ever get them back again," said Mr. Dyer.
"Why should not we ask the 'grateful people'?" asked Jedidiah.
To explain what Jedidiah and his father meant, I shall have to tell how
it was Jedidiah came to have a Noah's Ark, and all about it, for it was
a little odd.
Jedidiah was the son of poor parents. His father lived in a small, neat
house, and owned a little farm. It was not much of a place; but he
worked hard, and raised vegetables upon it, mostly potatoes. But Mrs.
Dyer liked string-beans and peas; so they had a few of these, and
pumpkins, when the time came; but we have nothing to do with them at
present. If I began to tell you what Mrs. Dyer liked, it would take a
great while, because there are marrow-squashes and cranberry-beans,
though she did not care so much for tomatoes; but vegetables do help
out, and don't cost as much as butcher's meat, if you don't keep sheep;
but hens Mrs. Dyer did keep. It was the potatoes that were most
successful, for it was one summer when everybody's potatoes had failed.
They had all kinds of diseases, especially at Spinville, near which Mr.
Dyer lived. Some were rotten in the middle, some had specks outside;
some were very large and bad, some were small and worse; and in many
fields there were none at all. But Mr. Dyer's patch flourished
marvellously. So, after he had taken in all he wanted for himself, he
told his wife he was going to ask the people of Spinville to come and
get what they wanted.
"Now, Mr. Dyer!" said his wife. She did not say much else; but what she
meant was, that if he had any potatoes to spare, he had better sell them
than give them away. Mr. Dyer was a poor man; why should not he make a
little money?
But Mr. Dyer replied that he had no cart and horse to take the potatoes
to Spinville with, and no time either. He had agreed to mow the deacon's
off-lot, and he was not going to disappoint the deacon, even if he
should get a couple of dollars by it; and he wasn't going to let his
potatoes rot, when all Spinville was in want of potatoes. So Mr. Dyer
set to work, and printed in large letters on a sheet of paper these
words: "All persons in want of potatoes, apply to J. Dyer, Cranberry
Lane, Wednesday, the fifteenth, after seven o'clock, A.M. Gratis."
The last word was added after Mr. Dyer had pasted the notice against the
town hall of Spinville; for so many people came up to bother him with
questions as to how much he was going to ask for his potatoes, that he
was obliged to add this by way of explanation, or he would never have
got to the deacon's off-lot Tuesday morning.
Wednesday morning, Mrs. Dyer sat by the front window, with her darning.
She had persuaded Mr. Dyer to wait till Wednesday; for as for having all
the people tramping through the yard when the clean clothes were out,
she couldn't think of it; and she might as well get through the ironing,
then she could have an eye on them. And how provoked they'd all be to
come down all that way to Cranberry Hollow, to find only a bin of
potatoes to divide among them all.
The little shed was full of potatoes, Mr. Dyer answered. And he had no
idea many people would come, just the poorer ones; and as long as he had
any potatoes to spare, he was willing they should take them.
But, sure enough, as Mrs. Dyer said, what a procession came! Poor Mrs.
Jones's little girl, with a bag; Tom Scraggs, with two baskets; the
minister's son, with a wheelbarrow; and even rich Mr. Jones, the
selectman, with a horse and cart. Boys and girls, and old women, and
middle-sized men, and every kind of a vehicle, from a tin tipcart to
Mrs. Stubbs's carry-all.
Well, let them come, thought Mrs. Dyer. It would just show Mr. Dyer she
was right, and he didn't often find that out. She should be disturbed by
them soon enough when they found out that there was not more than half a
potato apiece, and like enough, not that. Pretty business of Mr. Dyer,
to take to giving away, when he had not more than enough to put into his
own mouth, to say nothing of Jedidiah's! So she went on darning and
thinking. What was her surprise, all of a sudden, to hear only shouts
of joy as the people returned round the corner of the house! Poor Mrs.
Jones's little girl gave a scream of delight as she held up her bag full
of potatoes; the minister's son had hard work to push along his full
wheelbarrow; rich Mr. Jones was laughing from the top of his piled-up
cart; Tom Scraggs was trying to get help in carrying his baskets. Such
a laughing, such fun, was never heard in Spinville, which is a sober
place. And they all nodded to Mrs. Dyer, and gave shouts for Mr. Dyer,
and offered Jedidiah rides in all their carts, those that had them, and
asked Mrs. Dyer what they could do for her in Spinville. And Jedidiah
tried to tell his mother, through the open window, how the more they
took the potatoes out of the bin, the more there were left in it; and
how everybody had enough, and went away satisfied, and had filled their
pockets; and even one of the boys was planning a quill popgun for sliced
potato, such as the worst boys had not dreamed of all summer. He was a
bad boy from the Meadow.
"Well, Mr. Dyer!" said Mrs. Dyer, all day, and again when he came home
at night.