TWO PICNICS.
IT was while Candace was still doing battle with her shyness, sometimes
getting the better of it and then again yielding and letting it get the
better of her, that Georgie and Gertrude sent out invitations to another
luncheon party of girls. It was the third they had given since coming to
Newport. Mrs. Gray certainly did a great deal for the pleasure of her
daughters, although Berenice Joy did consider her so "strict."
Candace had her share in this entertainment, as one of the three young
ladies of the house. The party was mainly composed of the "Early
Dippers," who were not as formidable to her imagination as entire
strangers would have been. She and Georgie and Gertrude wore their
white woollen dresses, which were almost exactly alike, and "looked like
triplets," as Marian rather spitefully observed. Marian herself was not
asked to the party, and was out of humor in consequence. Her crossness
did not extend to Candace, however. She evinced this by coming in just
as Candace had finished dressing, with a long-stemmed pink rose in her
hand, which she pinned on the shoulder of the white gown, just under
Candace's cheek.
"That looks sweet," remarked Marian. "I am really quite pleased at your
appearance; you're every bit as pretty as Gertrude, and heaps better
looking than that old Georgie, who wouldn't let me come to her party.
Now, take my advice: hold your head up, and don't let any of the girls
bully you. If Berry Joy tries it, sit down hard on her."
"I don't know how to sit down hard," laughed Candace; but she kissed
Marian for the sweet rose, and went downstairs feeling quite brave.
Marian watched her over the balusters; made a face at Berry Joy, who
was just sailing into the drawing-room; shook her dimpled fist at
Georgie's back, visible through the open door; and then went to sit with
her mother, who also was "not invited."
There is no prettier entertainment than a lunch-party of girls. The
flowers, the confections, all the graceful little fripperies of the
feast, seem to suit with the bright young faces, to whom daylight is a
becoming and not a dangerous test. Frederic had taken great pains in
ornamenting the table for his young ladies. There was a nosegay for each
guest, and no two nosegays were alike. One was made up of roses and
daisies, another of roses and heliotrope, another of roses and violets;
and each was tied with a satin ribbon of corresponding color, which had
the name of the girl for whom it was intended, and the date, painted in
gold letters on the ends. In the middle of the table stood a large
square pan of glass, in which floated a mass of waterlilies, pink and
white; and winding in and out among the little dishes of crystallized
fruits, eclairs, apricots, and hot-house grapes, was a continuous
curving wreath of pansies of every color. It appeared to lie directly on
the white tablecloth; but the stems of the flowers were really set in
shallow semi-circles of tin, not over half an inch high, which were
filled with wet sand.
For the more substantial part of the meal appeared a succession of
appetizing little dishes, hot and perfectly served; and the wind-up of
the whole was, of course, unlimited ice-cream and water-ices, those
national delicacies dear equally to the heart of every American girl the
country over, whether she consumes her saucer-full in uppermost Maine or
southernmost Florida.
Luncheon over, the party went out to the piazza, where coffee was
served; and then Berry Joy began to tell of a picnic at Southwick's
grove which she had attended the day before. None of the other girls
had, as it happened, been present; so she had the field of narrative to
herself.
"It was perfectly splendid," she said. "There were five coaches with
four ladies and a lot of men in each, and ever so many other carriages.
We made a sort of procession down the Island. I went in Lawrence Jones's
coach, with Sue Tucker and Maude and Mrs. Freddy. You should have seen
the country people rush out to look at us when all the horns blew at
once. I tell you it was exciting."
"And what did you do after you got to the grove?"
"Oh, we had the most wonderful spread that ever was seen. You know,
everybody takes a dish and a bottle of wine to these picnics; and there
is always a great competition as to who shall bring the best things. I
never saw such a luncheon in my life; everything was perfectly
delicious."
"But what did you _do_?"
"Do? Why, we didn't do anything but that. There was no time for anything
else. It took ever so long to get lunch ready. Some of the things had to
be cooked after we got there, you know, and the coffee and the
mayonnaise made. The servants lit fires and fussed about, and the rest
of us sat round and talked a little; but I was so ravenous that I
couldn't think of anything but lunch, and I rather think the others were
in the same condition. Then, as soon as we had done, it was time to
start for home."
"What do you think that horrid Mr. Deane said?" she continued, after a
short pause. "You know, he's always trying to be satirical. Some one was
saying something about the grove's being such a nice place for picnics,
and Mr. Deane interrupted, in that disagreeable dry way of his which
some people call funny: 'Well, yes, perhaps so; but in my opinion the
proper place for a picnic of this kind is--a gorge!'"
There was a universal giggle.
"How did he dare?" observed Julia Prime.
"Oh, he dares to say just what he likes. He doesn't mind anybody. But I
know one thing, and that is that Gorham Allerton didn't like it a bit.
He looked absolutely black, and I saw him talking to Mrs. Jackson
Tainter about it afterward; and I'll wager something handsome that old
Deane will find himself left out of the next picnic. I'm sure, if he
does, it will only serve him right for being so rude."
"I don't believe he'll mind it if he isn't invited," remarked Gertrude.
"He dined with papa last night; and I heard him say that it was the
dullest affair he ever was at in his life, and only fit for the
'companions of Ulysses.'"
"What _did_ he mean?"
"I don't know. Something about General Grant, I suppose.--Candace, what
_are_ you laughing at?"
"Oh, nothing," said Cannie, composing her face as well as she could. A
little old translation of the Odyssey had been among the books in the
North Tolland library, and she was more "up" in the "companions of
Ulysses" than the rest of the party.
"How different picnics now-a-days are from those which we used to have
in Newport when I was a girl," remarked Mrs. Gray from the drawing-room
window, where she had been standing unperceived for a moment or two.
"Oh, Mrs. Gray, are you there?" and the girls hastened to the window.
Some of them kissed her; and all, except perhaps Berry Joy, looked glad
to see her, for she was a general favorite with her daughters' friends.
"Tell us about the picnics you used to have when you were young," said
Julia Prime, balancing herself on the window-sill and keeping fast hold
of Mrs. Gray's hand.
"There is not much to tell, Julia. They would seem tame affairs enough
to you modern young people, I suppose. We hadn't any men with us as a
general thing, except an occasional brother or cousin, and we didn't
carry half as much to eat as seems to be considered necessary
now-a-days. Then we did all the work ourselves instead of taking cooks
and footmen to do it for us; but for all that, we thought them most
delightful. For one thing, we always went to some really interesting
place, such as the Glen, or the Dumpling Rocks, or the Paradise
Valleys."
"Where are the Paradise Valleys?" inquired Julia.
"Oh, I know what they are," said Maud Hallett. "They are lovely places
hidden in behind Bishop Berkeley's Rock. I went there once with Aunt
Edith. She knows all the nooks and corners of Newport better than
anybody else."
"Mamma, you must take us there some day," said Georgie.
"Oh, do, and let me go with you," pleaded Maud. "I should like so much
to see them again."
"Won't you take me too?" said Belle Jeffrys.
"We should all like to go," remarked Julia, slyly. "Oh, Mrs. Gray, dear,
I have such a lovely idea! Give us a picnic yourself, one of the nice
old-fashioned sort that you used to have when you were young, in the
Paradise Valley; won't you, dear Mrs. Gray? Oh, do!"
"You needn't coax so hard, Julia; I'm very easy to persuade when I like
to do a thing," said Mrs. Gray, with a laugh. "I'll give you a picnic
with pleasure; only I must make one stipulation, that it shall be
exclusively a girl-party. I don't think the young men of the present day
would enjoy the kind of thing I mean, or know what to make of it."
"Girls!" cried Julia, "just listen to what this dear angel says! She's
going to take us to Paradise Valley, all by ourselves, with no men to
bother and distract our attention.--Men _are_ out of place in Paradise
anyway; just think how Adam behaved! (this in a parenthesis).--It is to
be a real old-fashioned "goloptious" picnic. Now, who would like to go
besides myself?"
"I, I, I," cried the girls, with gratifying unanimity.
"Now, what day shall it be?" continued Julia. "Let's make Mrs. Gray
settle the time at once, and then she can't back out."
"I don't want to back out," said Mrs. Gray. "I enjoy the idea as much as
you do."
So, after some comparing of engagements, the next Thursday was fixed
upon.
"You had better make this the rendezvous," said the giver of the picnic.
"I shall have room for one girl in my wagonette besides my four. You
must all wear something stout, which won't spoil with scrambling over
rocks, and you need not bring any luncheon-baskets. I will see to all
that. This is to be an old-fashioned picnic, you know, and I shall
provide exactly the sort of things that we used to take
'When I was young and charming, many years ago.'"
"You are just as charming as you can be now," declared Belle,
enthusiastically.
"I do hope there won't be a fog," said Julia Prime, as she walked up the
Avenue with the others.
"I sha'n't care if there is," replied Berry. "I must say it sounds to me
like a very stupid plan,--no men, and nothing in particular to eat. It's
just like Mrs. Gray. Her ideas are so queer, as mamma says."
"I wonder you go if you feel that way about it," retorted Julia.
"I dare say I sha'n't. I have a strong presentiment that on that
particular day I shall have a headache."
And Berry did,--a "distracting" headache, as she wrote Georgie
over-night. She was the only member of the Early Dip Club who missed the
picnic. Headaches are sad but convenient things.
Eleven o'clock brought the girls to the Grays' front door, all ready for
their start, in various village carts and victorias. There was a little
re-distribution: Georgie and Gertrude fitted in with some of their
cronies, and Mrs. Gray took three girls besides Marian and Candace in
her wagonette. Frederic and the coachman stowed many small baskets and a
heap of wraps into the different rumbles and box seats, and they set
forth under the bluest of blue skies. It was a beautiful day, just warm
enough and not too warm; for a fragrant wind was blowing softly in from
the sea.
They had passed the first beach, which at that hour was black with
bathers and by-standers, and had climbed the hill-slope which separates
it from the second beach, when Marian suddenly cried, "Mamma, here we
are close to Purgatory; can't we stop just a minute and show it to
Candace?"
Mrs. Gray looked at her watch.
"Your minute will be at least a quarter of an hour, Marian," she said;
"but I think there is time enough. Would any of the rest of you like to
go?"
Girls always "want to go." There was a general disembarkation; and Mrs.
Gray led the way through a gate and across a rough field which stretched
along the top of a line of cliffs, steeper and bolder than those on the
Newport Point, and cut here and there into sudden sharp fissures.
The scanty grass, yellow with August sun, was broken everywhere by lumps
and boulders of that odd conglomerate which is known by the name of
"plum-pudding stone." Golden-rod and the early blue aster were flowering
everywhere. A flock of sheep fled at their approach, with a low rushing
sound like the wind in boughs.
[Illustration: PURGATORY.
The name of "Purgatory" seemed to her to suggest some terrible sort of
place.--PAGE 188.]
Candace walked along with the rest, in a little shiver of expectancy.
The name of "Purgatory" seemed to her to suggest some terrible sort of
place. Presently she saw the girls ahead, as they reached a particular
point, diverge sharply to the right with little cries and exclamations;
and when she advanced, she found herself on the edge of a chasm deeper
and darker than any of those which they had passed. It cut the cliff
from its highest point to the sea-level; and the wall-like sides receded
toward their base, leaving vaulted hollows beneath, into which the eye
could not penetrate. Only the ear caught the sound of thunderous murmurs
and strange gurgles and hisses of spray echoing from unseen recesses far
underground; and it was easy to imagine that these sounds came from some
imprisoned sea-creature, hemmed in by the tide, with no chance of
escape, and vexing the air with its groans.
Candace shrank away from the brink with a sensation of affright. "What
an awful place!" she said, drawing a long breath. "Do you suppose any
one ever fell down there?"
Every member of the party had some tradition of the sort to relate; but
none of the stories seemed to rest on a very secure foundation.
"Anybody who did must be killed, I should think. I don't wonder they
named it Purgatory," said Marian.
There was a fascination of horror about the spot. The girls lingered and
leaned over the brink and turned back, until Mrs. Gray had to call them
away; and they were all rather silent as they walked across the field to
their carriages. But the impression was soon dispelled; for as they
drove down the incline toward the second beach, they came upon an
unexpected scene of brilliant and animated life.
The tide and the wind together were bringing ashore quantities of
seaweed of the kind used in manuring fields, and all the farmers of the
neighborhood had assembled to secure this heaven-planted harvest. The
long curves of yellow sands which stretch from the Purgatory rocks to
Sacluest Point were alive with people. Teams of mild mouse-colored or
white oxen stood harnessed to heavy wagons, ready to drag the seaweed
home. Out in the plunging surf men were urging horses seaward, or
swimming them toward the shore, with long rake-like implements in their
wake, which gathered and bore along masses of the glittering brown and
rosy kelp. The splash and foam of the waves, the rearing horses, the
cries of the men and of the seagulls, who seemed to resent this
intrusion upon their haunts, made a vivid and fascinating picture, which
seemed in keeping with the beauty of sea and sky and the freshness of
the sun-warmed wind.
Then, passing the beach, the carriages drove along a smooth country road
for a short distance, and turned into a narrow lane running up hill,
which presently brought them to a small farm-house built on the very
edge of a ravine.
"Here we take to our feet," said Mrs. Gray, jumping out of the
wagonette.
The farmer and his wife, who seemed to be old acquaintances, came out to
speak to her. The baskets were collected, and the carriages sent back to
town, with orders to return to the same place at six o'clock.
"Oh, why six? why not stay and go home by moonlight?" urged Julia.
"My dear child, if you were in the habit of reading either the almanac
or the heavens, you would know that there will be no moon to-night till
after eleven o'clock," said her chaperone. "These roads will be as black
as pitch by half-past seven. Now, girls, each of you take your own shawl
and one of the baskets, and we will _descend_ into Paradise. It sounds
paradoxical, but you shall see."
She led the way down a steep narrow pathway on the hill-side into the
valley below. The path was overhung with trees. It was necessary to put
the boughs aside here and there; brambles reached from the thicket to
catch at the girls' skirts as they went by; but when they had passed
these trifling obstacles they found themselves safely on the level
floor of a little valley below.
Such a choice little valley! It was enclosed between the line of hill
from which they had just descended and another parallel line, whose top
was of solid granite and whose base was walled by trees. This double
barrier kept off all cold winds, and let the sunshine in from east to
west to flood and foster the valley growths. To the east the eye saw
only the winding of the leafy glade; the west stood open to the sea, and
gave a wide vista of glittering ocean and yellow surf-fringed beach.
The ground was carpeted with the softest grass. Thickets of wild roses
showed here and there a late blossom, and other thickets of alders
glittered with coral-red berries. Apple-trees loaded with small crimson
apples made spots of color on the hill-side. Wild-flowers grew thickly
in damp spots, and mosses clustered among the stones. Birds chirped and
flew from every bush and tree. All was shaded and peaceful and still.
Newport, with its whirl and glitter, seemed immeasurably far away. The
Paradise Valley might to all appearance have been hidden in the heart of
the Alleghanies, instead of being within three miles of the gayest
watering-place in America!
Mrs. Gray, with accustomed feet, led the way straight across the glade
to where an old cedar-tree stood commanding the oceanward view, with a
square block of stone at its foot.
"This is where we used always to come," she said, in a dreamy voice.
"What a delicious place!" cried Julia; "to think that I should have
spent seven summers in Newport and never have seen it before! What shall
we do with the baskets, Mrs. Gray, dear?"
"Put them here in the shade, and when you all feel hungry we will open
them."
"Hungry! why, I am as hungry as a wolf at this moment. I have a gift at
being ravenous. Girls, what do you say? Don't you agree with me that no
time is like the present time for lunch? Hold up your hands if you do."
"Very well," said Mrs. Gray, laughing, as every hand flew up. "We will
have lunch at once, then; but I warn you that there is a good deal to be
done first. There," pointing to a blackened spot against a rock, "is
where we always boiled our kettle. If some of you will collect some dry
sticks, we will see if the present generation is capable of making a
fire. I meanwhile will fetch the water."
She took a bright little copper kettle from one of the baskets, and
mounted the hill with elastic footsteps, calling out, as she went,--
"Make haste, and be sure that the sticks are dry."
"I'm not sure that I know a dry stick when I see it," whispered Maud
Hallett to Julia; but instinct, as often happens, took the place of
experience on this occasion, and Mrs. Gray found quite a respectable
pile of fuel awaiting her when she came back with her kettle full of
spring water.
"Now I will show you how to swing a pot over the fire," she said; and in
three minutes a rustic crane of boughs was constructed, the kettle was
hanging from it, and the wood piled artistically underneath. A box of
matches appeared from Mrs. Gray's pocket, which; as Marian said, was
every bit as good as the "Bag" of the Mother in the "Swiss Family
Robinson," and seemed to hold almost as great a variety of useful
things. Presently a gay little fire was crackling and snapping against
the face of the rock, and adding its smoke to the blackened stains left
by those other smokes of long ago. The girls stood about, watching the
blaze and listening for the first hiss of the kettle; but Mrs. Gray
informed them that there was still work to be done.
"I want some new potatoes to roast, for one thing," she said. "Maud and
Georgie, you might run up to the farm and ask Mr. Bacon to send me a
few, say eighteen or twenty large ones,--oh, and a couple of dozen fresh
eggs."
While they were absent on this errand, the other girls, under Mrs.
Gray's direction, unpacked the baskets and arranged their contents on
the rock beneath the cedar-tree. Mrs. Gray had taken pains to provide,
as far as was possible, the same sort of food which twenty-odd years
before it had been customary to take to picnics. Out of one basket came
a snow-white table-cloth and napkins; out of another, a chafing-dish, a
loaf of home-made brown bread, and a couple of pats of delicious
Darlington butter. A third basket revealed a large loaf of "Election
Cake," with a thick sugary frosting; a fourth was full of crisp little
jumbles, made after an old family recipe and warranted to melt in the
mouth. There was a pile of thin, beautifully cut sandwiches; plenty of
light-buttered rolls; and a cold fowl, ready carved into portions. By
the time that these provisions were unpacked, Maud and Georgie were seen
descending the hill at a rapid walk, which, at sight of the festive
preparations below, changed to what Julia Prime called "a hungry
gallop." By this time exercise and fresh air had made everybody so
desperately hungry that it seemed impossible to wait another moment; so,
while Mrs. Gray heated the coffee and dropped the large pink potatoes
into their bed of embers to roast, the younger members of the party fell
to work on the sandwiches, just to take off the fine edge of their
appetites till something better was ready.
When the coffee was hot, Mrs. Gray seated herself by the rock, lit the
lamp under her chafing-dish, dropped in a bit of butter, sprinkled with
pepper and salt, and proceeded to "scramble" a great dish of eggs. Did
any of you ever eat hot scrambled eggs under a tree when you were
furiously hungry? If not, you can form no idea of the pleasure which the
"Early Dippers" took in theirs. But it was not the eggs only; it was
everything: never was a luncheon so delicious, the girls protested. New
potatoes roasted in the ashes were a feast for the gods; and as for the
grandmother's cake with which the repast wound up, it baffled analysis
and description.
Mrs. Gray had made this cake with her own hands, "in order to carry out
the historic verities," as she said. It used to be part of the religion
of New England, especially of Connecticut, she explained; and she told
them how once, when she was a girl, making a visit to an old aunt in
Wethersfield, she had sat up nearly all night over a "raising" of
Election cake.
"But why did you do that?" asked the girls.
"Well, you see, my aunt had a sudden attack of rheumatism in her arm.
She was going to have the sewing-society meet at her house; and such a
thing as a sewing-society without Election cake was not to be dreamed
of. So I offered to make it; and I was bound that it should be good. The
peculiarity of this particular cake is that it must rise twice before it
is baked. You mix half the butter and sugar, and so on, with the yeast;
and when that is light, you put in the other half. Now, my first half
refused to rise."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, I sat beside it with one of Scott's novels, and I waited. It was
rather poky; for my aunt and her servant had gone to bed, and there were
queer creaks and noises now and then, as there always are in old houses.
Midnight struck, and one, and two, before the first bubbles appeared on
the surface of the cake; and I had fallen asleep over my book more than
once, before I could be quite sure that it was safe to stir in the
remainder of the spice and fruit, and go to bed. It was just four
o'clock when I finally put out my lamp; and very sleepy I was next day,
as you may imagine: but the cake turned out a great success, and I had
many compliments about it from the crack housekeepers in the
neighborhood, when they found that it was of my making."
"Wasn't it a dreadful trouble to have to make cake and things like that
at home?" asked Maud Hallett. "I think I would rather have had it not
quite so good, and got it from the confectioner's, than to have all that
fuss and bother."
"My dear, there _were_ no confectioners in those days except in two or
three of the largest cities, and none even then who would be thought
worth speaking of in our time. It was a case of home-made cake or none;
and though it was certainly a great deal of trouble, the cake was better
than any confectioner's cake that I ever tasted. People took great pride
in it; and recipes were copied and handed about and talked over with an
interest which would be impossible now-a-days, when everything comes to
hand ready made, and you can order a loaf of sponge cake by postal card,
and have it appear in a few hours, sent by express from central New
York, as some of us have been doing this summer."
The last crumb of the Grandmother's loaf had now disappeared, and Mrs.
Gray proposed that the girls should go for a scramble on the hills while
she repacked the baskets. But this division of labor was not permitted.
The girls insisted that they must be allowed to stay and help, and that
the scramble would be no fun at all without their matron. Julia seized
the coffee-pot and chafing-dish, and ran up the hill to rinse them at
the spring; the others collected forks and plates; and, many hands
making light work, in a very short while all was in order, and Mrs. Gray
in readiness to head the walking party.
She guided them to the top of the granite ridge which is visible from
Newport, and made them observe the peculiarity of the rock lines, and
the contrast between their bareness and the fertility of the little
intervening glades, for which they serve as a natural conservatory. Then
they dipped down into the thickets of the farther side, finding all
manner of ferns and wild-flowers and shy growing things, and so to the
sandy flats above the third beach, with their outlook across the
river-like strait to Little Compton and up the curving shore of Newport
Island, set with old farm-houses and solemn orchards of gnarled
apple-trees. From thence a short walk brought them to the end of the
ridge and to Bishop Berkeley's seat, with its ponderous projecting roof
of rocks; and they all sat down to rest just where he is said to have
sat with his books and pen, looking off toward far Bermuda, and dreaming
of the "star of empire." At that time no ugly brick chimneys or
artificial water-basin existed to mar the foreground; and nothing
sweeter or more peaceful could be imagined than the view from the rocky
shelf,--the breadth of ocean lit with clear sun, the shining capes to
right and left, the yellow sand-dunes and winding creek bordered with
brown grasses and patches of mallow or green rushes, and over all the
arch of blue summer sky. One or two carriages rolled along the distant
road as they sat there; but otherwise; the stillness was unbroken save
by the twitter of birds in the woods behind them, the chirp of
sand-peeps or the scream of gulls on the beach, and the soft
intermittent boom of the surf.
It had been a perfect afternoon, and a great success, all the picnickers
voted, as they parted in the dusk on the gravel-walk in front of Mrs.
Gray's door. Yet, after all, there was much to be said for Newport and
civilization, and they were not sorry to come back to them. It was all
very well to play at being old-fashioned for a day; but modern times
have their distinct charms and conveniences, and if the girls, on sober
second-thought, preferred their own share of the centuries to any other,
no one need count them blameworthy.