BRIC-A-BRAC.
ONE afternoon in August, Candace happened to be alone in the
drawing-room with Mrs. Gray when Mrs. Joy was announced.
"My dear," began that lady, after administering the two hard, rapid
little kisses which were her idea of a cordial greeting, "I've come to
see if you don't want to go down to the Point with me. There's an old
woman there, I hear, who has a lot of wonderful old china and some
mahogany arm-chairs which she wants to sell, and I'm going to look at
them. Do put your things on, and come. I hate to drive alone; and
there's no fun in this sort of expedition unless there's some one along
with you."
"You are very kind," said Mrs. Gray; "but I have promised Mr. Gray to go
with him at four to call on some friends who have just arrived at
Bateman's, so it's quite impossible for me to go with you. Who is the
old woman? Do you recollect her name?"
"Oh, Collishan or Collisham,--some name like that. She lives in Third
Street."
"It must be old Miss Colishaw. Are you sure she wants to sell her
china?" asked Mrs. Gray, who as a child had spent many summers in
Newport before it became a fashionable watering-place, and knew the
townspeople much better than did Mrs. Joy.
"I believe so; why shouldn't she? She's as poor as a church mouse, they
tell me; and what use can such things be to her? She would rather have
the money, of course. You can't go, then? I'm awfully sorry. But you'll
let me have one of the girls, dear, won't you? I absolutely can't do it
alone."
"Georgie has gone to drive with Berry, and I am sorry to say that
Gertrude is on the sofa with a headache."
"Well, here's Miss Candace; she hasn't a headache, I'm sure: perhaps she
will take pity on me.--You'll come, won't you? that's a dear. Run and
put on your hat. It's a splendid afternoon, and the Point's a very
interesting place if you happen to like old things. I don't care for
them myself; but they're all the fashion now, you know, and I dare say
you've caught the fever with the rest of the folks.--She can come, can't
she, dear Mrs. Gray?"
"I don't think she has any engagement," replied Mrs. Gray, trying not to
smile at the struggle with dismay that was going on in Candace's
countenance; "she likes driving, and it is a beautiful afternoon.--You
can go, can't you, Cannie?"
It was impossible on the spur of the moment to frame any excuse. Mrs.
Joy's eyes were full upon her; Cousin Kate gave no help; there seemed
nothing to do but to comply. Candace murmured something about
"Certainly,--very kind,--very happy," and went away to put on the red
hat, which went very well with the dress of red and white linen that she
happened to have on. It was a new one, which Mrs. Gray had bought for
warm days, and which Elizabeth had fitted and made. She wore a red rose
in her breast, and had a pair of gray gloves, and she looked very fresh
and girlish in this simple costume; but Mrs. Joy did not quite approve
of it.
"Why don't they fix the little thing up better?" she was thinking to
herself as she got into the carriage. "It's too bad. She'd be quite
nice-looking if she were a little more stylish. A light silk, now, or a
surah in two shades, like Berry's blue, would make quite a different
thing of her."
"You've been down on the Point before now, I suppose," she said as they
rolled smoothly along the Avenue.
"Yes, once I did. Cousin Kate took me with her one day to call on a
friend of hers, Miss Gisborne."
"Oh, yes, that queer old maid. I know they're very intimate, though I
confess I never could see what Mrs. Gray finds in her to like. She's so
eccentric, and so different from other people, and she wears such
extraordinary clothes."
"But she's very nice, and she tells the funniest stories, and her house
is ever so pretty," said Candace, rather at a loss to know what she
ought to say.
"Ah, indeed, is it? Inside, you mean. I don't think it amounts to much
outside, though people who have a mania for old houses rave about it, I
believe. I'm afraid I'm dreadfully modern in my tastes. I can't, for the
life of me, see any beauty in ceilings so low that you bump your head
against them, and little scraps of windows filled with greenish glass
that you can't see through, and which make you look like a mouldy
fright, if any one looks through from the outside."
"Miss Gisborne's window-panes _are_ green," admitted Candace. "Some of
them are so old that they have colors all over them like
mother-of-pearl,--red and blue and yellow. I liked to see them; and she
told us that last summer an architect who was going by the house
stopped and looked at them a long time, and then rang the bell and
offered to give her new sashes with great big panes in them if she would
exchange; but she wouldn't."
"The more fool she!" rejoined Mrs. Joy, frankly. "My! what a splendid
big house that is going to be! That's the kind of thing I like." And she
pointed to an enormous half-finished structure of wood, painted pumpkin
color and vermilion, which with its size, its cottage-like details, and
the many high thin chimneys which rose above its towering roofs, looked
a happy mixture of an asylum, a factory, and a Swiss chalet.
"But what a little bit of ground there is about it for such a big
house!" said Candace, whose country eyes were often struck by the
disproportion between the Newport edifices and the land on which they
stood.
"Yes; land is so dreadfully dear now that people can't afford large
places."
"I wonder why this is called 'Farewell Street,'" said Candace, looking
at the name painted on the corner of a street into which they were
turning.
"Some people say it's because this is the street by which funerals come
away from the Cemetery," replied Mrs. Joy. "There's the Reading-room
down there. You've seen that, I suppose. Mrs. Gray comes down to the
mothers' meetings sometimes, I know."
"Yes; and she has promised to take me with her some day, but we haven't
gone yet."
The carriage now turned into a narrow street, parallel with the Bay, but
not in sight of it; and Mrs. Joy indicated to her footman a low
dormer-windowed house, shabby with weather-stains and lack of paint,
whose only ornament was a large and resplendent brass knocker on its
front door.
"That's the place," she said. "Just look at that knocker. I know for a
certainty that lots of people have offered to buy it, and the absurd old
creature to whom it belongs won't sell. She declares that it's been
there ever since she can remember, and that it shall stay there as long
as she stays. So ridiculous, when things of the kind bring such an
enormous price now, and she really needs the money!"
The carriage now stopped. Mrs. Joy got out, and Candace with her. The
footman seized the shining knocker, and gave a loud rap.
"Go back to the carriage, Wilkins," said Mrs. Joy. Then she added in a
low voice to Candace: "Get close to the door, dear. These people are so
queer. I often have to push my way in, but I can always manage them in
the end."
The door was opened a very little way by a very little girl.
"Is Miss Collisham at home?" asked Mrs. Joy, at the same time inserting
her foot deftly between the door and the door-frame, to insure that the
door should not be closed against her.
"No, 'm," said the child. "She's gone out."
"Dear me, what a shame! where is she?" demanded the visitor, in an
aggrieved tone, as if Miss Colishaw had no right to be out when wanted
by the owner of such a fine equipage.
"She's over to old Miss Barnes's. She's sick," replied the little girl.
"Who's sick?--old Miss Barnes? And where does she live?"
"Just over there in First Street," said the child, staring at Candace,
whose big red hat had caught her fancy. "'Tain't but a little way," she
added.
"Ah, indeed!" said Mrs. Joy, pushing her way into the entry. "Well,
then, you just run over to this place, dear, and tell Miss Collisham
that there's a lady waiting to speak to her on business. Be quick,
that's a good little girl! This young lady and I will sit down here and
wait till you come back."
The small maiden looked uncertain and rather frightened; but Mrs. Joy
marched resolutely into the little parlor on one side of the hall, and
seated herself; so, after a pause of hesitation, the child seized a
sun-bonnet which lay on a chair, and set off at a run in the direction
indicated. The moment she was gone Mrs. Joy jumped briskly up.
"Such a piece of good luck!" she cried. "One so rarely gets the chance
to examine a place like this without the bother of a family standing by
to watch everything you do." Then, to Candace's horror and astonishment,
she walked straight across the room to a cupboard which her experienced
eye had detected in the side of the chimney, opened the door, and took a
survey of the contents.
"Nothing there," she remarked, locking it up, "only medicine bottles and
trash. Let's try again." She opened a closet door, and emitted a sigh of
satisfaction.
"These must be the very plates I heard of," she said. "Let me
see,--five, six, eight,--a complete dozen, I declare, and all in good
order,--and a platter, and two dishes! Well, this _is_ a find; and such
lovely china, too,--I must have it. Mrs. Kinglake's,--that she's so
proud of--isn't half so handsome; and _she_ has only eight plates. Now,
where are those chairs that they told me about, I wonder?"
Candace was sitting in one of the very chairs, as it proved; the other
Mrs. Joy presently discovered in a little back-room which opened from
the parlor, and which she lost no time in rummaging. She had just
unlocked another closet door, and was standing before it with a pitcher
in her hand, when the mistress of the house appeared,--a tall, thin,
rather severe-looking woman, whose cheeks still wore the fresh color
which cheeks retain till old age in the Narragansett country.
Candace, who had remained in her chair in a state of speechless and
helpless dismay, watching Mrs. Joy's proceedings through the open door,
saw her coming, but had no time to warn Mrs. Joy.
"You wanted to see me on business?" said Miss Colishaw, fixing a pair of
wrathful eyes on Mrs. Joy, the pitcher, and the open door of the closet.
"Oh, is it Miss Collisham?" replied that lady, neither noticing nor
caring for the very evident indignation of look and tone. "Your little
girl was so kind as to say that she would go and call you; and while we
were waiting we thought we would look at this curious old--"
"We! are there more of you, then?" demanded Miss Colishaw, glaring into
the closet as if she expected to see other audacious visitors concealed
in its depths. Finding none, she closed the door and turned its stout
wooden button with a good deal of energy.
"If you've any business with me, ma'am," she said, "perhaps you'll be so
kind as to step into the parlor and say what it is."
"Certainly," responded Mrs. Joy, airily. "But before we go do tell me
about this curious old jug. It's Spode, is it not? I'm almost sure that
it must be Spode, or some other of the very old English wares. Do you
know about it?"
"I know that it was my mother's yeast-pitcher, and that's all that I
care to know," replied Miss Colishaw, grimly, taking it out of her hand.
"I use it to keep corks in."
"Corks! How amusing! But it's really a nice old piece, you know. I'd
like to buy it if you don't care any more for it than that. You could
put your corks in something else just as well."
"It ain't for sale," said Miss Colishaw, decidedly, putting the pitcher
again into the closet, and leading the way into the parlor.
Candace, who had heard all, and was feeling awkward and guilty to the
last degree, rose as they entered, and courtesied to Miss Colishaw.
Perhaps her face showed something of the shame and annoyance with which
her heart was filled; for Miss Colishaw's iron expression relaxed a
little, and the "Good-afternoon" she vouchsafed her sounded a shade less
implacable.
"Oh, I forgot!" said Mrs. Joy, turning back to the rear room. "There's
this old chair, Miss Collisham."
"_Colishaw_'s my name," interposed her hostess.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure; so it is, of course. Well, as I was
saying, I noticed a delightful old arm-chair in this room,--ah, there
it is! It exactly matches some without arms which I bought at Sypher's.
If you'd like to part with this and the other in the front room,
Miss--Miss Collishall, I should be glad to buy them; and I'd give you a
very good price for them because of the match."
Miss Colishaw made no answer.
"Then there's some china that I _observed_ in another closet," went on
Mrs. Joy, returning again to the parlor, and opening the door of the
closet in question. "This red and blue, I mean. I see you have a good
deal of it, and it's a kind I particularly fancy. It's like some which
my dear old grandmother used to have." Mrs. Joy's tone became quite
sentimental. "I'd give almost anything for it, for the sake of old
associations. I wish you'd fix a price on this, Miss Collisham."
"Very well, then, I will,--one million of dollars," replied Miss
Colishaw, losing all command over her temper. "No, ma'am, I'm not
joking. One million of dollars!--not a cent less; and not even that
would pay me for my mother's china, and the chair my father used to sit
in when he was old. They ain't for sale; and when I've said that once,
I've said it for always."
"But, my dear Miss Collishall--"
"I ain't your dear, and my name ain't Collishall. Colishaw's what I'm
called; and it's a good old Newport name, though you don't seem to be
able to remember it."
"I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Joy, loftily. "It's rather an unusual
name, and I never happened to hear it till to-day. Then you don't care
to sell any of these old things?"
"No, ma'am, not one thing."
"Well, I must say that I consider you very foolish. This sort of old
stuff won't always be the fashion; and the minute the fashion goes out,
they won't be worth anything. Nobody will want to buy them."
"They'll be worth just the same to _me_ then that they are now,"
responded Miss Colishaw, more gently. She evidently saw the hopelessness
of trying to impress her point of view on Mrs. Joy.
"I dare say you have an attic-full of delightful old spinning-wheels and
things," remarked that lady, quick to mark the change of tone and hoping
to profit by it. She glanced toward the stair-foot as she spoke. Miss
Colishaw quickly stepped in front of the stairs, and stood there with
the air of an ancient Roman defending his household gods.
"Yes, ma'am, I _have_ an attic," she said dryly. "It's a very good
attic, and it's stuffed full of old things. There's a fender and two
pairs of fire-dogs--"
Mrs. Joy's eyes sparkled. "Oh, do let us go up and see it!" she cried.
"No, you don't!" said Miss Colishaw, taking a firmer grasp of the
baluster. "There's a wool-wheel, and a flax-wheel, and a winder, and
three warming-pans--"
"Dear me! What a delightful place!" put in Mrs. Joy.
"There's lots and lots of old truck," continued the implacable Miss
Colishaw. "It all belonged to my mother and my grandmother and her
mother before her. It's all up there; and there it's going to stay, if
all the rich ladies in Newport come down to try to wheedle me out of it.
Not a soul of them shall set foot in my attic."
"Well, I must say that I think you very foolish," said Mrs. Joy,
settling the wrists of her long gloves. "You're very poor, and these old
things are no use to you in the way you live; and you'd far better take
the money they would bring, and make yourself comfortable."
Miss Colishaw was now pale with anger.
"And who told you I was poor?" she demanded. "Did I ever come a-begging
to you? Did I ever walk into your house to pry and rummage, and tell you
that your things were no use? When I do you'll have a right to come here
and behave as you have, but not a minute before. Use! They _are_ of use.
They remind me of my family,--of the time I was young, when we all lived
in this house together, before Newport grew to be a fashionable
boarding-place and was spoiled for people of the old sort. If that's
all the business you have with me, madam, I think we have got through
with it."
"Really, there's no occasion for being so very rude," said Mrs. Joy.
"Rude!" Miss Colishaw gave an acrid laugh. "Mine ain't fashionable
manners, I know; but I guess they're about as good." She opened the
front door, and held it suggestively wide. Mrs. Joy swept through.
"Come, Miss Arden," she called back over her shoulder.
Candace could do nothing but look as apologetic as she felt. "I'm so
sorry," she murmured, as she passed Miss Colishaw.
"You haven't done anything. It's she who ought to be sorry," returned
Miss Colishaw, and banged the door behind her as she passed through.
"What a horrid old person!" said Mrs. Joy, who looked heated and vexed.
"I never met any one so impertinent. And such a fool, too! Why, she
takes in sewing, I am told, or makes cake,--some of those things. She's
as poor as Job's turkey; yet there she sits, with those valuable things
absolutely wasting in her poky old house, and refuses to sell them. I
wish I had spoken more strongly to her! I declare, I've a good mind to
go back and do it now. It is such perfect folly. She really ought to be
reasoned out of it."
"Oh, I wouldn't," urged Candace,--"I wouldn't go back. She was _so_
angry. I don't know what she would say if you did."
"My dear, I don't care a red cent what she says. All the old women on
the Point can't frighten _me_," declared Mrs. Joy. She reflected a
little; then she gave up her intention.
"After all, it isn't worth the trouble. She's just that sort of
obstinate old creature who will never listen to a word of advice. I
knew, the moment I looked at her, that nothing I could say would do any
good. Generally I can turn that kind of person round my finger. Why,
you'd be surprised if I told you of the bargains I have got out of old
garrets over on Conanicut and down the Island. But, really and truly,
I'm a little tired of it; and I never did care much for such old duds,
except that other people have them and it is the thing to have them. I'd
rather go to Howard's any day, and get a lot of nice French china.
Howard has such exquisite things always."
So the carriage was ordered to Coddington's Cove; and as they rolled
smoothly past the Maitland Woods, neither Mrs. Joy nor Candace guessed
that at that moment Miss Colishaw was sitting in her little back-room,
with the old yeast-pitcher in her lap, crying as if her heart would
break.
"It's bad enough to be old and poor and alone in the world," she sobbed
to herself, "without having fine stuck-up folks coming right in to sauce
you out of your senses." She wiped her eyes, and looked for a minute at
the pitcher.
"Betsey Colishaw, you're a fool!" she remarked aloud. "You might have
kept your temper. The woman didn't hurt you any. And there was that
young thing looking so kind of sorry. You might have said a pleasant
word to her, anyhow, even if you were all riled up with the other."
On sped the carriage, the lovely Upper Bay always in sight, until on the
curve of the long Coddington's Point it turned, and retraced its course
so as to strike Washington Street at the lower end. It was a delicious
afternoon. The tide was flowing freshly in, and the brisk northwest
breeze which met it sent little white-caps dancing all over the surface.
Crafts of all kinds were traversing the harbor: yachts and cat-boats
were out in numbers; schooners and barges sped up the bay, their sails
shining against the green Island shores; row-boats and steam-tugs were
crossing and recrossing between the city and the Fort and Torpedo
Station. A sharp double whistle announced the "Eolus" just started on
her up trip, with a long wake of creamy foam behind her. Fleets of white
clouds were drifting across the sky, which was bluer than the sea, like
ships of heaven, simulating and repeating the movements of those of
earth below. Every wharf and dock was full of people, fishing, idling,
or preparing to go out in boats. It was one of the moments when all
mankind seems to be a-pleasuring, and to have laid aside all memory of
the labors and the pains of this work-a-day world.
Mrs. Joy probably felt that she owed Candace some compensation for the
unpleasant quarter of an hour which she had led her into at Miss
Colishaw's; for she did her best to be entertaining, and to tell
everything that she herself knew about Washington Street and its
notabilities. She pointed out the two pretty old houses which have been
so cleverly modernized into comfort without any sacrifice of their
quaint exteriors; and the other and still finer one, once belonging to
the Hunter family, whose renovations have gone so far toward spoiling
it.
"It used to have a nice old staircase with a broad landing, and windows
over the water, and beautiful mahogany balusters," explained Mrs. Joy.
"But they've spoiled all that. They have painted over the elegant
satinwood and old cherry wainscotings, and taken out the secret
staircase; and now it's no better than any other square house with that
kind of roof."
"Was there a secret staircase?" cried Candace. "Oh, what a pity they
took it out! I always thought I should like to see one so much."
"I don't believe this would have interested you particularly. It was
only a kind of narrow back-stairs, which was not commonly used. They do
say, though, that ghosts used to be heard running up and down it quite
often."
"Ghosts! How strange! What sort of noise did they make? I suppose no one
ever saw them."
"One lady did."
"Really!" Candace's eyes were wide with attention.
"Yes. She was a friend of mine, and she used to board in the house
before it was altered. She heard the noises, which were a sort of
scratching and rustling, and she resolved to see what the ghost was
like; so she took a candle and followed it downstairs."
"How brave! And what was it like?"
"It was like--a rat! When she caught sight of it, it was sitting on the
edge of a pot of lard. It was picking its teeth, she said."
"A pot of lard!"
"Yes. The secret staircase led down to a sort of cellar, you see."
"Oh, Mrs. Joy, how disappointing!"
"I'm afraid ghost stories generally do turn out disappointing in the
end. Here we are, close to old Fort Greene. Would you like to jump out,
and run down to the water's edge and see it?"
"Oh, thank you, I should like it ever so much."
It was but a few steps from the carriage to the grassy top of the old
redoubt; but when Cannie had picked her way down the steep incline
toward the shore, she found herself entirely out of sight of the street
and the houses, out of sight of everything except the lovely sunlit Bay
which stretched before her. There was no sound except the plash of the
waves, and for a moment she felt as much alone as if she had been in
the depths of a country solitude. Then another sound came vaguely to her
ear,--a low murmur of conversation; and she became aware that the Fort
held other visitors besides herself. A rock hid the speakers from her,
whoever they might be; the voices were too indistinct for recognition,
and it was accident rather than intention which led her to diverge from
the path, as she returned to the carriage, in a manner which gave her a
view of the party.
There were three persons,--a man and two girls. The man was young and
good-looking; he was also well dressed, but there was something about
him which, even to Candace's inexperience, suggested the idea that he
was not quite a gentleman. One of the girls was standing with her back
to Candace, talking eagerly in a hushed voice; the other sat on a stone
in an attitude of troubled dejection. Her face was in shadow; but she
turned a little as Candace passed, and to her wondering surprise she saw
that it was no other than her cousin Georgie Gray.