CHANCES AND CHANGES
The Whitneys had moved in May, to the great regret of everybody. Their
family had changed considerably through the winter. Archibald, the
younger son, was married, and Mr. Theodore had an opportunity to go
abroad for a year.
The widowed cousin in Beach Street was married and went to Baltimore
with her two children. That left the two old aunts who owned the house
quite alone. Mrs. Whitney and Delia had taken turns staying with them.
The children were all sorry to lose Nora and Pussy Gray.
"People say it's bad luck to move a cat," said Nora, in her sententious
fashion; "but we don't believe in it. We've moved him twice already. And
you just put a little butter on his feet--"
"Butter!" interrupted the children, amazed.
"Why, yes. That's to make him wash his paws. If you can make him wash
and purr in a new place, he will stay. And then you must take him round
and show him every room and every closet. And you must come down real
often, Hanny. There's the lovely little park, you know. Aunt Boudinot
has a key. They're such nice queer old ladies, you'll be sure to like
them."
"I don't always like queer people," said Hanny, rather affronted.
"I don't mean cross or ugly. Aunt Clem has soft down all over her
cheeks, and such curly white hair. She's awful old and wrinkled and
deaf; but Dele can make her hear splendid. Aunt Patty isn't so old. Her
real name is Patricia. And Aunt Clem's is Clementine."
The children were not alone in regret. Ben was almost broken-hearted to
lose Mr. Theodore. The boy and the man had been such good friends. And
Ben was quite resolved, when he had served his apprenticeship, and was
twenty-one, to be a newspaper man and travel about the world.
Delia had told them quite a wonderful secret the day she came up after
some articles her mother had left. She had written some verses, and had
them printed unknown to any one. The. had said they were very fair. And
she had actually been paid for a story; and the editor of the paper
offered to take others, if they were just as good. She had changed her
check for a five-dollar goldpiece, which she carried about with her for
luck. She showed it to them; and they felt as if they had seen a
mysterious object.
Hanny was greatly amazed, puzzled as well. That a grown man like Mr.
Theodore should write grave columns of business matters for a newspaper
had not surprised her; she had a vague idea that people who wrote
verses and stories must needs be lovely. She pictured them with floating
curls and eyes turned heavenward for inspiration. It seemed to her that
beautiful thoughts must come from the clouds. Then their voices should
be soft, their hands delicate. And the divine something that no
dictionary has ever yet found a word to describe must surround them.
There was a fair-haired girl at school who had such an exquisite smile.
And Daisy Jasper! For her to write verses would be the supreme fitness
of things.
But careless, laughing, untidy Dele Whitney, neither fair nor dark
and--yes, freckled, though her hair was more brown than red now. And to
laugh about it, and toss up her goldpiece and catch it with her other
hand!
"Handsome!" Ben ejaculated when Hanny confided some of her difficulties
to him in a very timid fashion. "Great people don't need to run to
beauty. Still, Mr. Audubon had a lovely face, to my thinking," he added,
when he saw how disappointed the little girl looked. "And, oh! see here,
Mr. Willis is handsome and Gaylord Clark, and there is that picture of
Mrs. Hemans--"
The little girl smiled. Dr. Hoffman had given Margaret a beautifully
bound copy of Mrs. Hemans's poems, and the steel engraving in the front
_was_ handsome. She had already learned two of the poems, and recited
them at school.
"And I don't think Delia so very plain," continued Ben. "You just watch
what beautiful curves there are to her lips, and her brown eyes lighten
up like morning; and when they are a little sad, you can think that
twilight overshadows her. I like to watch them change so. I'm awfully
sorry they're gone away. If we _could_ have another big brother, I'd
like it to be Mr. Theodore."
Hanny used to hope when she was as big as Margaret she would be as
pretty. She didn't think very much about it, only now and then some of
the cousins said,--
"Hanny doesn't seem to grow a bit. And how very light her hair keeps!
You'd hardly think she and Margaret were sisters."
The little girls drew mysteriously closer after Nora went away. They all
kept on at the same school, and played together. But dolls and tea
parties didn't appear to have quite the zest of a year ago.
One Saturday, Mr. Underhill took Hanny down to Beach Street. They were
all delighted to see her, even to Pussy Gray, who came and rubbed
against her, and stretched up until he reached her waist, and, oh, how
he did purr!
"I think he's been kind of homesick for the children," remarked Nora,
gravely, as if she might be quite grown up. "You see he _was_ spoiled
among you all. I was a little afraid at first that he would run away."
"Did you put butter on his paws?"
"Oh, yes. He licked them, and then washed his face; but he kept looking
around and listening to strange noises. He'd sit on the window-sill and
watch the children, and cry to go out. But he doesn't mind now."
He had a chair and a cushion to himself, and looked very contented.
They went upstairs to see the old ladies. Aunt Clem had a round, full,
baby-face, for all she was so old. Nora said she was almost ninety. Aunt
Patty was twenty years younger, quite brisk and bright, with wonderful
blue eyes. They had the front room upstairs, and their bed stood in the
alcove. The furnishing looked like some of the country houses. Mrs.
Whitney had the back room, and Nora shared it with her. There were great
pantries between with shelves and drawers, and in one a large chest,
painted green, that Nora said was full of curiosities.
Delia's room was up on the top floor. She had made it oddly pretty.
There was a book-case and the small desk. They had used, ever so many
pictures, and a pot of flowers on a little table. It had quite an
orderly aspect.
"And I have another five-dollar goldpiece," laughed the girl. "I shall
be a nabob presently. I ought to invest my money; but it is so
comforting to look at, that I hate to let it go."
Then Hanny had to tell them about the new neighbours. They were
foreigners, by the name of Levy; and there were four grown people, five
little children, and two servants. Mr. Levy was an importer, and they
all seemed jolly and noisy, but did not talk English, so there could
not be any friendliness, even if they cared.
"We shall soon be a foreign city," declared Mrs. Whitney. "It's
astonishing how the foreigners do come in! No wonder people have to move
up-town."
Nora and Hanny went over in the Park after dinner. But it wasn't much
fun to be alone; so they walked up and down the street, and then Delia
took them in the stage down to the Battery. People were promenading in
gala attire. Saturday afternoon had quite a holiday aspect. There was a
big steamer coming up the bay. The Whitneys had heard twice from Mr.
Theodore, who was now going over to Ireland.
"Tell Ben that The. is going to write to him," remarked Dele. "He said
so in his last letter."
When they returned to Beach Street, they found Doctor Joe waiting for
Hanny. But Ben said afterward he wished he had gone instead, he was
quite longing to see them all. And he was delighted with the prospect of
a letter.
Whether they would have liked their new neighbours or not, if they could
have talked to them, made little difference to Mrs. Underhill. Margaret
was to be married in the early autumn. Dr. Hoffman had bought a house
not very far from Stephen's, in a new row that was just being finished.
He wouldn't like it to stand empty, and he did not want to rent it for a
year, and perhaps have the pretty fresh aspect spoiled. And then it was
better for a doctor to be married and settled.
Father Underhill sighed. Mrs. Underhill said sharply that she couldn't
get ready; but for all that, pieces of muslin came into the house for
sheets and pillow-cases, and Margaret was busy as a bee.
Another trouble loomed up before the anxious housekeeper. A sprightly
widower belonging to the same church as Martha, came home with her every
Sunday night, and class-meeting night, which was Thursday.
"You ought to consider well," counseled Mrs. Underhill. "A stepmother is
a sort of thankless office. And two big boys!"
"Well--I'm used to boys. They're not so bad when you know how to take
them, and they'll soon be grown up. Then he's quite forehanded. He owns
a house in Stanton Street, and has a good business, carting leather in
the Swamp."
The Swamp was the centre for tanneries and leather importers and
dealers, and it still keeps its name and location.
"I don't know what I shall do!" with a heavy sigh.
"You'll have good long warning. I wouldn't be mean enough to go off and
leave you with all this fuss and worry on your hands. And, land sakes!
his wife hasn't been dead a year yet. I told him I couldn't think of
such a thing before Christmas, anyhow. But he has such a hard time with
both grandmothers. One comes and fixes things her way, and gets tired
and goes off, and then the other one comes and upsets them. It's just
dreadful! I do believe a man needs a second wife more than he did the
first. They're poor sticks to get along alone when they've had some one
to look after things. And when this affair is over, you'll kind of
settle down, and the family seem smaller. Just don't fret a bit, for the
whole thing may fall through."
"I shouldn't want you to give up the prospect of a good home," rather
reluctantly.
"Well, that's what I've thought about. And I ain't a young girl with
years of chances before me. But I'm not going to be caught too easy,"
and Martha tossed her head.
Ben was very much interested in the war that was going on now in good
earnest. The Americans had taken Fort Brown, crossed to the Rio Grande
and driven the Mexicans from Matamoras. A plan had been laid to attack
Mexico on the Pacific side, and to invade both Old and New Mexico. Santa
Anna had escaped from his exile in Cuba, and was longing to reconquer
Texas. The whole question seemed in great confusion; but there was a
great deal of enthusiasm among some of the younger men, who thought war
a rather heroic thing, and they were hurrying off to the scene of
action. There was a spirit of adventure and curiosity about the
wonderful western coast.
George Horton used to talk all these matters over with Ben, when he came
down on his occasional visits. He was a fine big fellow now, but he was
getting tired of farming. It was quite lonely. Uncle Faid read the
county paper, but was not specially interested in the questions of the
day; and Retty and her husband never went beyond stock, and the crops,
and the baby. Ben kept his brother supplied with books that opened a
wider outlook for him, and made him a little discontented with the
humdrum round.
"I wouldn't mind it if you were all there," he would say. "After all the
city is the only real live place! I've half a mind to come down and
learn a trade. Only I _do_ like the wide out of doors. I couldn't stand
being cooped up."
"And I'm going round the world some day," returned Ben.
"I'd like to go out with Fremont. The other side of our country seems so
curious to me, I want to see what it is like. The other side of the
Rocky Mountains! It's almost like saying the Desert of Sahara," and the
young fellow laughed.
There was the usual spring and summer dress-making for the ladies. Even
Miss Cynthia, looking sharply at Hanny, said:--
"I don't see what's the matter with that child! I supposed she'd have
everything outgrown, and some of her last summer's skirts won't need any
letting down. They're wearing them shorter now; and you know, Cousin
Underhill, you would have them made rather long last summer."
The little girl sometimes felt quite sore on the point. The Deans were
getting to be tall girls, and even Daisy Jasper had taken to growing.
And her lovely curls were quite long again. She certainly was very
pretty.
But when Hanny took this trouble to her father, he only laughed and
squeezed her in his arms, and sometimes rubbed her soft cheeks with his
beard, his old trick, as he said:--
"But I want to keep you my little girl. I don't want you to grow big
like Margaret. For if you should, some nice fellow will come along and
insist upon carrying you off, and then I should lose you. Whatever would
I do?"
That view of the matter was alarming to contemplate. She clung closer to
her father, and said, in a half-frightened tone, that she never would be
carried off. It quite reconciled her to the fact of not growing rapidly.
The girls all went down to see Nora Whitney one Saturday in June. It
looked rather threatening in the morning, but a yard or two of blue sky
gave them hope. Mr. Underhill took them all in the family carriage. Oh,
how lovely the little park looked with its soft grass and waving trees!
And in the area windows there were pots of flowers: ten-weeks' stock,
and spice pinks, and geraniums that were considered quite a rarity.
Nora was out on the front stoop with Pussy Gray, who arched his back and
waved his tail with an air of grandeur, and then sat down on the top
step and began to wash his face, while Father Underhill was planning to
take them all for a drive late in the afternoon.
Pussy Gray watched his little mistress out of one green eye, and washed
over one ear. He was just going over the other when Nora caught him,
"Why do you stop him?" asked Daisy.
"Because he wants to make it rain and spoil our day. Pussy Gray--if you
do!"
"But it wouldn't really?"
"Well, it's a sure sign when he goes over both ears. When I don't want
it to rain, I stop him."
"But suppose he does it when he is by himself?"
"I think sometimes he runs away and does it on the sly. Aunt Patty says
it is as sure as sure can be."
Pussy Gray winked at Hanny, as if he said he didn't believe in signs,
and that he should wash over both ears when he found a chance.
Dele was bright and merry. She "bossed" the house, for Mrs. Whitney had
subsided into novel-reading again, and now took books out of the
Mercantile Library. A woman was doing the Saturday morning's work, and
scrubbing the areas. After that she went over the front one with a red
wash that looked like paint, and freshened it. The girls took a run in
the yard. There was a long flower-bed down the side of the fence, and at
one end all manner of sweet herbs, lavender, thyme, and rosemary, sweet
verbena, and then tansy and camomile, and various useful things.
"Camomile tea is good for you when you lose your appetite," said Nora;
"but it's awful bitter. Aunt Patty cuts off the leaves and blossoms of
the sweet herbs, and sews them up in little bags of fine muslin, and
lays them among the clothes and the nice towels and pillow-cases. And
it makes them all smell just delicious."
The air was full of fragrance now. They played tag around the
grass-plot. Daisy sat on the stoop and said she didn't mind, though she
gave a little sigh, and wondered how it would feel to run about. The
little lame girl in Houston Street could get over the ground pretty
rapidly. She had interested Doctor Joe in her, and he had hunted up the
child's mother, who wouldn't listen to anything being done for her.
"Sure," said she, "if it's the Lord's will to send this affliction to
her, I'll not be flying in the face of Providence. She can manage, and
she's impident enough now. There'd be no livin' with her if she had two
good legs. And I'll not have any doctor cuttin' her up into mince-meat."
Pussy Gray came and sat beside Daisy with a flick of the ear and turn of
the tail, as if he said: "We'll let those foolish girls fly about and
squeal and laugh and get half roasted, while we sit here at leisure and
enjoy ourselves."
Afterward they swung, and then went up to Nora's play-house. Aunt Patty
had given her a rag doll that she had when she was a little girl, and it
was over fifty years old. It was undeniably sweet, because it had been
steeped in lavender, but it was not very pretty. There was a curious
little wooden cradle Aunt Patty's brother had made. All the children's
story-books were up here in a case Dele had made out of a packing box.
They thought after a little they would rather go over in the Park. Nora
took the key. It was very pleasant; and they watched the carts and
waggons going by, and the pedestrians. Presently a young woman unlocked
the gate at the lower end, and came in with two little children rather
queerly dressed. She had a white muslin cap on her head, very high in
front. We often see them now, but then they were a rarity. The little
children had very black eyes and curly black hair, and stared curiously
at the group of girls.
"They're French," explained Nora. "They live a few doors down below. And
they can't speak a word of English, nor the maid either, though we do
sometimes talk a little. There are two quite big boys, then the mother
and father, and the grandmother and grandfather. The old people come out
and sit on the stoop, now that it is warm. He reads French books to her,
and she makes lace. About four o'clock, the servant brings out a
tea-table, and they have some tea and little bits of cake. They do it
all summer long, Aunt Patty says, and the old lady is beautiful,--just
like a picture."
The girls walked down a little. The maid smiled and nodded. The children
made queer stiff bows, both alike, though they were girl and boy; but
they looked half afraid. The maid said "Bon jour" to Nora, who replied
with a longer sentence. And then she began to explain in English and her
scanty French that these were her friends, and that they were studying
French in school. The Deans talked a little; but Hanny was too shy, and
the conversation would have been very amusing to a spectator. But just
when it was getting quite exciting, and they couldn't make each other
understand at all, Hanny caught sight of Delia waving her handkerchief
from the front stoop, which was a signal that dinner was ready, so they
all curtsied and said good-bye.
Afterward Aunt Patty showed them her "treasures," some very odd dishes
and pitchers that were more than a hundred years old, and some jewels,
and the gown Aunt Clem had worn to Washington's Inauguration, and told
them about Mrs. Washington and going to the old theatre in John Street.
She had some beautiful combs, and buckles that her father used to wear,
and kid-gloves that had long arms and came most up to her shoulders. She
told the children so many entertaining stories that before the afternoon
seemed half gone Mr. Underhill came for them. Nora wanted to go also.
"You can take her home with you," said Dele; "and I'll come up for her
this evening. I'm just wild to see Mrs. Underhill and the boys. I hope
the children have had a good time. I've hardly had a glimpse of them
except at dinner."
They crossed the ferry and went over to Jersey. It was still pretty wild
and country-like, but the trees and shrubs and bloom everywhere lent it
a glory. The children chatted merrily, and all agreed the day was too
short.
"But you can come again," said Nora.
When the Deans sprang out, Charles Reed stood by the stoop talking to
Mr. Dean. Nora said the place hadn't changed a bit, and she wished she
was back again. There were nothing but old people in Beach Street, and
she had no little girls to play with. She didn't know what she should do
when vacation came.
They were just through supper when Delia arrived, and she insisted upon
sitting down at the table and having a cup of Mrs. Underhill's good tea.
She was her olden jolly self, and had her brother's letters almost by
heart. She thought them a great deal brighter and more amusing than
those published in the "Tribune."
"But I like those," exclaimed Ben; "I'm cutting them out for a
scrap-book. I just wish I was with him!"
"And he would like to have you," returned Dele. "I don't believe he ever
took so much of a fancy to any one as he did to you."
They talked books a little. No, Dele had not written any more stories.
The old ladies took a good deal of her time. And she had been studying.
She wished she were going to school again; she should appreciate it so
much more. She was reading the English essayists and Wordsworth, and
learning about the great men and women.
Ben walked out to the Bowery to put them in the stage; and Dele said,
rather ruefully:--
"I just wish we could study and read together. I miss The. so much, I
could always ask him questions; but now I have to look up everything
myself, and it's slow work."
"Dele has quite a family on her hands," said John, when she had gone.
"She's getting to be rather good-looking, too. Her eyes are very fine."
"But she doesn't grow much tidier," returned his mother.
"Her hair is curly and always looks tumbled," was the half-apologising
rejoinder. "But she is very bright, and she'll do something with
herself."
Mrs. Underhill glanced sharply at her son. There was no danger in Ben
being a little soft about Delia Whitney; but she was surprised at John's
commendation.
Doctor Joe walked down to see how his patient had stood the day. Her
mother had been almost afraid to have her go, lest "something might
happen." She was very tired, of course, and glad to take to the
reclining chair with all the pillows; but her eyes were in a glow, and
her cheeks a pretty pink that Mrs. Jasper was quite sure was undue
excitement.
"It was just splendid," Daisy declared; "Mamma, I do want to be like
other girls, and see what is going on in the world. The old ladies were
so quaint; and it was wonderful to have seen President Washington and so
many famous people. And what interested me, was her talking about them
just like ordinary persons. And Nora is so amusing. I want to learn
French so that I can really talk it. You can't imagine how funny it was
in the Park, trying to make each other understand. Oh, there are so many
things I want to learn."
"There will be time enough," said her mother.
When Doctor Joe took her hand and bent over her to say good-night, she
whispered softly,--
"I _did_ try to forget my own misfortune, and I was very happy. I am
going to be brave. It is such a lovely world; and it is such a splendid
thing to be happy. Doctor Joe, you are my Mr. Greatheart."