"It is right to pray for the things we want, but to be resigned if God doesn't see fit to give them to us."
"Then the prayers are thrown away. And do you know just what God is?"
"My dear!" in a shocked tone, "no one can tell. It is one of the mysteries to be revealed when we see Him as He truly is at the last day. A little girl cannot understand it. I do not, and I have sought the truth many years. Now I am trusting, because I feel assured He will do what is right. Tell me something about your life with your father."
"Oh, things were so different there. Houses, and there were always servants, so you didn't ever need to fan yourself. Babo and Nalla were always about. Babo used to take me out in a chair that had curtains around and a big umbrella overhead. Sometimes Chandra went with him. And the streets were funny and crooked, and houses set anywhere in them. I liked going up in the mountains best, it wasn't so hot. And the trees were splendid, and beautiful vines and flowers of all sorts. Mrs. Dallas went the last time. She had two girls and a big boy. I did not like him.He would pinch my arms and then say he didn't. I liked the girls, one was larger than I. And we swung in the hammocks the vines made. Only I was afraid of the snakes, and there are so many everywhere. Alfred liked to kill them."
She shuddered a little and glanced about the room with dilated eyes.
"They come into your houses sometimes. Nalla used to catch them and sling them hard on the ground, and that stunned them. And we used to make wreaths of the beautiful flowers. Agnes Dallas knew so many stories about fairies, little people who come out at night, when the moon shines, and dance round in rings. They slip in houses, and the nice ones do some work, but the wicked ones sour the milk, and spoil the bread, and hide things. And, sometimes, they change children into a cat, or a rabbit, or something, and it is seven years before you can get your own shape again. Do you have them here?"
"There is no such thing. That is all falsehood," was the decisive comment.
"But—Agnes knew of their coming. And she had seen them dancing on the grass. But if you speak or go near them, they disappear."
Miss Winn came out to the sitting-room.
"Oh, you are here," she said. "I thought you were out of doors. You ought to take a run. What a wonderful garret you have upstairs, Miss Eunice. But I am afraid we shall fill it up sadly. There wereso many things to bring. I do not believe we shall find use for half of them. I want a few mouthfuls of fresh air. I suppose I can walk up the street without danger of getting lost if I turn square around when I return? Don't you want to come, Cynthia?"
Cynthia was ready.
"You had better wrap up warm. It gets chilly towards night."
"It was a long stretch on shipboard. We stopped at several ports, however. But I am glad to be on solid ground. Come, child."
She had brought down a wrap and hood. Cynthia was glad of something new, though she liked Miss Eunice.
They turned a rather rounding corner and went on to a sort of market-place, where sweepers were gathering up the débris after the day's sales. They glanced about the city. Salem had made rapid strides since the grand declaration of peace, but at the end of the century it was far from the grandeur the next twenty years would give it.
"There are no palaces and no temples," said Cynthia, rather complainingly. "And how white all the people are. Do you suppose they have been ill?"
"Oh, no; they have been housed up during the winter, and the climate is cold. And, you know, they are of a different race. This part, New England, was settled mostly from old England."
"Are you going to like it, Rachel?"
"Why—I don't quite know. You can't tell at once about a strange place."
"Miss Eunice is nice. But she has some queer ideas."
"Or is it a little girl, named Cynthia Leverett, who has queer ideas that she has brought largely from a far-off country?"
The child laughed. Then she saw some girls and boys playing tag in the street, laughing and squealing when they were caught, or when they narrowly missed. And some empty carts went rattling by, with now and then a stately coach, or a man on horseback, attired in the fashion of the times. The sun suddenly dropped down.
"We had better turn about," declared Miss Winn. "It will not do to be late for supper."
The walk had not been straight, but her gift of locality was good. They passed the market-place again, made the winding turn, and found the lighted lamps gave the house a cheerful aspect.
Miss Eunice had put away her knotting and begun to lay the cloth when Elizabeth entered, her face clouded over.
"I'm sure I don't see why Providence should send this avalanche upon us to destroy our peace and comfort," she began almost angrily. "The Thatchers' visit was pleasant, though that made a sight of clearing up afterward. And we had hardly gotten over that when this must happen. I was going to put thatwhite quilt in the frame, but the garret will be turned upside down for no one knows how long! Such a mess of stuff, and more coming. There's enough in this house without any more being added to it."
"But it was natural Captain Anthony should want his child to have something belonging to him, maybe her mother, too. And goodness knows there's room enough in the garret. It isn't half full with his traps, and there's some of ours. And there's the loft over the kitchen."
"Well, we want some place to dry clothes in rainy weather. And when I sweep I want to move things about, not sweep just in front of them, and have the dust settle in rows behind. Chilian didn't know what a lot there would be, though he might have looked it over on the ship. When it is all through, the house will need a thorough cleaning again. And whatdoyou think, Eunice! She's going to put the child in that big bed and she sleep in the little one! The best room in the house! I'm sorry they have it."
Eunice was roused a little.
"That doesn't seem the proper thing. But maybe she thought—I do suppose the child has had the best of everything."
"I don't believe in pampering children. And I don't altogether like the woman. I do wonder if we will have to keep her. A girl of nine is old enough to look after herself, and begin to keep her own clothes and her room in order."
"It's been very different out in India. And I do suppose Anthony was over-indulgent, she having no mother to train her."
"We'll have our hands full, Eunice, when the tussle really begins."
"Oh, I do not think she will be hard to manage. She seems rather shy——"
"Those eyes of hers ain't so deep for nothing. She hasn't the Leverett mouth, and those full lips are wilful and saucy, generally speaking. Letty Orne was a pretty girl, as I remember. Strange, now, when you come to think of it, that the child should have been born in this house. But she'll never have any beauty to spare, that's certain. For the land sakes, Eunice, look at the time and you dawdling over the table. I'm tired as a dog after a long race."
Elizabeth dropped into a chair. In her secret heart Eunice knew that when her sister was tired out she was fractious; she loved her too well to say cross words.
"Shall we have fish or cold meat?" she asked mildly.
"Oh, I don't care! Well, fish. There will be meat enough for to-morrow's dinner if it isn't meddled with."
The fish was salted down in the season, soaked a little, laid in spiced vinegar for a few hours, cut in thin slices, and was very appetizing. Eunice went about with no useless flutter, she stepped lightly andnever made any clatter with dishes. The tea china, thin and lovely, the piles of white bread and brown, molasses gingerbread and frosted sugar cake, stewed dried fruit and rich preserves, made an inviting-looking table. Chilian came in and made himself neat, as usual, then the guests.
Cynthia was very quiet. Twice Miss Winn answered a question for her. She scarcely ate anything. Then she said wearily:
"I am so tired and sleepy. Can't I go to bed?"
Miss Winn and her charge went down to the ship the next morning with Chilian Leverett. Elizabeth inspected the rooms. She was not meddlesome, nor over-curious generally, but with a feeling of possessorship and responsibility in the house, she wanted to know how far she could trust the newcomers. The beds were well made, but closets and drawers were rather awry. She did begrudge the best chamber, and wondered whether it would not be possible to change them about presently. True, they seldom had guests.
Then a new load of boxes came, with two trunks, and several more pieces of furniture. The latter were left standing in the hall. The garret had been a sort of fetich with Elizabeth. There were dried herbs hanging to the rafters in their muslin bags, so as not to make a litter and mostly for the fragrance. There was not a cobweb anywhere. On one side of the sloping roof were ranged their own trunks and chests, two of cedar, in which woollen clothes and blankets passed the summer, securely hidden from moths. In one gable were miscellaneous household articles, a fewchairs good enough to be repaired, a more than century-old cherry table, spinning-wheels, a bedstead piled high with a feather bed, and numberless pillows, for Elizabeth thought it her duty to make a new pair every year, as they kept a flock of geese that spent their days in a small cove on South River.
The interloper boxes could make a row down the cleared side. That left the centre, the highest part, clear for drying clothes, which probably would not be needed until winter. But careful Elizabeth planned ahead for every emergency. True, the emergency did not always fit the plans, but it gave her tense spirit a rest.
The Salem air was fragrant, with all manner of sweet springtime odors—the ship was not. Things that had been stored in the hold came up with a certain old smell and a little mustiness. First, Cynthia held her nose and made a wry face. But it was delightful to run about and exchange greetings with the sailors, who seemed merry enough over their work.
"Well, missy," said the captain, catching her in his arms as she ran, "how do you like living on dry land? You haven't lost your sea legs yet, that's plain."
"It's very queer. There are just tiny leaves coming out on the trees, and a few curious white flowers, little bells, coming up in the garden, and crocus in pretty colors. But I don't like it very much. Miss Eunice is nice and has such a soft voice. And the houses are so funny and shut up, and there are no servants about,nor any one praying on the corners and holding out a basin for rice; and no piles of fruit for sale."
"No; this isn't the time of year for fruit;" and there was a funny twinkle in the captain's eye. "Just wait until August and September."
Cynthia considered. "That is three and four months away. Father will be here then;" with a child's confidence.
"And there are berries earlier, and cherries, and then some sugar pears. Oh, you will be feasted. And you'll like Cousin Leverett, when you come to get acquainted with him. You will go to school, too, and know lots of little girls. You won't want to go back to India."
"Unless father shouldn't come. Oh, he surely will, because, you see, I'm praying ever so many times a day."
"That's right;" with a cheerful nod.
"When are you going back?"
"In about a month, I calculate."
She sighed and looked out over the great stretch of waters. "What is that long point down there?" she asked suddenly.
"That's Salem Neck, and there is Winter Island. They are always building ships down there and turn out some mighty fine ones. And fishing; there's a sight of cod, and haddock, and mackerel, and all the other fish in season. They salt them and take them half over the world. And there's a rope-walk you'denjoy seeing, leastways you would if you were a boy. And there are some stores. We have lots of goods consigned to the Merrits. Salem's a big place, now I tell you!"
"Bigger than Calcutta?"
"Sho' now! Calcutta can't hold a candle to it."
The captain's cabin was being dismantled for repairs and cleaning. She glanced in it. How many days she had spent here! Everything was in disorder, yet there was a certain home remembrance that touched the child's heart, and brought tears to her eyes.
"Oh, are you here?" It was Chilian Leverett's voice, and he held out his hand. She looked so bright now and there was a little color in her cheeks, an eager interest about her. He was afraid she was going to be a rather dull child.
"Yes; it's almost like home, you know; only when we lived here it wasn't so topsy-turvy."
"Did you feel queer when you woke up this morning?" thinking it his duty to smile.
"Oh, I didn't know where I was. It seemed as if I was being smothered in something. And it didn't toss and rock. Oh, there were some birds singing." She laughed gleefully. "Then I saw Rachel, and it came to me in little bits, but it seems such a long, long while since yesterday morning."
"Where is Miss Winn? I want to see her a moment."
"She has been looking over some things as they came up from the hold," said the captain. "Oh, here she is!"
Chilian took her aside for a moment. It was necessary for him to go in to Boston and he wanted to make a few suggestions, so that any of Elizabeth's strictures might not offend. He began to perceive the child and her attendant were not exactly welcome guests.
"How long do you suppose she will stay?" Elizabeth had asked of him rather sharply. "For, when we are once settled, I do not think there will be any real necessity for keeping Miss Winn."
She had been considering it at intervals through the night, and was impatient for what she called an understanding.
Chilian had often given in to her on points that did not really affect him. He hated to bicker with any one, especially women.
"My dear Elizabeth," he began, "the child has been consigned to my charge until she comes of age. I should not have chosen the guardianship, but it seems there is no other relative who can attend to all matters as well. She is to be no dependent, only for whatever love we choose to give her. Anthony has made an ample allowance for her, indeed such a generous one that it irks me to accept it. If it makes too much work for you and Eunice, we will have some help. Miss Winn is to look after her, that was her father'swish; so there will be no change. Of course, it alters our quiet mode of living, but perhaps we were getting in too much of a rut and needed some shaking up;" smiling gravely. "Try and make it as comfortable for them as you can. There is plenty of room in the house for us all."
Then there was nothing before them but acceptance. In a way she had known it, but there was a vague idea seething in her mind that if the maid could be dismissed, she and her sister could train the child in a better manner, and instil some Salem virtues in her that yet held a little of the old Puritanic leaven; like industry, economy, forethought. She still believed in the strait and narrow pathway.
That Chilian should take the matter so philosophicallydidsurprise her. To him there seemed something so pitiful in the hope held out to the little girl, yet after all could it have been managed any more wisely? She would not know what the acute pang of death was. And her longing would become less, there would be a vagueness in her sorrow that would help to heal it. This would be her home. He had been living all these years for himself, was it not time that he espoused some other motive? That he began to be of real service?
He finished his talk with Miss Winn. Cynthia was hopping over some coils of cable, and he watched her agile, graceful movements, half smiling.
"Come and tell me good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "I am going in to Boston."
"In a vessel?"
"No; though I suppose that would be possible. I am late for the stage, and must go on horseback."
"Where is Boston?"
"Oh, some eighteen miles—rather southerly. It is a big city, and the capital."
"When are you coming back?" with a daintily anxious air.
"Oh, by supper-time."
"Well;" nodding.
"What shall I bring you?"
"Nothing at all. We have twice too much now, Rachel says. Only—be sure to come back."
"If I did not, what then?"
"If you did not come back, I should go to India with Captain Corwin. I like Miss Eunice a little, but your other lady doesn't want me," she replied with a frankness that was amusing, it was so free from malice.
"Good-bye until to-night, then."
She put her hand in his. Then she reached up tiptoe. "Kiss me," she said. "Father always did and he said, 'Be a good girl.'"
"Be a good girl." Chilian kissed the soft red lips and then went his way. There was not much caressing in the restrained New England nature of that day, especially among those who had grown up with fewfamily ties. His mother had died while he was yet quite a boy.
"Let us go back now," said Rachel presently. "I believe I have found all our goods. Miss Leverett will be appalled."
The child repeated the word. "What does it mean?" she asked.
"Astonished, surprised."
"Why,theyhave a houseful of things;" in protest.
"Then there is the less room for ours."
"But there is ever so much room in the garret."
"I almost wish we were going to live by ourselves in a little house, like some we saw yesterday."
"Who would cook the dinner and wash the dishes?"
"Oh, I could;" laughing.
"Only us two? It would be lonesome."
"We are not likely to."
"Don't go straight home. Let us find the market again. I didn't half see it last night."
"It wasn't night exactly. Yes—we must learn to find our way about, for we cannot stay in all the time. This is Essex Street. Let us turn here."
The market was in its glory this morning. The stalls were ornamented with branches of evergreens, the floors sifted over with sawdust. There were vegetables and meats, but no great variety. There was no sunny south, no swift train to send in delicious luxuries. The cold storage of that day was beingburied in pits and being brought out to light as occasion required.
There were other stalls, with various household stores. Iron-holders, tin kettles, whiskbrooms, pins (which were quite a luxury), crockery ware even. Wagons had come in from country places and customers were thronging about them.
The people interested Miss Winn, and the chaffering, the beating down in prices, was quite amusing. Here a woman was measuring some cotton goods from her chin to the ends of her fingers; here sat a cobbler doing odd jobs while some one waited. Altogether it was very entertaining, and it was dinner-time when they reached home.
"Mr. Leverett has gone to Boston," announced Miss Leverett. "We must have our dinner without him."
"Yes, he was down on the ship," said Miss Winn. "Do you often go to Boston?"
"I am much too busy to be gadding about," returned Elizabeth sharply; "though we have connections there, and I once spent several years in the city."
"I don't suppose it is at all like London. Eastern cities are so different—and dirty," she added.
"Boston is very nice, quite a superior place, but we do not consider it much above Salem," Miss Elizabeth said, with an air. "We have nearly all of the East India trade. To be sure, there is Harvard at Cambridge, and that calls students and professors. Cousin Chilian is a graduate. He could have been an accepted professor if he had chosen."
Then the conversation languished. They were hardly through dinner when the next relay of goods arrived.
"Cynthia's desk must go upstairs, I suppose. Her father had it made for her birthday. Will Silas unpack again? There is a small cabinet of teakwood that is beautifully carved. If you could find room in the parlor for that. There were many other fine pieces that will no doubt be sold, and it seems a great pity."
Elizabeth acquiesced rather frigidly, adding, "It is fortunate the house is large, but one seems to accumulate a good deal through generations."
Cynthia went up in the garret with Miss Winn and was full of interest over the old Leverett treasures. Here was the cradle in which Leverett babies had been rocked, an old bit of mahogany nearly black with age.
"How funny!" cried Cynthia, springing into it, and making a clatter on the floor.
"Don't, dear! Miss Elizabeth may not like it," said Miss Winn.
"As if I should hurt it!" indignantly.
"It is not ours."
"But we sit on their chairs, and sleep in their beds, and eat at their table," returned the child. "Do you suppose they do not want us?"
"Our coming is Mr. Leverett's affair, and he isyour guardian, so whatever home he provides is right."
"Well, we can have a home of our own when father comes?"
"Oh, yes; when he comes."
"Well, then I shall not mind;" decisively.
Still she peered about among the old things. There were some iron fire-dogs, a much-tarnished frame, with a cracked glass that cut her face in a grotesque fashion, old dishes and kitchen furniture past using, or that had been supplanted by a newer and better kind.
"Oh, dear! this is an undertaking!" declared Miss Winn, with a sigh. "I do not believe you will ever use half these things; there are stuffs enough to dress a queen."
It was beginning to grow dusky before she was through, though the sky was overcast, and there would be no fine sunset. Indeed, the wind blew up stormily. Cynthia had been viewing the place from the windows in the four gables, though she had to stand on a box. There were South River and the Neck and the shipping—the men, hurrying to and fro, looking so much smaller that it puzzled Cynthia. And there was North River winding about, and over beyond the great ocean she had crossed. There was old St. Peter's Church, the new one was not built until long afterward, and smaller places of worship. There was the small beginning of things to be famous later on.
The wind began to whistle about and it grew cool, so they were glad to go down to the cheerful sitting-room, where a fire was blazing on the hearth.
"We shall have a storm to-night," said Miss Eunice, "our three days' storm that usually makes its appearance about this time. Didn't you 'most perish upstairs? And what did you find to interest you?"
Cynthia had brought a stool and sat close to Miss Eunice, leaning one arm on her knee.
"Oh, so many queer things. You don't mind if I call them queer, do you?"
"Oh, no; theyarequeer. And when we are dead and gone some one will call ours queer, no doubt. But we haven't many. When father died we were on a farm just out of Marblehead. Things were mostly sold at a vendue, for the two boys were going in the army. That was back in '78. Mother and we two girls went to her mother's at Danvers. Elizabeth took up sewing, but there were hard times, for the war stretched out so long, and it did seem as if the Colonies would never gain their cause. But they did. Brother Linus was killed, and later on I had a dear friend lost at sea. Mother died, and we were sort of scattered about till we came here. Cousin Chilian was very good to us. So you see we haven't much to leave, but then we haven't any descendant;" and she gave a soft little laugh. "Elizabeth has mother's gold comb, set with amethysts, and a brooch, and I havethe string of gold beads and some rings. A cousin in London sent them to grandmother."
"Eunice, you might set the table," said Elizabeth, rather sharply. "I'm making some fritters. They will taste good this cold night."
"Couldn't I help?" asked Rachel.
"Oh, you must be tired enough without doing any more. It's a good thing you have all your belongings housed. The garret doesn't leak."
"Yes, I am thankful. I really did not think there was so much."
There was a savory fragrance in the sitting-room. Chilian came in, looking weary with his long ride.
"It is almost wintry cold," he said, holding his hands to the fire. "Have you had a nice day, little girl?"
"Yes;" glancing up with a smile.
They did justice to Bessy's nice supper. Chilian had seen Cousin Giles, who sent remembrances to them all, and was coming up some day to see Letty Orne's little girl. Chilian found there was a good deal of business to do. For a while his days of leisure and ease would be over.
Then he brought out a Boston paper and read them some of the news. Miss Eunice went on with her fringe. Elizabeth was knitting a sock for Chilian out of fine linen yarn, spun by herself, and she put pretty open-work stitches all up the instep. For imported articles were still dear, and there was a pride in thewomen to do all for themselves that they could. Cynthia leaned her head on Rachel's lap and went asleep.
"Do hear that rain! The storm has begun in good earnest."
It was rushing like a tramp of soldiers, flinging great sheets against the closed shutters, and the wind roared in the chimney like some prisoned spirit.
"Wake up, Cynthia, and say good-night."
Elizabeth watched the child. Her theory was that children should be put to bed early and not allowed to lie around on any one's lap. There was always a tussle of wills when you roused them. She drew herself up with a kind of severe mental bracing and awaited the result, glad Chilian was there.
Rachel toyed with the hair, patted the soft flushed cheek, and took the hands in hers.
"Cynthia," she said gently, "Cynthia, dear, wake up."
The child roused, opened her eyes. "I'm so tired," she murmured. "Will we never be done crossing the wide, wide ocean? And where is Salem?"
"We are there, dear, safe and housed from the storm. You have been asleep on my knee. Come to bed now. Say good-night."
She stood the little girl up on her feet and put one arm around her.
It was against Elizabeth Leverett's theories that any child should go off peaceably, with no snarling protest.Chilian raised his book a little, hoping in the depths of his soul there would be no scene.
"Say good-night."
No child of Puritan training, with the fear of the rod before her eyes, could have done better. She said good-night in a very sleepy tone, and slipped her arm about Rachel's waist as they left the room together.
No one made any comment at first. Then Eunice said, in what she made a casual tone:
"She seems a very tractable child."
"You can't tell by one instance. Children of that age are always self-willed. And allowing a child to lie around one's lap, when she should have said her prayers and gone to bed at the proper hour, is a most reprehensible habit. And I don't suppose she ever says a prayer."
Eunice thought of the daily prayers for her father's safe journey. Would that be set down as a sort of idolatry?
Chilian picked up his papers; he had grown fastidious, and rarely left his belongings about to annoy Elizabeth. Eunice rolled up her work and dropped it in the bag that hung on the post of her chair, straightened up a few things, stood the logs in the corner and put up the wire fender, so there should be no danger of fire; while Elizabeth set all things straight in the kitchen.
Cynthia meanwhile was undressed and mounted thesteps to the high bed. Then she flung her arms about Rachel's neck.
"Oh, come and sleep in my bed to-night!" she cried pleadingly. "It's so big and lonesome, that I am afraid. I wish it was like your little bed. They were so cunning on the ship. I don't like this one, where you have to go upstairs to get in it. Oh, do come!"
And Elizabeth Leverett would have been shocked if she could have seen the child cuddled up in her attendant's arms. Theoretically, she believed Holy Writ—"He hath made of one blood all nations." Practically she made many exceptions.
The northeast storm was terrific. The wind lashed the ocean until it writhed and groaned and sent great billows up on the land. The trees bent to the fierce blasts; many storms had toughened them and perhaps taught them the wisdom of yielding, since it must be break or bend. Silas sat in the barn mending tools and harness and clearing up generally; Elizabeth spent most of the first day clearing up the garret again, and looking with a grudging eye on the new accession of boxes, and sniffing up the queer smell disdainfully.
"One can't have the windows open," she ruminated, "and the smell must go through the house. I don't believe it will ever get out."
More than one family in Salem had stores from the Orient. Many of them liked the fragrance of sandalwood and strange perfumes. "God's fresh air was good enough for her," said Elizabeth.
Eunice had finished her fringe and brought out some patchwork in the afternoon—a curious pattern, called basket-work. The basket was made of green chintz, with a small yellow figure here and there. It had a handle from side to side, neatly hemmed on awhite half square. The upper edge of the basket was cut in points and between each one was a bit of color to represent or suggest a possible bud of some kind. One had pink, different shades of red, and a bright yellow. She had seven blocks finished and they were in the bottom of the box. Eunice took them out for the little girl, who spread them on the floor.
No one was thinking at that day of the mills that would dot New England, where cotton cloths, calicoes, and cambrics would be turned out by the bale. These things had to be imported and were costly. One could dye plain colors that were used for frocks and gowns, and some of the hand looms wove ginghams that were dyed in the thread beforehand.
"It will take forty-two blocks," said Miss Eunice. "Six one way, seven the other."
"Then what are you going to do with it?" asked the child eagerly.
"Why, quilt it. Put some cotton between this and the lining, and sew them together with fine stitches."
"And then——"
"Why"—Eunice wondered herself. There were chests of them piled away in the garret—Chilian's mother's, and those they had made to fill in the moments when housework was finished. She had a quiet sense of humor, and she smiled. What were they laying up these treasures for? Neither of them would be married, most of their relatives were well provided for.
"Well, some one may like to have them;" after a pause. "You must learn to sew."
"Patchwork?"
It was absurd to pile up any more.
"You see," said the child, "no one needed them over there;" inclining her head to the East. "You have a little bed and a pallet, and it is warm, so you do not need quilts. And the poor people and the servants have a mat they spread down anywhere and a blanket, but you see, they sleep with their clothes on."
Eunice looked rather horrified.
"But they change them! They would—why, there would be soil and vermin."
"They go to the river and bathe and wash them out. They sling them on the stones in a queer way. But some of them are very dirty and ragged. They are not like the English and us, and don't wear many clothes. Sometimes they are wrapped up in a white sheet."
"It is a very queer country. They are not civilized, or Christianized. I don't know what will become of them in the end."
"It's their country and no one knows how old it is. China is the oldest country in the world."
"But, my dear, there was the garden of Eden when God first created the world. Nothing could be older than that, you know. Two thousand years to the flood, and two thousand years to the coming of Christ,and some people think the world will end in another two thousand years."
"I don't see any sense in burning it up, when there are so many lovely things in it;" and Cynthia's eyes took on a deep, inquiring expression. "That was what the chaplain used to say. Father thought it would go on and on, getting wiser and greater, and the people learning to be better and making wonderful things."
"My dear, what the Bible saysmustbe true. And it will be burned up. You have a Bible?"
"The chaplain gave me a pretty prayer-book. It is upstairs."
"We do not believe in prayer-books, dear." The tone was soft, yet decided. "We came over here, at least our forefathers did, that we might worship God according to the dictates of our conscience. We tried to leave the prayer-books and the bishops behind, but we couldn't quite. You must have a Bible and read a chapter every day. Why, I had read it through once before I was as old as you."
Cynthia simply stared. Then, after a pause, she said:
"Did you sew patchwork, too?"
"When I was eight I had finished a quilt. And I learned to knit. I knit my own stockings; I always have. And I braided rags for a mat. Mother sewed it together."
"And your clothes—who made those?"
"Well—mother made some. But a woman used to come round fall and spring and make for the girls and boys, though father bought his best suit. He had one when he was married; it was his freedom suit as well——"
"Why, was he a prisoner?" the child interrupted.
"Oh, no;" smiling a little. "Boys had to be subject to their fathers until they were twenty-one. Then they had a suit of clothes all the way through and their time, which meant they were at liberty to work for any one and ask wages. He had been courting mother and they were married soon after, so it was his wedding suit. He had outgrown it before he died, so he had to get a new one. Mother sold that to a neighbor that it just fitted."
"Tell me some more about them." Cynthia was fond of stories. And this was about real folks, not the fantastic legends she had heard so often.
"Well—he and mother worked, she had been living with a family. Girls did in those days, and were like daughters of the house. Father went to work there. They were married in the spring and in the fall he took a place on shares; that is, he had half of everything, and they divided up the house. A year or so afterward it was for sale, and he bought it, and we were all born there, and there was no change until he died. That was a sad thing for us. He'd been buying some more land, and the place wasn't clear. Another man stood ready to buy it, and mother thought it best tosell. You see there was a good deal of trouble between us and England, who wanted to get all the money she could out of the Colonies, and wasn't willing to send troops to protect us from the Indians, and we had to sell our produce and things to her, and presently the Colonies wouldn't stand it any longer, and there was war. Some people were bitterly opposed to it, some favored it. Then we wouldn't take the tea she insisted on our buying, and there was the Stamp Act. And Salem really made the first armed resistance. You must go out some nice day to North Bridge. The British troops marched up from Marblehead to seize some arms they heard were stored here. General Gage sent them. But the people had word, for a Major Pedrick rode up to give the alarm, and they hid them in a secure place. Colonel Leslie headed the British troops to make the search. But the people of Salem turned out strong and met the colonel and declared that he was marching on private property, not on the King's highway, that the lane and the bridge were private property, where he had no right. You see, war had not been declared and the people had a right to defend their own. So they would not allow them to cross the river and make a search. But, finally, they agreed, if the draw over the river could be lowered and they allowed to march a few rods, they would withdraw. Of course, they saw nothing suspicious and came back, keeping their word. Otherwise, I suppose, that would have been the first battleof the war. We were not living here then, but Cousin Chilian's father lived in this very house."
"And the arms were really there!" Cynthia drew a long breath.
"Oh, yes! They were ships' cannon going to be mounted for protection. Some day Cousin Chilian may take you over to the bridge and tell you all about it. There was a romance about a girl said to be in love with a British officer, but you are too young for such stories."
If she had not been, the entrance of Elizabeth and Miss Winn would have checked the garrulity of Eunice. Cynthia had been laying down the small diamond-shaped pieces, making a block.
"Why do you let the child muddle over those pieces, Eunice? The carpet may not be clean," said Elizabeth sharply.
"And it is getting dark, so we had better put them all up. Mercy! how it still rains. Why, it seems as if there would be another flood."
"That can never happen. We have the promise."
"That the whole world will not be destroyed. But parts of it may suffer. You and Cynthia are fortunate not to be in it;" and Eunice raised her eyes to them, with a certain thankfulness.
It had not stopped yet in the morning, but the wind was veering to the south, the air was not so cold and the rain much gentler. Cynthia wandered about like an unquiet spirit. It was cold up in their room. Chilian had proposed a fire, but Elizabeth had negatived it sharply.
"There ought to be room enough in the dining-room and keeping-room for two extra people," she said decidedly.
He felt sorry for the little girl with her downcast face, as he met her on the landing.
"Don't you want to come and visit me?" he asked, in an inviting tone.
"Oh, yes!" and the grave little face lightened.
The blaze was brighter here than downstairs, she felt quite sure. And the room had a more cheerful look. The table was spread with books and papers, and, oh, the books that were on the shelves! The curious things above them suggested India. There really was the triple-faced god she had seen so often, carved in ivory, and another carving of a temple. She walked slowly round and inspected them. Then she paused at a window.
"How much it rains!" she began. "I don't see how so much rain can be made. When is it going to stop?"
"I think it will hold up this afternoon and be clear to-morrow, clear and sunny."
"I like sunshine best. And little rains. This has been so long."
"And we haven't much to amuse a child. When it clears up we must find some little folks. Does it seem very strange to you?"
"I haven't lived with big women much, except Rachel. And the houses are so different. You get things about, and the servants pick them up. There are so many servants. Sometimes there are white children, but not many. Their mothers take them back to England. Or they die."
She uttered the last sadly, and her long lashes drooped.
He wondered a little how she had stood the climate. She looked more like a foreigner than a native of Salem town.
"What did you do there?" He hardly knew how to talk to a little girl.
"Oh, a great many things. I went to ride in a curious sort of cart—the natives pulled it. Then the children came and played in the court. They threw up balls and caught them, ever so many, and they played curious games on the stones, and acrobatic feats, and sung, and danced, and acted stories of funny things. Then father read to me, and told me about Salem when he was a little boy. You can't really think the grown-up people were little, like you."
"And that one day you will be big like them."
She pushed up her sleeve. They were large and made just big enough for her hand at the wrist, not at all like the straight, small sleeves of the Puritan children. After surveying it a moment, she said gravely:
"I can't understandhowyou grow. You must be pushed out all the time by something inside."
"You have just hit it;" and he smiled approvingly. "It is the forces inside. There is a curious factory inside of us that keeps working, day and night, that supplies the blood, the warmth, the strength, and is always pushing out; it even enlarges the bones until one is grown and finished, as one may say. And the food you eat, the air you breathe, are the supplies."
"But you go on eating and breathing. Why don't you go on growing?"
There was a curious little knot in her forehead where the lines crossed, and she raised her eyes questioningly to him. What wonderful eyes they were!
"I suppose it is partly this: You employ your mind and your body and they need more nourishment. Then—well, I think it is the restraining law of nature, else we should all be giants. In very hot countries and very cold countries they do not grow so large."
He could not go into the intricacies of physiology, as he did with some of the students.
"You did not go to school?"
"Oh, no!" She laughed softly. "The native schools were funny. They sat on mats and did not have any books, but repeated after the teacher. And, sometimes, he beat them dreadfully. There were some English people had a school, but it was to teach the language to the natives. And then Mr. Cathcartcame to stay with father. He had been the chaplain somewhere and wasn't well, so they gave him a—a——"
"Furlough?" suggested Chilian.
"Yes; father sent him out in one of the boats. He began to teach me some things. I could read, you know. And I could talk Hindostani some—with the children. Then I learned to spell and pronounce the words better. He had a few books of verses that were beautiful. I learned some of them by heart. And Latin."
"Latin!" in surprise.
"He had some books and a Testament. It was grand in the sound, and I liked it. There were many things, cases and such, that I couldn't get quite straight, but after a little I could read, and then make it over into English."
When he was eight he was reading Latin and beginning French. Some of the Boston women he knew were very good French scholars, though education was not looked upon as a necessity for women. It seemed odd to him—this little girl in Calcutta learning Latin.
"Let us see how far you have gone." Teaching never irked him when he once set about it.
He hunted up a simple Latin primer.
"Come around this side;" and he drew her nearer to him. There had been no little girls to train and teach, and for a moment he felt embarrassed. But shetook it as a matter of course, and he could see she was all interest.
It had been, as he supposed, rather desultory teaching. But she took the corrections and explanations with a sweetness that was quite enchanting. And she could translate quite well, in an idiomatic fashion. Really, with the right kind of training she would make a good scholar.
"Oh, you must be tired of standing," he said presently. "How thoughtless of me. I have no little chairs, so I must hunt one up, but this will have to do now. That will be more comfortable. Now we can go on."
She laughed at her own little blunders in a cheerful fashion, and made haste to correct them. And then he found that she knew several of the old Latin hymns by heart, as they had been favorites of the English clergyman.
They were interrupted by a light tap at the door. He said "Come"; and turned his head.
It was Miss Winn.
"Pardon me. We couldn't imagine where Cynthia was. Hasn't she been an annoyance?"
"Oh, no; we have had a very nice time."
"But—had you not better come downstairs. Miss Eunice is sewing her pretty patchwork again."
"Oh, let me stay," she pleaded. "Do I bother you?"
It crossed his mind just then that in the years tocome more than one man would yield to the sweet persuasiveness of those eyes.
"Yes, let her stay. She is no trouble. Indeed, we are studying."
Miss Winn was glad of his indorsement. Miss Elizabeth had been "worrying" for the last ten minutes. She had crept softly up to the garret, quite sure she should find the child in mischief. Then she had glanced into the "best chamber," but there was no sign of her there.
"Very well," replied Miss Winn.
Cynthia drew a long breath presently.
"Oh, you are tired!" he exclaimed. "Run over to the window and tell me how the sky looks. I think it doesn't rain now."
She slipped down, stood still for a moment, then turned and clapped her hands, laughing deliciously.
"Oh, there is blue sky, and a great yellow streak. The clouds are trying to hide the sun, but they can't. Oh, see, see!"
She danced up and down the room like a fairy in the long ray of sunshine that illumined the apartment.
"Oh, are you not glad!" She turned such a joyous face to him that he smiled and came over to the window that nearly faced the west.
"Better than the Latin?"
"Well—I like both;" archly.
He raised the window. A warm breath of delightful air rushed in, making the room with the fire seemchilly by contrast. He drew in long reviving breaths. Spring had truly come. To-morrow the swelling buds would burst.
"We must have a little Latin every day. And occasionally a walk in the sunshine. Twice a week I go down to Boston, but the other days will be ours."
"I like your room," she said frankly. "But what sights of books! Do you read them all?"
"Not very often. I do not believe I have read them all through. But I need them for reference, and some I like very much."
He wanted to add, "And some were a gift from your dear father," but he could not disturb her happy mood.
"Suppose we go down on the porch. It is too wet to walk anywhere."
"Oh, yes;" delightedly. "And to-morrow I will go down to the vessel again and see Captain Corwin. I do not want it to rain any more for weeks and weeks."
"No, for days and days. Weeks would dry us all up, and we would have no lovely spring flowers."
"And a famine maybe. Do the very poor people sometimes starve?"
"I do not think we have any very poor people, as they do in India. We are not overcrowded yet."
The rain had beaten the paths and the street hard, and it looked as if it had been swept clean. In spite of it all there were cheering evidences of spring.
"There are some children in that house," she exclaimed, nodding her head.
"Yes, the Uphams. There are two girls and two boys, the oldest and the youngest, who isn't much more than a baby. Bentley Upham must be about twelve. Polly is next, but she is a head taller than you. Then there's Betty. I am glad there will be some little girls for you to play with."
She looked eager and interested.
"Will you come in to supper? Chilian, you ought to know better than to be standing in this damp air. And that child with nothing around her!"
"The air is reviving, after having been housed for two days." But he turned and went in, leading the child by the hand.
The long, bleak New England coast winter was over, though it had lingered as if loath to go. Springs were seldom early, no one expected that. But this one came on with a rush. The willows donned their silver catkins and then threw them off for baby leaves, the lilac buds showed purple, the elms and maples came out in bloom, and the soft ones drew crowds of half-famished bees to their sweet tassels. The grass was vividly green, iridescent in the morning sun, with the dew still upon it. Snowdrop, crocus, hepatica, and coltsfoot, wild honeysuckle, were all about, the forsythia flared out her saucy yellow, the fruit buds swelled. Parties were out in the woods hunting trailing arbutus that has been called the darling of northern skies, that lies hidden in its nest of green leaves, silent, with no wind tossing it to and fro, but betrayed by its sweetness.
There were other signs of spring at Salem. The whole town seemed to burst out in house-cleaning. Parlor shutters were thrown open and windows washed. Carpets were beaten, blankets hung out to air, those that had been in real use washed. Women were out in gardens with sunbonnets and gloves, a coat of tan not being held in much esteem, and snipped at roses and hardy plants. Men were spading and planting the vegetable gardens, painting or white-washing fences. All was stir and bustle, and tired folk excused themselves if they nodded in church on Sunday.
Cynthia made pilgrimages to theFlying Starthat had been her home for so long. The storm had wrought great havoc with some of the shipping, and big boys were out gathering driftwood. TheGazettehad some melancholy news of "lost at sea." But Captain Corwin thought he had weathered worse storms.
"She is picking up mightily," he said to Miss Winn, nodding toward Cynthia. "Shouldn't be surprised if she favored her mother, after all. Only them eyes ain't neither Orne nor Leverett. Don't let her grieve too much when the bad news comes."
Eunice and Chilian had taken her to call on the Uphams. And though she was quite familiar athome, here she shrank into painful shyness and would not leave Eunice's sheltering figure.
"Children get soonest acquainted by themselves," declared Mrs. Upham. "I suppose you will send her to school. If she's not very forward, Dame Wilby's is best. She and Betty can go together. Why, she isn't as tall as Betty—and nine, you said? Granny was talking the other day about the time she was born. She's a real little Salem girl after all, though she's got a foreign skin, and what odd-colored hair! We've started Polly to Miss Betts. I want her to learn sewing and needlework, and she's too big now to company with such children. Why, I was almost a woman at twelve, and could spin and knit with the best of them. Miss Eunice, I wish you'd teach her that pretty openwork stitch you do so handy. Imported stockings cost so much. They say there's women in Boston doing the fancy ones for customers. But I tell Polly if she wants any she must do them herself."
Mrs. Upham had a tolerably pleasant voice. She always talked in monologues. Betty edged around presently and would have taken Cynthia's hand, but the child laid it in Miss Eunice's lap, and looked distrustful.
Chilian was as glad as she when the call ended. He did not seek the society of women often enough to feel at home with them, though he was kindly polite when he did meet them.
"Did you ask about the school?" was the inquiry of Elizabeth that evening.
"Yes; she thinks Dame Wilby's the best for small children. And Cynthia knows so little that is of real importance, though she reads pretty well," said Eunice.
"Yes, she must get started. I shall be glad when theFlying Staris off and she isn't running down there with the men. I don't see what's got into Chilian to think of teaching her Latin. It had enough sight better be the multiplication table."
So she proposed the school to Chilian. She had a queer feeling about his fancy for the child. She would have scouted the idea of jealousy, but she would have had much the same feeling if he had "begun to pay attention" to some woman. The other matters had reached a passable settlement. The "best chamber" was tidily kept, the little girl well looked after to see that she troubled no one. Miss Winn kept her clothes in order, but they had a decidedly foreign look, and of materials no one would think of buying for a child. But the goods were here, and might as well be used.
Miss Winn had made a few alterations in the room—softened the aspect of it. She longed to take out the big carved bedstead, but she knew that would never do. She made herself useful in many unobtrusive ways, gardened a little, was neighborly yet reserved.
"I don't know what we would do if she were a gossip," Elizabeth commented.
She broached the subject of the school to Chilian.
"Why, yes," he answered reluctantly. "I suppose she ought to go. She's curiously shy with other children."
"She talks enough about that Nalla, as if they had been like sisters."
"You can notice that she always preserves the distinction, though."
"There's no use bothering with that Latin, Chilian. Next thing it will be French. And she won't know enough figuring to count change. Girls don't need that kind of education."
"But some of them have to be Presidents' wives. And some of them wives to men who have to go abroad. French seems to be quite general among cultivated people."
"It's hardly likely she'll go abroad. And she needs to be like other people. I don't see what you find so entertaining about her. And you couldn't bear children in your room!"
"She isn't any annoyance. Then she is so deft, so dainty. She touches books with the lightest of fingers. She will sit and look at pictures, and it quite surprises me how much she knows about geography."
"And nothing much about her native country. She can't tell the difference between Pilgrims and Puritans. And she didn't know why we came over here,and why it was not the same God in England, and if all the gods in India were idols. Chilian, you shouldn't encourage her irreverence. It looks pert in a child."
"She will get over these ways as she grows older and mingles with other children."
"That is what I am coming to. She ought to begin at once. Betty Upham goes to Dame Wilby. Her mother considers it excellent for small children. She could go with Betty and there would be no fear of her trailing off no one knows where."
Of course, she ought to go to school. He could manage a big boy on the verge of manhood very well. But this woman-child puzzled him. She seemed very tractable, obedient in a certain sense, yet in the end she seemed to get, or to take, her own way. Suppressing one train of action opened another. She had a sweet way of yielding, but a strong way of holding on. A little thing made her happy, yet in her deepest happiness there was much gravity. His theories were that certain qualities brought to pass certain results. He forgot that there were no such things as pure temperaments, and that environments made second nature different from what the first might have been. The child puzzled him by her contrariety, yet she was not a troublesome child.
"Well;" reluctantly.
"I'll see the Dame. And we will start her on Monday."
He nodded.
Elizabeth had another point to gain. She looked over her trunk of pieces. Here were several yards of brown and white gingham, quite enough for a frock without any furbelows. With the roll in her hand she tapped at the partly open door. Rachel had laid out on the bed several white frocks, plain enough even for Salem tastes.
"Cynthia's going to school on Monday," she announced. "And I thought this would make her a good school frock. It won't be dirtysome. You see children heredodress differently. You'll get into the ways."
Rachel looked at the gingham. "I shouldn't like it for her," she said quietly. "Her father always wanted to see her in white. That is new every time it is washed. These things fade and then look so wretched. Beside she will only outgrow these frocks."
"Children here keep their white frocks for Sundays," was the decisive reply.
"She may as well wear these out. They were made last summer. She has not grown much meanwhile. I should like to keep her in the way her father desired."
"Then she must have a long-sleeved apron to cover her up. This will make two. For those white things make an endless sight of washing."
"I have been considering that," said Rachel Winn quietly. "I wear white a good deal myself. I noticed a small house on Front Street where there werenearly always clothes on the lines, and I stopped in to inquire. I felt it was too much laundry-work for your woman through the summer. This Mrs. Pratt is very reasonable and does her work nicely. So I have made arrangements with her. Captain Leverett made a generous allowance for incidental expenses."
What Elizabeth termed Miss Winn's "independence" grated sorely upon her ideas of what was owing to the head of the house, which was herself. It was always done so quietly and pleasantly one could hardly take umbrage. Cynthia was not exactly a child of the house. She was in no wise dependent on her newly found relatives. Chilian had made that understood in the beginning, when he had chosen the best chamber for them.
"You don't need to take boarders," she had replied tartly.
"I don't know as we are to call it that. I am the child's guardian and answerable for her comfort and her welfare. The perfect trust confided in me has touched me inexpressibly. I didn't know that Anthony Leverett held me in such high esteem. And if I choose to put this money by until she is grown—it will make such a little difference in our living——"
"Chilian Leverett, you are justly entitled to it," she interrupted with sharp decision. "He's right enough in making a fair provision for them—no doubt he has plenty. But I don't quite like the boarder business, for all that."
"We must get some one to help you with the work."
"I don't want any more help than I have. Land sakes! Eunice and I have plenty of leisure on our hands. I wouldn't have a servant around wasting things, if she paid me wages."
They had gone on very smoothly. Eunice had found her way to the child's heart. But then Eunice had lived with her dream children that might have been like Charles Lamb's "Children of Alice." Elizabeth might have married twice in her life, but there was no love in either case, rather a secret mortification that such incapables should dare to raise their thoughts to her. But she had some strenuous ideas on the rearing of children, quite of the older sort. Life was softening somewhat, even for childhood, but she did not approve of it.