"I feel my sinews slacken'd with the fright,And a cold sweat thrills down all o'er my limbs,As if I were dissolving into water."—Dryden's Tempest.
TheLightcaps were at supper; father and eldest son, each of whom stood six feet in his stockings, with shirt sleeves rolled up above their elbows, displaying brown sinewy arms; the mother in a faded calico, grizzled hair drawn straight back from a dull, careworn face and gathered into a little knot behind in which was stuck a yellow horn comb; years of incessant toil and frequent exposure to sun and wind had not improved a naturally dark, rough skin, and there was no attempt at adornment in her attire, not a collar or a ruffle to cover up the unsightliness of the yellow, wrinkled neck.
Rhoda Jane, the eldest daughter, seated at her father's right hand, was a fac-simile ofwhat the mother had been in her girlhood, with perhaps an added touch of intelligence and a somewhat more bold and forward manner.
There were besides several younger children of both sexes, quite ordinary looking creatures and just now wholly taken up with the business in hand;—vieing with each other in the amount of bread and butter and molasses, fried potatoes and fried pork they could devour in a given space of time.
"Some new comers in town, mother," remarked Mr. Lightcap, helping himself to a second slice of pork. "The keelboat Mary Ann come up the river with a lot of travellers."
"Who, father? somebody that's going to stay?"
"Yes; that lawyer we heerd was comin', you know. What's his name?"
"Keith," said Rhoda Jane, "I heerd Miss Prior tell Damaris Drybread last Sunday after meetin'. And so they've come, hev they?"
"Yes; I had occasion to go up street a bit ago, and saw George Ward takin' 'em to the Union Hotel; the man hisself and two or three wimmin folks and a lot of young uns."
"Damaris was wishing there'd be some children;" remarked Rhoda Jane, "she wants more scholars."
"It don't foller they'd go to her if there was," put in her brother.
"Oh now you just shut up, Goto! you never did take no stock in Damaris."
"No, nor you neither, Rhoda Jane; 'cept once in a while just fur contrariness. No, I don't take no shine to Miss Drybread; she's a unmitigated old maid."
"I wish the man had been a doctor and good on curin' the agur," said Mrs. Lightcap, replenishing her husband's cap. "What's up now, Rhoda Jane?" as that damsel suddenly pushed back her chair, sprang up, and rushed through the adjoining room to the front door.
"A wagon goin' by filled full of great boxes o' goods," shouted back the girl. "There they're stoppin' at the yaller house on the corner. Come and look."
The whole family, dropping knives and forks, the children with hands and mouths full, ran pell mell to door and windows to enjoy the sight.
"I wonder what's up, father? are we goin' to have a new store over there, think?" queried Mrs. Lightcap, standing on the outer step with her hands on her hips, her gaze turned steadily in the direction of the corner house.
"Dunno, mother; b'lieve I'll jest step overand ask. Come along Goto, I guess they'd like some help with them thar big boxes."
They were kind-hearted, neighborly folk—those early settlers of Pleasant Plains, always ready to lend a helping hand wherever it was needed.
"It's the new lawyer feller's traps," announced Mr. Lightcap, as he and his son rejoined the waiting, expectant wife and children; "he's took the house and we'll have 'em for neighbors."
There was another rush to the door, half an hour later, when the Keiths were seen passing on their way to inspect their future abode.
"The prettiest gal I ever see," remarked Gotobed, gazing admiringly after Mildred's graceful, girlish figure.
"They look like eastern folks," said his mother. "Won't they wish they'd staid where they was when they find out how hard 'tis to get help here?"
"Real stuck up folks; dressed to kill," sneered Rhoda Jane. "Look at the white pantalets on them young uns! and the girl's got a veil on her bunnit."
"Well, what's the harm?" asked her brother. "If you had as pretty a skin, I guess you'd be for takin' care of it too."
"Humph! beauty that's only skin deep won't last," and with a toss of the head Miss Lightcap walked into the house in her most dignified style.
For the next ten days the doings at the corner house and the comings and goings of the Keiths were a source of entertainment and intense interest to their neighbors—the Lightcaps and others; a fact not to be wondered at when we consider the monotony of life in the town at that time;—no railroad, no telegraph, no newspaper, except those brought by the weekly mail; no magazines, no public library, and very few books in private houses.
Really the daily small occurrences in their own little world were pretty nearly all the Pleasant Plainers could find to talk or think about.
And the Keiths, as recent arrivals from an older settled part of the country, and above many of them in the social scale, were considered worthy of more than ordinary attention. Their dress, their manners, the furnishing of their house and their style of living were subjects of eager discussion.
The general opinion among the Lightcaps and their set seemed to be that they were too fine for the place; such remarks as the following being frequently heard,
"Why would you believe it, they've got a real store carpet on that front room, and a sofy and cheers covered with horse-hair cloth and white curtains to the winders and picturs hanging up on to the walls."
"And the little girls wears white pantalets caliker ones such as our youngsters wears isn't good enough for them."
There were in the town, however, a number of families of educated, refined people who rejoiced in this addition to their society and only waited for the new comers to get settled in their new home before calling.
Among these Mrs. Keith and her aunt found several pleasant, congenial companions; and with two or three the acquaintance soon ripened into a close intimacy, a warm, enduring friendship.
Mildred also soon had more than one young girl crony whom she found as worthy of regard as those she had left behind.
Back of the yellow house was a grove of saplings which became a favorite haunt of the children in their hours of recreation. They would bend down the smaller trees and ride them, climb up into the larger and sit among the branches; or build baby-houses and play housekeeping underneath, where the shade was thickest.
It was here they spent the warm, sunny days while the older members of the family busied themselves in making the dwelling habitable and the yard neat and orderly.
On the morning after their arrival Rupert spread a buffalo robe on the ground in the shadiest part of the grove, whereon Zillah and Ada seated themselves with their baby sister who had been entrusted to their care.
There were many lovely wild flowers springing up here and there, and Cyril, Don and Fan ran hither and thither gathering them, prattling merrily to each other the while, and now and then uttering a joyous shout as they came upon some new floral treasure.
"Be careful not to go too far away, children," Zillah called to them.
"No, we won't go far," they answered, Cyril adding, "And I'll take care of Fan."
In a little while they came running back with full hands.
"See, see!" they said, "so many and such pretty ones—blue, and white, and purple, and yellow. There, you take these and we'll pick some more for ourselves. And for mother and Aunt Wealthy; we'll make a big bunch for each of them," and away they ran again.
"Oh, aren't they pretty?" cried Ada."Let's make a bouquet for mother out of these."
"She won't want two," said Zillah, "'specially just now when she's no place to put them. Let's make wreaths for Annis and Fan."
"Oh yes!" and they began sorting the flowers with eager interest, little Annis pulling at them too, crowing and chattering in sweet baby fashion.
Suddenly Zillah gave a start and laid a trembling hand on Ada's arm. Her face had grown very pale and there was a look of terror in her large blue eyes.
Ada turned quickly to see what had caused it, and was quite as much alarmed on beholding a tall Indian, with rifle in hand, tomahawk and scalping knife in his belt, standing within a few feet of them, evidently regarding them with curiosity.
He wore moccasins and leggins, and had a blanket about his shoulders; feathers on his head, too; but no war paint on his face.
Behind him was a squaw with a great bark basket full of wild berries, slung to her back.
The little girls were too terribly frightened to cry out or speak, they sat there as if turnedto stone, while the Indian drew nearer and nearer still closely followed by his squaw.
Stopping close beside the children, he grunted out a word or two to her, and she slung her basket to the ground.
Taking up a double handful of the berries, he poured them into Zillah's lap, saying, "Pappoose!"
The squaw restored her basket to its place and the two walked leisurely away; happily not in the direction of Fan and the boys.
The little girls gazed at each other in blank astonishment; then burst out simultaneously, "Oh, weren't you frightened? I thought he was going to kill us!"
"But wasn't it good in him to give us the berries?"
"Yes; he meant them for baby; but mother doesn't let her have any, you know; so we mustn't give them to her."
"No, but I'll call the children to get some.'
"Yes, do."
"Where did you get em?" queried Cyril, devouring his share with zest.
"An Indian gave them to us."
"An Indian? why that was like a friend and colation! I shan't be 'fraid of 'em any more."
"I don't know," returned Ada with a wise shake of her head, "I'd rather not see 'em even with their berries."
The little feast was just ended when they espied a gentleman passing along the road beyond the grove. He turned and came toward them.
"Good-morning," he said, pleasantly. "These are Mr. Keith's children, I believe?"
"Yes, sir," answered Zillah.
"I'm glad to see you," shaking hands with them; "and I should like to make the acquaintance of your parents. Are they at home, in the house yonder?"
"Mother is, sir; but I saw father go away a little while ago."
"Do you think your mother could see me for a moment? My name is Lord."
Cyril opened his eyes very wide; gazing up into the gentleman's face with an odd expression of mingled curiosity and astonishment.
"I don't know, sir;" answered Zillah, "they're just cleaning the house and—Cyril, run and ask mother."
Away flew the child, rushing into the room where Miss Stanhope and Mrs. Keith were overseeing the opening of boxes and the unpacking of the household gear.
"Mother, mother," he cried breathlessly, "the Lord's out yonder and he wants to see you! Can he come in? shall I bring him?"
"The Lord! what can the child mean?" cried Aunt Wealthy, in her astonishment and perplexity nearly dropping a large china bowl which she held in her hand.
Mrs. Keith, too, looked bewildered for a moment, then a sudden light breaking over her face,
"Yes, bring him in," she said, and turning to her aunt as the child sped on his errand, "It must be the minister, auntie; I remember now that Stuart told me his name was Lord."
Mr. Lord, who was a very absent-minded man, came in apologizing for his "neglect in not calling sooner; he had been engaged with his sermon and the matter had slipped his mind."
"I think you are blaming yourself undeservedly, sir," Mrs. Keith said, giving him her hand with a cordial smile, "we arrived in town only yesterday. Let me introduce you to my aunt, Miss Stanhope."
The two shook hands, and Mr. Lord seating himself upon a box, instead of the chair that had been set for him, sprang up instantly with a hurried exclamation.
A portion of the contents of a paper of tacks had been accidentally spilt there.
The ladies were too polite to smile. Mrs. Keith offered the chair again, simply saying, "You will find this a more comfortable seat; please excuse the disorder we are in;" then plunged into talk about the town and the little church he had recently organized there.
"Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,The spot where angels find a resting place,When bearing blessings, they descend to earth."—Mrs. Hale.
Cyrilcame running back carrying a covered basket.
"He's gone, girls. He wasn't the Lord at all; only a man; and he didn't stay long; I guess 'cause he sat down on the tacks and hurted himself.
"Here's our dinner. Mother says we may eat it out here under the trees and it'll be as good as a picnic."
"So it will. Let's see what it is," and Zillah took the basket and lifted the lid. "Oh that's nice! buttered biscuits and cold tongue and cheese and ginger bread—lots of it—and a turnover apiece."
"Isn't our mother good?" cried Ada gratefully. "Did you tell her about the Indian the berries?"
"Yes; and father was there—he just came home—and he says we needn't be a single bit afraid; they don't kill folks now, and they wouldn't dare to hurt us right here in the town; even if they wanted to."
"Baby's been fretting a little; 'cause she's hungry, I guess," said Zillah, putting a bit of gingerbread in the little one's hand.
"Yes; mother said you should give her some cake; and she'll come directly and take her awhile. Now let's begin to eat, for I'm as hungry as a big black bear."
"So am I," piped the small voices of Don and Fan. "But father always asks a blessing first."
"Yes," assented Zillah, stopping short in her distribution of the good things; "and mother does it when he's away, but—" and she glanced from one to the other of the childish but grave faces of the little group.
"I'll do it," said Cyril, closing his merry blue eyes and folding his chubby hands. "O Lord, we thank thee for the ginger bread and turnovers and—and all the good things, Amen. Now gi me mine, Zil," opening his eyes wide and holding out both hands.
"Ladies first, you know," answered the sister, "and we must all spread our handkerchiefsin our laps to keep the greasy crumbs from our clothes."
"Oh, yes; I fordot. Help Ada and Fan and yourself, then Don too, and me last 'cause we're the gentlemen."
"No, myself last, because that's the way mother does."
"And mother and father always do everything right," commented Ada, beginning upon her sandwich.
They were rosy, healthy children and their appetites were keen; but they were not selfish or greedy, and the supply of food was more than amply sufficient for all.
They were never stinted but had been taught that waste was sinful; so the remains of the meal were put carefully by in the basket, which Zillah then hung up on a branch near at hand.
As she did so the others set up a glad shout, "Mother's coming!" and sprang forward to meet her, while baby held out her hands with a crow of delight.
"Well, dears, had you plenty of dinner?" Mrs. Keith asked, taking Annis in her arms and sitting down on the buffalo robe while they grouped themselves about her.
"Oh yes; yes indeed! some left; and it was very good. Thank you for it, mother."
"You quite deserved it; you have been dear, good children, taking care of yourselves and baby all morning, and not giving any trouble to anybody."
How the young cheeks flushed and the eyes grew bright at these words of commendation from those dear lips. How they loved her for them, and what an increased desire to merit her approbation they felt swelling in their breasts.
She could stay with them only a little while but suggested various amusements, some games they might play, some stories Zillah might relate to the younger ones.
"Are you getting done fast, mother? can we sleep in our own home to-night?" they asked.
"No, dears; for though the bedroom floors are cleaned there might be some dampness that would injure us. We will go back to the tavern for our supper and to sleep to-night; but to-morrow night we will be in our own home once more."
"Not the nice home we used to have, though!" sighed Zillah.
"No, daughter; but we must try to be content and thankful; and if we are, we may be as happy in the new home as we were in the old."
With that the now sleeping babe was laid gently down on the robe, a light covering thrown over her, and with a charge to the others to take care of her, and a caress bestowed upon each, the mother hastened back to the house.
"We're tired running 'bout and picking flowers, Fan and Don and me," said Cyril; "so won't you please tell us a story now, Zil?"
"Yes; I'll tell you Androcles and the Lion; you always like that."
"Yes; and then tell 'bout the girl that had a silk dress and couldn't run and play 'cause her shoes pinched," begged Fan.
"Oh look!" exclaimed Ada in an undertone, "see those girls. They haven't silk dresses or shoes to pinch their toes. Don't they look queer?"
The subjects of her remarks were two little maids—one about her own size, the other a trifle smaller—who were slowly making their way through the bushes toward the spot where the Keith children were seated.
They had sallow, sunburnt faces, tawny, yellow locks straggling over their shoulders, and their thin, lanky little forms were arrayed in calico dresses faded, worn and skimpy:pantalets of the same material but different color, appeared below their skirts. Their feet were bare, and on their heads were sunbonnets of pasteboard covered with still another pattern of calico both faded and soiled.
"Shall we ask them to come and join us?" queried Zillah.
"No; they don't look nice; they're dirty," whispered Cyril, with a glance of disgust directed toward the strangers.
"Maybe dey is hungry," suggested Fan, "let's dive 'em some fing out o' de basket."
"Good afternoon, little girls," said Zillah, raising her voice slightly as they drew near; "will you come and sit with us?"
They shook their heads but came creeping on, each with a finger in her mouth.
"Have you had your dinner?" An affirmative nod.
"I'm going to tell a story to these children, and if you like to come and listen too, you can. What are your names?"
"Mine's Emmaretta Lightcap, and hers is Minerva Lightcap. She's my sister, she is. Now go on and tell your story. Min, let's set down on the grass right here."
They listened in open-mouthed wonder till summoned by a shrill voice from the directionof the smithy, when they rose and scampered away.
The Keiths were a very domestic family; no place like home to them; and all, from the father down to little Fan, were heartily weary of the unsettled life they had led for some weeks past.
It was therefore with joy they found themselves once more able to sit down under their own vine and fig tree, (if a rented domicile so unsightly as "the yellow house on the corner" may fitly be compared to natural objects so full of beauty and grace).
By the evening of the second day the advanced stage of the internal improvements warranted them in taking possession.
As the shadows grew long the children were called in, the family gathered about a neatly appointed table set out in the centre one of the three lower rooms; spoken of indifferently as the sitting, or dining-room, since it must answer both purposes.
The meal was enlivened by cheerful chat, in which the children were allowed to take part; the only restriction being that but one voice was to be heard at a time; and that not in loud or boisterous tones.
No domestic had been found yet and leavingmother and aunt to chat with the father, Mildred and the younger girls cleared the table, washed the dishes and made all neat in the kitchen.
This done they returned to the sitting-room. The great family Bible lay open on the table before the father, a pile of hymn-books beside it. These last Rupert took up and distributed; the father read a few verses of Scripture and gave out a hymn. The mother's sweet voice set the tune, the others joined in and a full chorus of praise swelled upon the summer evening air.
It died away, and all knelt while the father offered a short but fervent prayer giving thanks for the mercies of the day, asking for protection through the night, confessing sins and pleading for pardon and eternal life, for all temporal and spiritual good, through the atoning blood of Christ.
It was thus each day was begun and ended in this truly Christian family. "As for me and my house we will serve the Lord," was the resolution with which Mr. and Mrs. Keith had begun their married life.
Each little one came to claim a good-night kiss from father and Aunt Wealthy, then cheerfully followed their mother up the steep crooked stairway to the large room above.
"Oh, how much nicer it looks!" they cried "Auntie's room too," running to the open door and peeping in.
Everything was now clean and neat, carpets covered the rough boards of the floor, curtains draped the windows and divided the large room into several apartments, in each of which was a neat, white bed.
But little of their heavy furniture had been brought with them from the old home, but its place was partially supplied by turning packing boxes into chintz-covered and cushioned lounges, and toilet tables, whose unsightliness was concealed by dainty drapery. Ingenuity and taste had done wonders in making the house comfortable and attractive at small expense.
"'Tis necessity,To which the gods must yield."
Thechildren had said their prayers, tired little heads were laid on soft white pillows, weary young limbs stretched out to rest, and leaving a kiss on each rosy mouth, the mother went down stairs to rejoin her husband and aunt in the sitting-room.
She found Mrs. Prior with them; the good woman had "just run in" to tell them of a girl in want of a place.
"I don't know anything about her," she went on, "except, that she's a right decent looking girl and wants to work out a spell; and that they tell me the family's English; respectable but poor.
"If you would wish to give her a trial; Mis' Keith, I've an opportunity to send her word this evening and as like as not she'd get a chance to come in with some of the country folks to-morrow."
Mrs. Keith gladly gave consent, feeling at the moment as if almost any sort of help would be better than none; then asked, "Is there any school in town that you could recommend for my little girls, Mrs. Prior?"
"Well, I don't know of but one and I've my doubts about that bein' such as you'd want to send to. Damaris Drybread's the teacher, and I shouldn't judge by her talk that she'd had a finished education;—not by no means! still she may do well enough for little ones. I haven't any, you know, so I haven't tried her."
"Suppose we have a light," suggested Mr. Keith, "it's growing too dark for us to see each other's faces."
Mildred rose, went to the kitchen, and presently returned with a lighted candle and a pair of snuffers, which she placed on the table.
Miss Stanhope was asking what sort of society was to be found in the place, to which Mrs. Prior made answer,
"Well, ma'am, we have pretty much all sorts; and yet don't divide up in circles like they do in a good many places. I s'pose there'll be more of that as the town grows larger.
"There's educated folks that's fond o' books and the like, and know what manners is, and how to talk well, and there's others that's roughand ignorant, yet mostly well meaning with it all—real honest and industrious.
"There are very few thieves, if any; folks leave their doors unlocked—sometimes wide open at night, and their clothes hanging out on the line; and I never hear of anything bein' took. There's very little drinking either; a drunken man's a rare sight with us."
"There are a good many New Englanders here, are there not?" inquired Mr. Keith.
"Yes, quite a good many; and from York state and Pennsylvany and Virginia; from Jersey too; I hail from there myself.
"But I must be going, it's gettin' late; evenins is so short this time o' year—and however it may be with Mr. Keith, I know you women folks are tired enough to be ready for bed.
"Now don't be formal with me, but run in whenever you can. I'll always be glad to see you.
"No, never mind your hat, Mr. Keith, I don't want a beau; for I'm not the least mite afraid. Good-night to you all," and she hurried away.
The candle was flaring and wasting in the wind. Miss Stanhope hastened to snuff it, remarking, "These are miserable tallows; getme some candle to-morrow, Stuart, and I'll try to make some that will be an improvement upon them. We have the moulds and the wick; all we want is the tallow."
Near noon of the next day a flauntily dressed young woman walked in at the open door and introduced herself to Mrs. Keith as the "Hinglish girl, Viny Apple, that Mrs. Prior had recommended."
Mrs. Keith received her kindly, "Can you cook and do general housework?" she asked.
"Yes, mum; of course, that's what I came for."
"I hope you understand how to work, but it is not to be expected that your way will always be what will suit me best; so I trust you are willing to be directed."
"If you're not too hard to please, mum, I'll suit, I'm sure."
"We will try it. Zillah, show Viny where she is to sleep."
"Is she to come to the table?" asked Mildred, when the two had disappeared up the stairway.
"We shall see; I have not spoken of it yet."
"You won't put up with that, mother surely?"
"I think I must if that is the only condition on which we can have help with our housework."
On coming down, Viny was directed to set the table for dinner, shown where to find the requisite articles, told how many were in the family, and left to the performance of her task.
Mildred noted the number of plates set on, and saw that Viny had counted herself in with the rest.
"You have one plate too many," she said with some sharpness of tone.
"No, Miss."
"You certainly have. Here are eleven; and we are only ten."
"And I make 'leven," returned Viny, a hot flush on her cheek and an angry gleam in her eyes.
"You?"
"Yes, Miss, I'm as good as the rest; and if I cook the victuals I 'ave a right to eat 'em."
A warning glance from her mother's eye checked the angry exclamation on the tip of Mildred's tongue.
"We will consent to your coming to the table with us, Viny, on condition that you are always neat and tidy in appearance," Mrs.Keith remarked in a quiet tone. "And now you may help me to dish up the dinner."
Aunt Wealthy was busied with her candle moulds in one corner of the kitchen; putting in the wicks.
"So that question's settled," she said in an aside to her niece; "and I think you have done wisely, Marcia."
The faces that surrounded the dinner-table that day were a study. Those of Miss Stanhope and Mrs. Keith wore their usual placid expression, but Mildred's was flushed and angry, Rupert's full of astonishment, reflected to some extent by the younger ones, while that of the new comer expressed self-assertion and defiance.
Mr. Keith glanced quizzically from one to another for a moment. Then gave his attention to filling the plates; talking at the same time in a cheerful strain.
"I have found a lot, wife, which I think will suit us for building on. If nobody feels too tired for a walk after tea we will all go and look at it. It is to be for the family, and the family must decide as to its merits."
This turned the current of thought and all the young people grew eager and animated. It was quite evident that no one intended to betoo much fatigued to be of the party of inspection.
In the midst of the talk a low, half-terrified exclamation from Fan drew the attention of all, and following the direction of her glance they saw a tall Indian in the doorway, while beyond in the street, were many others, some on foot, some on horseback, some in the act of dismounting.
They were of both sexes and all ages; the papooses tied into little wooden troughs which the mothers stood up on end on the ground.
The babies were very quiet, not a whimper to be heard from any of them; though they were deprived of the use of their hands—their clothing being a straight strip of cloth folded around their bodies in such a way as to pin their poor little arms down to their sides—and had nothing to amuse them but a string of tiny bells stretched across the trough in front of their faces.
"Ugh!" said the Indian on the doorstep, "shawp!" and he pointed from a basket of berries his squaw had set down beside him to the loaf on the table.
"Oh do let's give it to 'im! no knowin' what 'e'll do if we don't!" cried Viny in a fright.
"It will be a good enough exchange," said Mr. Keith, taking the loaf and handing it to the Indian. "Bring a pan for the berries."
The Indian passed the loaf on to his squaw with a grunt of satisfaction, poured a quart or so of berries into the pan Viny had hastened to bring, then again pointed to the table.
"What now?" asked Mr. Keith, good-humoredly.
The Indian replied by a gesture as if lifting a cup to his lips; and Mildred saying, "He's thirsty," hastened to pour out a tumbler of milk and hand it to him.
He drank it, returned the glass with a nod of thanks and walked away.
"I'll just run hout and water 'em hall," said Viny, hurrying into the kitchen for a bucket and tin cup, "it's always best to keep on the good side of 'em, folks tell me, if you don't want to run no risk of losin' the 'air hoff yer 'ead."
Mr. Keith was standing in the doorway where the Indian had been a moment before.
"Come and look at them, wife, and all of you," he said, "it's quite a show and there's not the least danger."
Thus encouraged the children crowded to the door and window and found much amusement in watching the movements of the savagesand Viny's efforts to win favor with them; efforts apparently well-directed, for the day was warm and they drank the cool water freshly drawn from the well in the yard, as if they found it very refreshing.
The troop—some thirty or forty in number—did not tarry long; in less than an hour they had all remounted and gone on their way.
"There! them savage wild Hinguns is all clear gone and hour scalps is safe for the present," remarked Viny, with a sigh of relief as the last one disappeared from view in a cloud of dust far down the street.
She had run out to the corner of the house, dishtowel in hand, to watch their movements as far as she could see them.
"Don't talk so; you'll frighten the children," said Mildred, reprovingly, speaking from the front door where she stood with the little ones grouped about her.
"I don't take my horders from you," muttered the girl, stalking back to her kitchen.
After an early tea the proposed family walk was taken.
The lot—a little farther to the north than any which had been built upon as yet, on the high river bank and overlooking the ferry—was pronounced all that could be desired.
It was on a corner, and on two sides afforded a fine view of the river, on the others of town and country.
"When we have our house built," remarked Mr. Keith, "we'll be able to see the Kankakee Marsh from the second story windows."
"Marsh?" repeated his wife in a tone of alarm, "how far off is it?"
"We're about two miles from this end; it is two hundred miles long, you remember, extending far over into Illinois. But why that sigh?"
"Ague!"
"Well, don't let us cross the bridge before we come to it. This is a beautiful spot. I think we can, in a few years, make it superior in point of beauty to any we have ever lived in."
"I think so too, if we can keep these fine old oaks."
There were several of them; grand old trees that had stood the storms of centuries, perhaps.
"We will; we'll manage our building in a way not to interfere with them."
At that Mildred's face brightened as it had not since her first sight of the yellow house.
She had been very homesick for the dearold home in Lansdale, though not a word of it had she breathed even into her mother's sympathetic ear.
"How soon can the house be done?" she asked.
"Better inquire first how soon it will be begun," laughed her father. "If we get into it by next spring we may consider ourselves fortunate."
"Oh dear!" sighed the children with one accord.
"The time will slip around before you know it, dears," remarked their aunt cheerily.
"And we'll soon get the ground fenced in and let you spend your leisure time, and exercise your taste and ingenuity in beautifying it," said their father.
"And may we all help plan the house?" asked Rupert.
Mr. Keith smiled, a kindly good-natured smile, with some amusement in it too.
"You may all make suggestions; it is to be our house:—not the parents' only, but the children's, too."
"Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene."—Young.
"Oh, Rhody Jane, Rhody Jane, I say just come an' look!"
"Look at what, Emmaret? you're always makin' a fuss about nothin'," returned Miss Lightcap scornfully, but nevertheless, stepping very promptly, plate and dishcloth in hand, to the front door whence the hasty summons had come.
"'Tain't nothin' this time," Emmaretta went on; "they're agoin' to Sunday school, them Keith girls, and just see how they're dressed up!"
"Did you ever see anything so fine?" chorused Minerva; "sech lovely dresses; and black silk aprons with colored lace onto 'em. Oh my! I wish I had one like 'em!"
"Maybe you shall some o' these days when your pop gits rich," said her mother, who was gazing from the window.
"But the bonnets is what takes me. Did you notice 'em, Rhoda Jane? they're gimp with blue ribbings and blue flowers."
"And the white and red in their faces makes them powerful becoming," remarked Gotobed, standing just outside.
But he turned his head the other way, shamefacedly, as Mildred, looking sweet and fair in white muslin and pink ribbons, followed her younger sisters into the street, and sent a casual glance in his direction.
"Don't she think she's some!" said Rhoda Jane enviously.
"And so she is; she looks like a posey," said Gotobed.
"Is that the grandmother? the old lady walking with Mr. Keith."
"No; Viny Apple says she's Mrs. Keith's aunt; and talks in the funniest way sometimes;—gets things hind part before—telling her to make up the floors and sweep the beds, and the like.
"There they're all out o' sight. I guess the mother's stayin' to home with the baby; Viny said she wasn't agoin' to, and I s'pose she's up stairs primpin'."
"And that's what you'd ought to be doin' 'forelong, if you're goin' to meetin', RhodaJane," observed Mrs. Lightcap, drawing in her head. "Hurry up now with them dishes. And you children walk right in here and hunt up your Sunday things, and wash your hands and faces and comb your hair; it'll be meetin' time 'fore we know it."
A narrow foot-path, bordered on each side by grass still wet with dew, led past the grove of saplings to the little church whither the Keiths were bound.
Mildred, lifting her white skirts daintily, and warning her sisters and brothers of the danger of wet and soiled shoes, should they step aside from the beaten track, picked her way with careful steps, rejoicing in the fact that the distance was not great.
The church membership was as yet very small; Sabbath school ditto. The newly arrived family made an important addition to the ranks of both teachers and scholars.
Two Bible classes were organized this morning and given, respectively, into the charge of Mr. Keith and Miss Stanhope; Rupert becoming a member of his father's, Mildred of Aunt Wealthy's. There were but two others in this latter class; Claudina Chetwood and Lucilla Grange; both intelligent, lady-like, refined girls, who made an agreeable impression uponMiss Stanhope and Mildred also. And this was mutual.
The morning service followed immediately upon the close of Sabbath school. The sermon was excellent; the singing, though not artistic, and somewhat interrupted by the necessity of lining out the hymn, on account of the scarcity of books, earnest and spirited; the people singing, apparently with the understanding and the heart also; the prayer was fervent, and the behavior of the congregation throughout the whole service was quiet and devotional.
Most of them were town folk, but a few families had come in from the surrounding country.
There was little display of fashion or style in dress; no one was expensively attired; most of the women and girls wore calico; but all were neat, some really tasteful; and in intellect and moral worth, the majority of faces would have compared favorably with an equal number in the older States.
People lingered after church for mutual introductions and the exchange of friendly remarks and inquiries. The Keiths were warmly welcomed, assured of intentions to call, hopes expressed that they would "like the place," feel quite at home in the church and besociable; the country people adding "Come out and see us whenever you can."
Squire Chetwood and Mr. Keith, who had made acquaintance during the preceding week, now introduced their families; each with very excusable fatherly pride in the good looks and good manners of his offspring.
The young Chetwoods were nearly as numerous, as handsome and intelligent as the Keiths.
"I hope we shall be good friends," said Claudina, as she and Mildred walked away together. "Mother was not out to-day because of a headache; but she and I are coming to see your mother and you this week."
"We shall be pleased to see you," Mildred answered heartily, "and I am very glad to accept your offer of friendship."
They parted at Mr. Keith's door, mutually pleased, and Mildred carried a brighter face into the house than she had worn for weeks.
Her mother remarked upon it with delight.
"Yes, mother," she responded gayly, "I begin to feel a little happier about living here, now that I find we are to have good preaching, Sunday school—with an excellent and competent teacher for my share"—glancing archly at Aunt Wealthy's kindly, sensible face—"andpleasant friends;" going on to give a flattering description of the Chetwoods, particularly Claudina.
"I hope she will prove a valuable friend and a very great comfort to you, daughter," said Mrs. Keith. "You need young companionship and I am very glad to know that it will be provided."
The little girls had been up stairs putting away their best bonnets.
"Where's Viny?" asked Zillah, running back into the sitting-room where the older people still were.
"She went out telling me that she wouldn't be back till bedtime," replied the mother.
"Leaving us to do our own work!" cried Mildred. "Oh, mother, what made you let her?"
"Let her, my child? she did not ask my permission," laughed Mrs. Keith; "but indeed I think we are quite as well off without her for to-day; as we do no cooking on Sunday."
Before another week had passed, Mildred was ready to subscribe to the opinion that they were as well without her altogether—she having proved herself utterly inefficient, slow and slovenly about her work, unwilling to be directed, impertinent, bold and forward.
There was not a day when Mildred's indignation did not rise to fever heat in view of the many and aggravated sins of omission and commission on the part of their "help;" yet it seldom found vent in words. She was striving with determined purpose to rule her own spirit, and asking daily and hourly for strength for the conflict from Him who has said, "In me is thine help," "My strength is made perfect in weakness."
The example set her by her mother and aunt was also most helpful. They were both cheerful, patient, sunny-tempered women; never a word of fretfulness or complaint from the lips of either; Aunt Wealthy calm and serene as an unclouded summer day, Mrs. Keith often bringing to her aid a strong sense of the ludicrous; turning her vexations into occasions for jesting and mirth.
Mildred knew that they were trials nevertheless, and her love and admiration, and her resolve to show herself worthy to be the daughter of such a mother, grew apace.
To the affectionate heart of the unselfish girl there seemed no greater trial than seeing this dear mother overburdened with care and toil; but try as she might to take all the burdens on her young shoulders, it was utterly impossible;and while the conviction that to see her impatient and unhappy would add to her mother's troubles, helped her to maintain her self-control, the reflection that Viny's shortcomings added largely to those trials, made it tenfold more difficult to bear with them.
So also with the little tempers, untidinesses, and mischievous pranks of her younger brothers and sisters.
Home, even a happy home, is often a hard-fought battle-field; and who shall say that there is not sometimes more true courage displayed there than in another kind of conflict amid the roar of cannon and clash of arms, where earthly glory and renown are to be won.
The Chetwoods and Granges, and several others of the same standing in society, called that week; also Mr. Lord, the minister, brought his old mother who kept house for him, he being a bachelor.
When Viny happened to be the one to admit callers, she seemed to think it incumbent upon her to take a seat in the parlor with them and exert herself for their entertainment.
Mildred speedily undertook to disabuse her of this impression, but the girl haughtily informed her that "she had as good a right in the parlor as anybody else."
"But I wouldn't go into it to visit with anybody that didn't come to see me," said Mildred, with a determined effort to keep down her rising anger.
"Well, I guess they're about as likely to want to see me as any o' the rest; and if they don't they'd ought to. So there!"
"But you have your work to attend to."
"The work can wait. And the rest o' you's got plenty to do too."
The only remedy was to keep Viny busy in the kitchen while some of the family watched the doors into the streets and admitted visitors.
Even this stratagem sometimes failed and they could only console themselves that the visitors understood the situation.
"Ain't you goin' to call on the Keiths?" asked Gotobed Lightcap at the dinner table one day about the middle of the week.
"Who? me?" queried his mother; then pushing away her empty plate, and resting her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, while she looked reflectively off into vacancy. "Well, I s'pose a body'd ought to be neighborly, and I'm as willin' to do my part as the next one; but there's always a sight of work to do at home; and then I feel kinder backward 'bout callin' on 'em; they live so fine, you know;Viny Apple says they use real silver spoons and eat off real chaney every day; an' that's more'n we can do when we have company."
"Well, old woman, I guess the victuals don't taste no better for bein' eat off them things," responded her husband, cheerfully, passing his empty cup.
"Maybe. And they don't have no tea nor coffee for dinner, Viny says. I think it's real stingy."
"P'raps they don't want it," remarked Gotobed.
"Don't you b'lieve no such thing!" exclaimed Rhoda Jane, scornfully, "'tain't fashionable; and they'd ruther be fashionable than comfortable. Viny says they're awful stuck up; wouldn't let her come to the table or into the parlor if they could help themselves.
"But I don't keer, I'm not afeard on 'em, if mother is; and I'm goin' over there this afternoon; if it's only to let 'em see that I feel myself as good as they be any day; and I'll tell 'em so too, if they don't treat me right."
"Pshaw, Rhoda Jane, how you talk!" said her mother.
"Well, I'm spunky, mother; that's a fact; and I ain't a bit ashamed of it nuther."
"Don't you go if you can't behave yourself,"said Gotobed, leaving the table and the room.
Mrs. Keith had gathered her children about her in the parlor, it being the shadiest and coolest apartment in the house in the afternoon. She, herself, Aunt Wealthy and the little girls were sewing, while Rupert kept the little boys quiet and interested with the making of a kite, and Mildred read aloud from Mrs. Sherwood's "Roxobelle."
Mildred had a clear, sweet-toned voice, enunciated distinctly, and read with feeling and expression; so that it was a pleasure to listen to her.
Rupert, Zillah and Ada were also good readers, and would take their turns as such; for this was no new thing, but one of the mother's ways of educating her children and training them to a love of literature.
While many another thing had been left behind in Ohio, they had brought all their books with them. Poetry, histories, biographies, books of travel, religious and scientific works, juvenile story-books and a few novels, all of the best class, were to be found among their treasured stores, reveled in by old and young.
Mr. Keith had his volumes of legal loretoo, but with these the other members of the family seldom if ever cared to interfere.
Mrs. Sherwood was a favorite author with the young people; they were reading "Roxobelle" for the first time and had reached a most exciting part—the scene where the little dog had led Sophie Beauchamp into the room where his invalid and much abused mistress lay, chained by disease to her wretched bed, when Mrs. Lightcap and Rhoda Jane appeared in the open doorway.
They were dressed with the utmost simplicity—gowns, aprons and sunbonnets of calico, made without regard to fashion; no collars or cuffs; hands bare and brown; faces sunburnt, the mother's stolid, the girl's sufficiently sharp but lacking education and refinement.
It was far from being a welcome interruption. Mildred closed her book with a half suppressed sigh, the little girls exchanged glances of vexation and disappointment; Rupert, too scowled and uttered an exclamation of impatience half under his breath; but Mrs. Keith and Miss Stanhope rose smilingly, gave the visitors a cordial greeting, asked them to be seated and entered into conversation.
"It's powerful warm," remarked Mrs. Lightcap, accepting the offered chair and wiping theperspiration from her heated face with the corner of her apron.
"Yes, it has been an unusually warm day," responded Miss Stanhope, handing a fan; while Mrs. Keith asked if they would not take off their bonnets.
"Well ma'am, I don't care if I do," returned Mrs. Lightcap, pulling hers off and laying it on her lap; Rhoda Jane doing likewise.
"Let me lay them on the table," Mildred said, recovering her politeness.
"No, thank you; 'tain't worth while fur the few minutes we're agoin' to set; they's no ways hefty.
"Our names is Lightcap; this here's my daughter Rhoda Jane and she says to me, 'mother,' says she, 'we'd ought to be sociable with them new neighbors of ourn; let's go over and set a bit.' No, now what am I talkin' about?' 'twan't her nuther, 'twas Gote that spoke of it first, but my gal here was more'n willing to come."
"Yes, we always try to be neighborly," assented the girl. "How do you like Pleasant Plains, ladies?"
"It seems a pleasant town and we find very pleasant people in it," was Mrs. Keith's smiling rejoinder.
"That's the talk!" exclaimed Miss Lightcap laughing. "You'll do, Mis' Keith."
"Comin' so late you won't be able to raise no garden sass this year," remarked the mother; then went on to give a detailed account of what they had planted, what was growing well, and what was not, with an occasional digression to her husband, her cooking and housework, the occasional attacks of "agur" that interfered with her plans; and so on and so on—her daughter managing to slip in a word or two now and then.
At length they rose to go.
"How's Viny?" queried Rhoda Jane, addressing Mildred.
"Quite well, I believe," replied Mildred in a freezing tone, and drawing herself up with dignity.
"Tell her we come to see her too," laughed the girl, as she stepped from the door, "Good-bye. Hope you won't be ceremonious, but run in sociable any time o' day."