"I am afraid I am not much like her in meekness," said Letty. "Mother Esther used to call me a little tinder-box, sometimes."
"That comes from thy father," said Aunt Eunice, "and may perhaps be accounted for in other ways. Esther, though I verily believe meaning to be a true Christian, was something of a tinder-box herself. She had not the knack of going smoothly through the world. She was like an unshorn sheep in a brier-patch: every thorn gave her a pull. But she was always kind to thee, in her way; and I am glad thou hast been able to return her kindness, in some measure, by thy care of her orphan child. It must be pleasant for thee to think on, now that thou art setting up in life for thyself."
"Yes, indeed!" said Letty, warmly. "Aunt Train used sometimes to scold about my keeping myself so poor for Sally's sake; but I always told her I should never miss it."
"If I had been situated then as I am now, I should have offered to take the care of her off thy hands, at least so far as to give her a home. But thou knowest I have had my hands more than full till very lately. I must not keep thee here any longer, however, or John will be jealous. Let us go and see what he is about."
The day passed off very pleasantly. Aunt Eunice was a woman of a good deal of reading and experience, and her conversation was as agreeable and lively as it was instructive. She entertained the young people greatly by giving them an account of the way in which weddings were managed down on the Hudson among the Dutch colonists, where she had passed the first years of her married life.
Then John and Letty rambled all over the farm, looked at the cows and sheep, admired the early chickens and ducks (for which Aunt Eunice was quite famous), petted the new kittens, and searched the grove for early hepaticas.
Just before it was time to go home, Aunt Eunice called Letty into her bedroom.
"I have laid by a few things for thee, such as I think thou wilt prize," said she. "Thy grandmother and I had each a large stock of home-spun linen to begin housekeeping with. Thy grandmother's was mostly worn out and scattered in the second marriage; but I have always been careful of mine, and I have the best of it now, besides my own spinning. I have laid out for thee three pairs of my linen sheets, and the same of pillow-cases, and half a dozen napkins, all spun by my own hands,—and—now, thou needn't laugh—a bundle of old linen, both coarse and fine."
"Indeed, I don't laugh, Aunt Eunice. I know how useful old linen is, and how hard is to get it, too; for almost every one cotton now-a-days. But I am afraid you will rob yourself, Aunt Eunice."
"I have plenty more," said Aunt Eunice smiling. "I fell heir to all my husband's mother's spinning; but I thought thou wouldst prefer the work of my own hands."
"Yes, indeed," said Letty. "I never aspired to have linen sheets,—though I have plenty of cotton ones, which I bought myself. I shall keep these for grand occasions, I assure you."
"That is what I would advise. It is always a good plan to have a reserve put away to fall back upon in case of emergency. Linen sheets are much more grateful than cotton to a sick person in a fever. Indeed, I have never brought myself to using any other though I know cotton is considered wholesome. Well, to go back to thy bundle. Here are a couple of table-cloths which thy great-grandmother spun. Thou must take great care of them, and leave them to thy eldest daughter. Here is something else,—a bag of holders for thee. I dare say thou hast never thought of providing that."
"Indeed I have not," said Letty. "I wonder at it, too; for I always use them at home,—I mean at Mrs. Trescott's."
"Then it is well I thought of them. Now thou wilt not burn thy hands with thy new teakettle. Finally, I have knitted thee three or four dish-cloths of linen twine which thou wilt find far superior to the common sort. I want to trouble thee with a little bundle for Agnes. I have put up for her the same number of sheets and pillow-cases as for thee. I thought at first I would not give them to her unless she came for them; but, after all, she is my sister's grandchild; and, though she is rather giddy at present, I hope she will mend. And now, children, I must bid you farewell. I have not troubled you with much advice. I have never found it do so very much good. People must mostly find out for themselves as they go along. I hope, John, that thou intendest to set up thy household in the fear of God?"
"I mean to do so, Aunt Eunice. It is the way in which I was brought up myself; and I hope to train up my children, if God them to me, in the same course."
"That is right. I have lived a longer life than is allotted to most people, and, though I do not mean to complain, I have had my share of this world's sorrows and troubles; but, now that I look back, as it were, from the opening of another world on the road I have been over, I can see much more sunshine than shadow upon it. Try, children, to live close to God, and he will be close to you. You must expect now and then to find some roots of bitterness springing up to trouble you, even between yourselves; though I dare say you think that is impossible. Keep it to yourselves, and it will die the quicker.
"Never allow yourselves to talk of each other's faults to any one else. Letty, thou lookest indignant at the very idea; but I can tell thee, my child, that it is the rock on which many married woman wrecks her happiness. Whatever troubles thee, be the same great or small, take it at once to God. Don't fall into the mistake of thinking that any grief is too small for prayer, or any pleasure too little for thankfulness. Never run into debt. If you have not the money to pay for what you want, do without till you get the money. A debt is an ever-increasing leak. Is thy house paid for, John?"
"Not entirely," replied John. "About a third of the purchase-money remains as mortgage."
"Then thou wilt have an object in saving. Let that be thy first worldly care, so that, whatever happens to thee, thy wife will have a home. Don't, however, be so set upon saving as to go without the reasonable comforts of life or the pleasure of assisting others poorer than thou art. That is bad economy. Finally, if trouble comes, meet it with courage, and trust in God. I am glad to have had thy company for this day; and I hope it may be a pleasant remembrance to thyself as long as thou livest. Now, once more, farewell, and God bless you!"
"Won't you come and see us, some time, Aunt Eunice?" said Letty.
"Why, I am growing rather old to travel, dear; but perhaps I may some day look in upon thee, if I am spared till warm weather comes. Give my love to Agnes and Joseph, and tell them I shall be glad to see them whenever they can make it convenient to come."
"How good and kind she is!" said Letty, as they drove away. "I should love to be just like her when I am as old."
It was nearly dark when they reached Number Nine. Agnes had promised to have a fire for them; but there were no signs of any such thing, and the door was fastened. Fortunately, however, John had the key of the side door in his pocket. A light was soon obtained, and he set about making a fire, Letty changed her dress and prepared to get their supper. Presently Letty came out of the pantry.
"Where have you put the flour or the bread, John? I cannot find any."
John laid down the coal-shovel and looked aghast. "I declare, Letty, I forgot all about it! I meant to order some yesterday; but, somehow, it went out of my head. How stupid! What shall we do?"
"I can step over to Agnes's and borrow some bread," said Letty, smiling at John's expression of consternation. "She will have a fine laugh at us."
"I would rather go up street and buy some bread," said John. "There is a bakery not far off."
"I think that will be the best way,—unless you mean to make your supper on cake alone. There is some one coming in. Who is it?"
There was a gentle knock at the door as she spoke. John opened it, and saw a small, middle-aged woman, plain, and plainly dressed, but with an expression of kindness and gentleness which made Letty like her at once. In one hand she held a bouquet of early flowers, and in the other a large plate full of something neatly folded in a white napkin.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Caswell,—I suppose it is Mrs. Caswell?" said the stranger. "My name is De Witt, and I live next door. I hope you will excuse my taking such a liberty, but I thought may-be you hadn't made any calculations for supper: so I just baked some short-cakes and brought them over. I hope you won't be offended, now."
"No, indeed," said Letty, cordially. "I am very much obliged to you. I was just wondering what we should do; for we forgot to order any flour."
"There! That's just what I thought," said Mrs. De Witt, setting down the plate. "I says to Mr. De Witt, says I,—
"'Mr. De Witt, I don't believe them young things have thought to get any flour;'—for, you see, I sit right by the front window with my work, and I hadn't seen no flour-wagon come here.
"And Mr. De Witt, he says, 'Oh, Ruth, you are always so observing.'
"'I don't care,' says I. 'I'm going to bake 'em some biscuits; and if they don't like 'em they needn't eat 'em,' says I—"
Mrs. De Witt stopped for want of breath.
"You were right," said John. "I did forget the flour at last,—though I thought of it time enough beforehand. It was very kind in you to remember us."
"Well, I think it is best to do kind things when one has a chance," replied Mrs. De Witt. "Not that a plate of biscuits is any thing. I've brought a bunch of flowers, too. Flowers make a room look kind of cheerful: don't you think so? Though I'm sure you look cheerful enough already. I noticed your things when they was coming in. I do like to see furniture neat and substantial to begin with. A great many young folks begin very grand, and then kind of taper off, you know. I don't believe you will do that way. Well, I must go. Now, if there's any thing I can do for you, you must just let me know: won't you?"
Letty promised she would; and Mrs. De Witt departed, putting her head in at the door, a moment afterwards, to ask if they had milk for their tea. Agnes had thought of that; and Mrs. De Witt bade them goodnight.
"What a nice woman!" said Letty.
"She lives next door, where I told you they had so many flowers," replied John. "I cannot help being amused at her finding out that we had no flour, when I did not think of it myself. She must have observed our affairs pretty carefully."
"After all, it is natural enough to speculate on one's new neighbours, especially when they are just married," remarked Letty. "She knows how to make biscuits; that is plain to be seen," she continued, lifting the napkin and disclosing the delicate little flaky tea-cakes. "See here what a treat! Now I am going to give you another treat, in the shape of some of Miss Catherine's plum-cake; but you must not expect that every day. I mean to keep it, like Aunt Eunice's linen, for grand occasions."
They sat down to tea, and, with a thankful heart, almost too full for utterance, John said grace at his own table.
Before the tea was poured out, the front door was unlocked, and Agnes appeared, out of breath, and considerably fluttered.
"Dear me!" she began. "What a start you gave me! When I saw a light in the window, I thought the house must be on fire. So you had to make your own fire on after all! I fully intended to have the kettle boiling and the table all set for you; but I ran into a neighbour's for a minute, and the time get away so, it was seven o'clock before I dreamed of such a thing. How nice and home-like you look! Why, dear me, Letty! You have not baked biscuit already?"
"No: these came from next door," replied Letty. "It occurred to Mrs. De Witt that we were new beginners at housekeeping; and so, out of the kindness of her heart, she baked a plate of biscuits and brought them over by way of introduction."
"How very unceremonious!" said Agnes. "Carrying biscuits to a perfect stranger!"
"Doing an act of kindness is a good way of getting acquainted," said John. "Won't you sit down and have some tea with us, Agnes? The biscuits are very good, notwithstanding they came without ceremony."
"Oh, no, thank you. I must hurry home and get tea for Joe. If he comes before it is ready, there will be such a fuss! How did you find Aunt Eunice?"
"As well as one could expect at her age," replied Letty. "She sent you her love, and something else. That smallest bundle belongs to you."
"Of course the smallest bundle belongs to me. That is always the way," said Agnes. "However, I don't blame Aunt Eunice for being offended. I want to go out and see her; but I cannot get Joe started. Well, goodnight. I expect to get my head taken off when I get home."
While Letty washed up her few tea-dishes, John went up street to order his flour and meal to be sent the first thing in the morning.
"What a busy day this has been!" said he, as he hung up his hat and coat. "Let us remember what Aunt Eunice said about beginning in the right way, and have prayers, Letty."
AUNT EUNICE'S VISIT.
FOR three or four days Letty found it very odd to be alone in the house from morning till night, with nothing to do, after she had washed up her few breakfast things, till it was time to get dinner ready; and the hours threatened to hang heavy on her hands. John's clothes were all in perfect order, thanks to the care of the good old lady with whom he had boarded for the last four or five years: so she had not the young wife's usual task of shirt-making. The house was all in holiday trim; and, spin them out as she would, she could not make her sweeping and dusting last more than an hour.
Finally she bethought herself of the garden. It was a nice, mellow piece of ground, which had been thoroughly dug over and manured in the fall, and was, therefore, in a fine state to begin operations upon in the spring.
John had set out thrifty young cherry and pear trees, and had planted two or three grapevines and a row of gooseberry and currant bushes, taking care to procure the best sorts of each; but he knew nothing about flowers.
Letty was exceedingly fond of flowers, and always had great success in their cultivation. At Mrs. Trescott's, the geraniums and fuchsias in the kitchen-windows quite outshone those in the greenhouse; and her flower-borders were always a mass of colour, from tulip-time till the frosts came in the fall.
John fully intended to have a nice garden; but his ideas extended no farther than to fruits and vegetables. He was, however, quite willing that Letty should follow her own devices in the matter of flowers, and laid out her verbena-beds with great neatness.
Mrs. De Witt saw them at work together in the evenings,—which were now growing long enough to allow them to be out after tea,—and rejoiced that she had found a neighbour after her own heart. One morning she came over, trowel in hand, and a basket of plants on her arm.
"Well, here you are at work! I'm so glad to see you take to gardening! There's nothing more healthy or more diverting, if one has troubles, whether they are little or great. I tell Mr. De Witt,—
"'Mr. De Witt,' says I, 'I dig half my worries into them flower-beds.'
"And he says, 'I guess you dig 'em all in, Ruth; for I don't see any of 'em lying loose,' says he.
"But, la bless you! that's just his way of talking. He thinks I'm the best woman in the world; but it's only because he is so good himself. Well, I see you working out here; and so I've brought you some roots of snap-dragons and carnations and pansies,—real fine sorts, I tell you, from imported seeds. The carnations are all good, I know, because they blossomed last year; but the snap-dragons are new."
Letty gratefully accepted the present. "I am sure I am very much obliged to you," said she; "but I am afraid you are too generous."
"Oh, no, I'm not. There's plenty more. I mean to give you some of my purple and white foxgloves, when you get a place for them. Our garden is so full, it will be all the better for thinning out a little. It a'n't quite time to plant out salvias and scarlet geraniums; but, when it is, I'll give you some nice ones."
"How in the world do you contrive to get so many flowers together, Mrs. De Witt?" asked Agnes, who had come in and was languidly looking on at the planting of the carnations. "It must cost a great deal both of time and money."
"Oh, Mr. De Witt is a florist. That's his business. He works for Segur & Tryon, the great nursery-people:—herbaceous plants and bulbs, his department is. I expect you must have been up that long, green walk in their garden, with the flowers on each side. Well, all that is under his care. He used to work in the greenhouse; but it injured his health."
"It must be terribly hot, disagreeable work," said Agnes.
"Oh, he don't mind. He was brought up to it in the old country from the time he was a boy,—and his father and grandfather before him; though he says it a'n't so hot there as it is here. You couldn't hire him to do any thing else. He says people who never work in their gardens don't have half the comfort that those do who take all the care themselves; and I believe that is so."
"So do I," said Letty. "But is Mr. De Witt English?"
"Dutch," replied Mrs. De Witt,—"Holland Dutch; but he speaks English so well that hardly any one guesses it. That's the way my little girl comes by her odd name,—Gatty. Her name is really Gertrude; but her father calls her Gatty: so every one else does the same. I'd set the carnations a little deeper, Mrs. Caswell, if I were you."
"Don't you mean to make a garden, Agnes?" asked Letty.
"No. Joe says it costs more than it comes to, and that it is cheaper to buy what one wants at the market. He laughed the other night when John brought home his seeds, and said he might expect his cucumbers to cost him a shilling apiece when they were done."
"I don't see how that can be," said Letty. "What expense is there after the first cost of the seeds?"
"Why, they must be kept in order, you know."
"Well, he doesn't intend to hire a gardener to do that," said Letty, smiling. "I expect most of the weeding will fall to my share, with what John can do before and after work."
"But, Letty, if any one came to call, you wouldn't like to be caught on your knees weeding an onion-bed, would you?"
"Why not?" asked Letty.
Agnes had no answer ready, only that "it would be odd."
"But, Agnes, I think some things—cucumbers and tomatoes especially—taste so much better when you pick them fresh from the vines than they do when you buy them at market. Peas, too. Come and see our peas. They are four inches high already."
Agnes languidly admired the peas, and then announced her errand. She had come to borrow a cup of molasses. Joe had promised to send some down, but it hadn't come; and she wanted to make some gingerbread.
Agnes was somewhat given to borrowing, and did not always remember to pay.
While Letty was getting the molasses, Mrs. De Witt came bustling back with the foxgloves, and set about planting them herself.
"I don't believe in taking so much pains about flowers," said Agnes. "I should rather plant something good to eat, seems to me."
"Well, I don't know," replied Mrs. De Witt. "When the first gardener planted his garden, he did not think so; for you know the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden, and set in it not only every tree that was good for food, but every tree that was pleasant to the sight. I don't think he would be likely to throw away any work. Do you?"
Agnes found herself at a loss for an answer, and put on an air of dignity. "I don't think it right to use the Bible in speaking about a little common thing like that."
"I have noticed that people generally say that when the quotation happens to go against them," said Mrs. De Witt. "Common folks have common things happen to them, mostly; and if they can't go to the Bible for directions about them, they might almost as well not have any. Now, for my part, I think it is one of the greatest beauties of the Bible that it does suit all sorts of every-day matters, and tells about them too. I dare say if you and I had been to write the history of Abraham, we should have left out how he ran and picked out a calf and got hot cakes and butter for his visitors. I've often wondered what those cakes were like."
"And you know Solomon was a great botanist," said Letty, who had returned in time to hear the end of the conversation. "And no one can read Isaiah without seeing that he was fond of flowers."
"Oh, well, I give in," said Agnes, with a sigh. "I am wrong, of course. I always am. I hear that twenty times a day: so I ought to know it by this time. Letty, if you can spare time from more important matters, I wish you would come and see me now and then. I don't pretend to be very good company, of course; but—"
"Nonsense!" said Letty. "Don't be silly! Of course I shall come,—and do come, whenever I can. You don't want me to live in the road between here and your house, do you? I will come over this afternoon and see how the gingerbread turns out."
The days went on to weeks, and the spring passed into summer, and still Letty's garden grew and flourished, and waxed gay with flowers and green with spreading cucumber-vines and rows of goodly pea and tomato plants and stately ranks of sweet corn. The little territory was a wonder of productiveness; and many an hour of cool morning and evening did she and John spend hoeing and weeding there.
Agnes declared that Letty would never have the heart to eat one of those onions, after the labour she had bestowed upon them.
In all these horticultural pursuits John found a most kind and efficient advisor in his next door neighbour. Mr. De Witt had been bred to the business of a gardener, as I have said, and so had his father and grandfather, and their ancestors before them, as far back as any one knew any thing about the family. It seemed rather a pity that he had no son to keep up the line; but Gatty was at present the only child. She was now ten years old,—a pretty, quiet child, who carried in her chubby face a curious reflection of her father's gravity.
Mr. De Witt and John soon fell into a warm friendship. Mr. De Witt was exceedingly intelligent and well informed, especially upon the subject of European politics, both English and Continental. He had also picked up a good deal of theology and metaphysics; and endless were the discussions he and John held while smoking their pipes, sitting under the large apple tree in Mr. De Witt's garden, or on Letty's back steps.
This smoking did not please Letty at all. She disliked the smell of the pipe, and thought it an expensive and an unhealthy habit; but she wisely declined to interfere with her husband's tastes, feeling satisfied if he would smoke only at home.
Agnes came in one evening, and found Letty sitting with her work at the front window.
"How you smell of tobacco-smoke!" said she. "Do you like it?"
"No," replied Letty; "I cannot say that I do; but the men seem to take such wonderful comfort in their pipes that I have not the heart to say a word against it; though I must say I think it's a very bad habit."
"So you do find that there are some trials in married life?" said Agnes, significantly.
Letty laughed. "You don't call that a trial; do you? I wish he would give it up; but if I never have any thing more to complain of in John than his pipe, I think I shall be a happy woman."
Agnes looked a little vexed at this rejection of her condolence. She was very fond of sympathy, as she called it,—that is, of being pitied on all subjects and occasions. She wanted to be pitied because she lived in a small house,—because she was not rich,—because Number 6 had new worked-muslin curtains,—because Joseph smoked, and liked johnny-cake better than milk-toast. All these were trials, in her estimation; and she was fond of talking them over in low and confidential tones with any one who would listen to her.
This "maundering"—as the Scotch call it—was very distasteful to Letty, and she did not think it good for Agnes: so she discouraged it by every means in her power.
Agnes was not only fond of making the most of her own trials, but she was benevolently anxious that all her friends should do the same. At present, however, she abandoned the subject of the pipe, and fell upon something else.
"How they do prose and prose!" said she, looking over to the apple tree where the men were sitting. "What can they find to talk about so everlastingly?"
"Oh, they are never at a loss. Mr. De Witt thinks a certain doctrine is in the Bible, and John thinks it is not; and when every thing else is exhausted, they fall back upon that. I cannot say I am much the wiser for their discussions; but they seem to enjoy them wonderfully. I don't think John ever conversed so much in his life before; for he is not a great talker; but he and Mr. De Witt seem to suit each other exactly."
"And so they go by themselves and talk, and leave you to amuse yourself the best way you can. Very kind and considerate, certainly!"
Letty winced at this; for the truth was, she had not always been able to help feeling a little jealous of these conversations, from which she was in a great measure excluded simply because she did not understand what they were about. The knotty points of theology and metaphysics in which the two men took such interest were not of much interest to her, and seemed to be disputes about words more than any thing else; and the mysterious diagrams in the "Scientific American," over which they poured for hours sometimes, were so much Greek to her. Agnes saw her advantage, and pursued it.
"The fact is, Letty, say what you will, all men are selfish. They think their wives are just made to wait upon them and take care of their homes, and that they ought to be thankful for any crumbs of comfort the men choose to bestow upon them. Now, there is that 'Scientific American:' it is of no earthly use to you. Why couldn't he just as well subscribe to some paper that you would like to read as well as himself? What is that but selfishness?"
Agnes had made a mistake. She should not have attacked John directly. It roused Letty's wife-spirit in an instant.
"You are very much mistaken, Agnes. John is not selfish. He is always thinking what he can do to please me and to save me trouble. Look at all the little contrivances he has made about the house for my convenience. The very first thing he thinks of when he comes in, and the last thing before he goes out, is whether he can do any thing to help me. As for the 'Scientific American,' it is a great assistance to him in his business; and, if he takes that for himself, he takes the Magazine expressly for me,—for he hardly ever looks at it. He doesn't care for that sort of reading."
"That is just what I say," persisted Agnes. "If he were not selfish, he would care, just because it interested you. And there is Joseph, just the same. He laughed at my worsted-work last night, and said my dog squinted, and my dog's nose was like a pair of stairs; and he would not hold my worsted for me, just because he was whittling something."
"Whittling what?"
"Oh, I don't know. He wanted to explain it to me; but I couldn't pay attention enough to understand. Some trumpery model or other, I suppose."
"Well, but, Agnes, I think it is a poor rule that won't work both ways. Why should not Joseph complain of your selfishness and want of love for him because you would not be interested in his models? It was as important to him as your worsted-work to you;—rather more so, probably. I should think, for my part, there was some selfishness in requiring a man to lay down such a piece of work to hold worsted, which might just as well be wound off of a chair."
Agnes could not see the matter in that light. She never could see that any of her requirements were selfish. She had all her life long acted on the principle (though probably she had never avowed it once to herself) of putting her own fancies and desires before those of any one else. If people gave way to her and waited upon her, well and good: it was no more than their duty. If they did not, they were hard-hearted, selfish and unkind, and she was the most abused of all her race. She habitually put herself first, and measured all other things by that standard. Even her mother had said, with some bitterness, in Letty's hearing, that there was no use in expecting Agnes to put herself out of her way for any one.
Joseph, a careless, good-natured fellow for the most part, was also fond of consideration and attention. He was fond of having things comfortable about home. He wanted his meals ready at the minute, and well cooked; and he expected his house to be in order when he entered it. But he was not as ready as he should have been to make allowance for his wife's inexperience in housekeeping. Hence, he sometimes spoke more hastily than was desirable, and made trifling matters of more importance than was necessary.
But Agnes, instead of striving to avoid those things which annoyed him, chose to consider that her own way was right, and perversely did the very same thing over again merely for the sake of having her own way. They had had no serious disagreement as yet; but she was laying up trouble for the future.
Just then John looked in. "Come, Letty; come out, and bring your work. Mr. De Witt is describing the Cathedral at Nuremberg, of which we had a picture in the paper, you know; and I am sure you would like to hear him. Besides, I like to have you near. Come, Agnes."
Letty cast a glance of triumph at her cousin, and prepared to obey. Agnes, with a demonstrative sigh, excused herself. She must go home, she said,—with a look which would have conveyed to a stranger the idea that she was going straight to martyrdom.
Towards the end of August, Letty was one day very much surprised to see a carriage stop at her gate, and the well-preserved figure of Aunt Eunice stepping from it, with two baskets and a pail. She ran out to welcome the good old lady and relieve her of her parcels.
Aunt Eunice was soon sitting on the sofa,—she had no love for rocking-chairs,—with her fine lawn and crape as unruffled as though she had just stepped out of her bedroom at the farm.
"Well, and how dost thou get on, dear? Every thing looks so neat and so comfortable about thee that it is hardly worth while to ask. I ought to apologize for coming on washing-day; but neighbour Jones offered to bring me in his easy carriage, and I thought I might never again have so good a chance. Don't let my coming put thee aback, now."
"Oh, my washing is all done and out long ago," said Letty, smiling. "These long hot days I like to get up and wash before breakfast, while it is cool and comfortable. I was up by four o'clock this morning."
"That's a good housewife!" said the old lady, approvingly. "But bring me that small basket, my dear. I have brought thee a small addition to thy family. Thou rememberest the yellow kitten thou admiredst so much? I have kept him on purpose for thee; and here he is."
Letty was delighted. The basket was untied, and the yellow kitten appeared, somewhat ruffled by the journey, and very much amazed to find himself in a strange place. However, a saucer of milk and a bit of raw meat served to convince him that he had fallen into good hands; and he began at once to make himself at home in his new quarters.
"I have brought thee something else, which thou must divide with Agnes," said Aunt Eunice,—"a basket of eggs, and a pail of fresh butter, part of my last churning. And how is Agnes? Does she live near thee still?"
Letty pointed out the house, and said she would run over and call her; but Aunt Eunice stopped her.
"Let me rest a few minutes, and we will step over and see her. I should like to look in upon her unawares, as I have upon thee."
Letty consented,—rather unwillingly; for she knew what washing-days were to Agnes, and she thought it was hardly fair to take her at unawares. However, after a few minutes, spent in conversation or in silence, while Letty put away her share of the eggs and butter, Aunt Eunice was ready; and they crossed the road to Number Ten.
Agnes was certainly in no condition for visitors. In the course of her washing she had wetted herself from head to foot, and splashed the water from one end of the kitchen to the other. The breakfast-table had not been cleared away, but stood as used, with the remains of the morning's meal, and black with flies.
Agnes was attired in what had been her travelling-dress when she was first married,—a gray-and-purple valencia, which had once been very pretty, but was now torn, burned, frayed and worn in a manner really surprising. She never wore an apron about her work. Her hair was straggling about her ears, her shoes were down at the heels and out at the sides. A more forlorn figure it would be hard to imagine, especially in contrast with Letty in her neat pink calico and white apron and collar.
"Dear me, Aunt Eunice! Is this you? What cloud did you drop from? Do come in and sit down. I am all upside-down, washing, as you see; but you won't mind that, I am sure. You know poor people have to get on as they can. Do walk into the other room, out of this mess."
When Letty reached the other room, she could not think it such a great improvement over the kitchen. The furniture, bought in the fall to furnish the rooms at the boarding house, had already assumed the indescribably forlorn appearance which belongs to cheap neglected haircloth. Scratches appeared here and there, bits of veneering were knocked off, and each button was surrounded by its own little circle of dust. Dust had made a lodgment under the sofa, under the little corner-shelves filled with knickknacks, in which Agnes took especial pride,—on the skirting-boards and the window frames and ledges. Three or four highly-coloured French prints decorated the walls, and some gilt books, whose showy bindings and coarse paper were emblematic of their contents, lay on the table.
All this, however, was at first concealed by the judicious expedient of darkening the room till it was difficult to tell a table from a chair: so that Aunt Eunice had nearly sat down upon a shelf of the corner cupboard. It was a cardinal article of faith with Agnes that sunshine was vulgar and darkness genteel; but she so far relented as to turn the slats of the blinds, that her visitors might find their way to seats.
"Well, and how dost thou get on at housekeeping?" asked Aunt Eunice. "I should say thou hast a nice, convenient house."
"It is very small," said Agnes, sighing. "I think it's very hard to keep such a little place in order. Don't you?"
"Well, perhaps so; but I should say the house was large enough for thee and thy husband. How many rooms has it?"
"Only six,—five, that is, besides the kitchen; and two of them are little more than closets."
"That gives thee two bedrooms, besides kitchen and parlour, and abundant storeroom. When I first went to housekeeping in this part of the country, I had only one room for kitchen, parlour and bedroom."
"How did you ever live?" asked Agnes.
"Oh, nicely. I don't know that I have ever enjoyed myself more in my life than when I lived in that log house; though the wolves used to come unpleasantly near, the first winter or two. I remember once I was alone in the house. Thy uncle had been called away to watch with a neighbour who was very sick, and I sat knitting by the fire-light, when a slight noise at the window caused me to look round, and there I saw the eyes of a wolf glaring at me out of the darkness."
"Horrible!" exclaimed both the girls. "What did you do?"
"I raised my heart to God for protection; and, having quieted my first fears in that way, I threw a quantity of dry light wood on the fire, so as to make a great blaze, and then took down my husband's gun, which was always loaded, and hung near the bed. Then—now, don't look for any thing very heroic—I snatched up an iron hook and a tin pan which stood near, and ran towards the window, drumming with all my might and making a frightful noise. The wolf, who I suppose had never heard such music, turned and fled, and I did not see him again. But you can imagine that I did not sleep much that night. My great fear was that the brute might be the advance-guard of a pack, and that my husband, coming home in the gray dusk of the morning, might encounter them.
"We found afterwards there were really more than a dozen of them; but the neighbour was so low that Jacob did not leave him till after sunrise, when he died. He told me that when he came across the lot and saw the creature's footsteps in the snow, his heart died within him, and he had hardly strength to reach the house. Indeed, I think he was the palest man I ever saw, when I opened the door."
"Dreadful!" exclaimed Agnes. "I should never have dared to stay there another night."
"Oh, we were not so easily scared as that. We had several acres under improvement, and considerable wheat in the ground; and it would never, have answered to move away and leave it all to destruction for one fright."
"But to live all in one room! And I dare say you had no comforts, or any thing!"
"We were as well off as our neighbours in that respect,—which was all that was necessary. Half the furniture people purchase is for others, rather than for themselves. We were all friendly and social, and did a deal of visiting. I thought nothing, in those days, of riding ten miles on horseback to go to a quilting. Most of the women and girls used to ride behind their husbands or their beaux; and there was as much contriving to get the pairs properly assorted as takes place in a modern ball-room. I had a saddle-horse of my own: so I was independent of the men-folks in that respect."
"Well," said Letty, "while you are chatting with Agnes, I will run home and see to my cooking; for you must all come to our house to dinner. I have been contriving how I can send word to your mother, Agnes. I believe I will ask Gatty De Witt to go over and carry a note."
"I shall be glad to see Susan, if thou canst manage it without too much trouble," said Aunt Eunice. "But dost thou not want some help about getting dinner for so many?"
"Oh, no," replied Letty. "I can manage it well enough; but I must run up to market first."
"Letty is used to work," said Agnes, as her cousin left the room. "Do you know, Aunt Eunice, she actually did all the work at Mrs. Trescott's for six months before she was married,—cooking, washing and all? I was just as vexed at her as I could be. It was bad enough to have her living out at all; but that was a little too much."
"Why?" asked Aunt Eunice.
"Oh, really, aunt, you know we must pay some attention to the opinions of the world in such matters; and with Letty's family it did not sound very well to say that one's cousin was a kitchen-girl."
"And how much of the world dost thou think concerned itself in the fact that thy cousin worked in the kitchen instead of the shop? Or why is one more genteel than the other? Canst thou tell?"
Agnes did not know, only every one thought so. She was willing to drop the subject; for she had, as usual, a host of grievances for the ears of anybody who would listen to them; and this morning she was especially afflicted. Joseph had called her extravagant! He declared that they never had any thing in the house fit to eat, with all the money they spent, and said he would make the purchases himself; and he had actually bought a cook-book, and asked her to study it.
"Did not thy mother teach thee to cook?" asked Aunt Eunice.
"No. I never learned to cook. Mother did all that."
"But surely thou didst not leave it all to thy mother? Didst thou not help some times?"
"Why, you know, Aunt Eunice, I had to keep my hands nice for my work; and when I was in the shop I had no time. Besides, I never looked forward to having such work to do. And I really think, now, that Joe might keep a girl, if he only thought so. If it was any thing that affected his own comfort, he would do it quickly enough, no doubt; but as long as it is only his wife that suffers—"
"Thou shouldst not speak of thy husband in that way. It is very wrong," said Aunt Eunice, gravely. "As to thy not being brought up to work, that is a great misfortune,—perhaps more thy misfortune than thy fault. I am surprised that thy mother should have let thee grow up so ignorant."
"She did not think I should ever have it to do."
"That makes no difference, my child. If thou hadst ten servants at thy command, thou wouldst never be well served unless thou understandest something of their work thyself. The best advice I can give thee is, go to work and learn as fast as possible the best way of doing every thing about the house. Letty, I am sure, would be glad to show thee; and, from what I have seen already, as well as what I know of Maria Trescott, I should say she was perfectly competent to do so. Then make up thy mind to try and please thy husband. Learn to put thy own tastes and wishes aside, if necessary, and interest thyself in his."
"I think that is a hard case, aunt," interrupted Agnes, indignantly. "If I had looked at marriage in that light, I am sure I never should have tried it."
"My child, it is no more true of marriage than of any other state of life. If thou wouldst be happy or useful in any position whatever, thou must learn self-denial. I tell thee, Agnes, it is the key of life, and of happiness, too. No one who has nothing to do but to please himself, ever succeeded in doing so for any length of time. Self-denial is the law of God, and whoever fights against it is sure to come by the worst. And He has not disdained to set us an example.
"'Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich.'"'Let every one of us please his neighbour for his good to edification,' says Paul, and adds, 'for even Christ pleased not himself.'
"If thou wilt only try and do so for the love of God, my dear, in time it will become easy to thee, and thou wilt find many sweet flowers of pleasure growing where thou didst not look for them."
Agnes did not reply. She did not relish this kind of doctrine at all. She had professed to ask for advice, but what she really wanted was pity. Her appetite in this respect was fast becoming morbid. She sighed, and was silent; and Aunt Eunice, thinking she had said enough, turned the conversation to something else.
Joseph came home a little before noon, and looked very much annoyed as he entered the disorderly kitchen. "All in the suds, as usual!" he said, bitterly. "I wish there were no such things as washing-days!"
Agnes sighed again as she went to meet him, and cast a glance at Aunt Eunice, as much as to say, "You see how I am treated."
Joe smoothed his ruffled brow as he saw who was their visitor, and welcomed her with great cordiality, hinting plainly to Agnes at the same time that she had better go and make herself decent. When she had gone, he began to apologize for the state of the house. It soon appeared that he too had a train of grievances to relate. Agnes was extravagant and self-willed; she spent money foolishly on expensive provisions, and then wasted what she bought, because she did not know how to cook it; he was afraid they should never make both ends meet, at the rate they were going on, &c.
Aunt Eunice dealt still more plainly with him than with his wife. She told him that it was the man's place to comfort, to support and help,—that he must not expect to receive all and give nothing in return. It was true that Agnes was ignorant; but a good deal of her trouble arose from inexperience, of which she would get the better every day; and she warned him against forfeiting his wife's and his own respect by fretfulness and fault-finding and by indulging in little acts of selfishness.
On the whole, Joseph was not displeased. He had really been very much in love with his wife,—more so, it is to be supposed, than she with him, since her heavy bread had failed to have the same disenchanting effect upon him which his cookery-book had exercised upon her. He said to himself that it was very natural and proper for the old lady to stand up for her niece, and he liked her the better for it. He was in a very good humour when Agnes appeared, and with a great deal of politeness gave Aunt Eunice his arm as she crossed the street.
As they passed out through the kitchen, the old lady's smooth brow was contracted for a moment with something like a frown. She had caught sight of one of her fine home-spun linen sheets lying on the floor among the other clothes, torn and stained, and with the marks of flat-irons burned into and out of it. She said nothing; but, before she reached Letty's door, her mind was made up as to a subject upon which she had been for some time in doubt. What that subject was we shall find out by-and-by.
Letty's dinner was an entire success. Aunt Eunice herself praised the brown stew made of a round steak, and noticed the variety and freshness of the vegetables. Accustomed to the space of a large farm, she could hardly believe that all she saw before her—the tomatoes, the potatoes, the beans and corn—came from their own little garden.
"Really, now, that is something to be proud of!" said she. "Thou must have been very industrious, John."
"Much of the praise belongs to Letty," replied John,—a little flush of gratification shining in his dark cheek. "If I planted, she watered and weeded, and, above all, cooked; and, I take it, the excellence of vegetables depends much upon their cooking."
"That's so!" said Joseph, emphatically. "I wish, Aggy, you would get Letty to show you how to cook tomatoes like these. Ours always taste raw and watery."
"I guess you do not cook them long enough," said Letty. "They require more time than people generally think."
"Perhaps so. Some people have a knack of doing things right:—that's all I know," replied Joseph.
"Some people have a knack of liking any thing better than what their own wives do," said Agnes, bitterly. "If you are so desperately particular, it is a pity you did not marry a kitchen-girl."
It was now Joseph's turn to colour; and he looked heartily ashamed.
John turned his black eyes upon Agnes with a look which made her own colour rise, and she subsided into a sulky silence, which she maintained during the remainder of the meal.
Aunt Eunice, with ready tact, turned the conversation; and Letty was too well accustomed to her cousin's ways to trouble herself about them. She did think Agnes might have offered to help her with the dishes after dinner; but she made no move to do so. There was no particular bad temper in the omission; it simply never occurred to her. She had, not been taught the invaluable habit of helpfulness. As Letty was putting her plates together, however, Mrs. De Witt tapped at the door, coming in, as usual, before any one had time to open it.
"Now, look here!" said she. "Gatty and I are going to wash up these dishes. You go right in the parlour and sit down and chat with your aunt. We can do it just as well as not, and we'll have 'em all done in less than no time."
"I am sure you are very kind," said Letty; "but it is giving you a great deal of trouble."
"Oh, don't you think that! You'll do as much for me some time, I dare say. What's neighbours for, only to help one another? That's my idea, at least."
"It is mine, too," said Letty. "But every one doesn't think so."
"More's the pity! It's Scripture doctrine, anyhow. Now, you go right in and sit down with your aunt. I'll do every thing just as well as you can. La! What a pretty kitten! Look, Gatty! A'n't it cunning?"
"My aunt brought it to me," said Letty. "But, Mrs. De Witt, you must come over to tea and see Aunt Eunice: I am sure you will like her. John and Joseph are coming home at five o'clock, and we shall have tea early."
Mrs. De Witt promised to come, and immediately began making a great clattering among the dishes, while Letty returned to the parlour. Agnes looked rather surprised to see her so soon.
"Finished already?" she asked.
"Oh, no; but Mrs. De Witt has kindly taken my work off my hands."
Aunt Eunice involuntarily looked at Agnes; but Agnes made no sign. "That is always the way with Letty," she said pettishly. "Every one helps her."
"Perhaps because she always helps everybody," said Aunt Eunice, significantly.
Agnes understood what she meant, and felt it.
"I don't see how you can bear to have that woman so familiar with you," she said, with a disdainful toss of her head. "She runs in at all hours, and seems to think herself as good as anybody."
"Why shouldn't she?" asked Letty, dryly.
Agnes did not seem to know, exactly, only she didn't like "that sort of people." De Witt was only a working gardener, and his wife, a tailoress. She did not wish to associate with everybody, for her part. She thought it must be a much pleasanter state of society where people had their own stations and kept them.
"And what dost thou think thine own position would be in that case?" asked Aunt Eunice. "Dost thou suppose that the wife of a working chemist and perfumer would associate with dukes and earls?"
Agnes had not thought of that; but she believed that, at any rate, a perfumer's wife was a good many degrees above a working gardener's.
"Oh, Agnes, Agnes, how very silly thou art!" said Aunt Eunice, with a sort of groan. "Where didst thou pick up such absurd notions? Thou art nearly as bad as the grocer's wife who refused to associate with her neighbour on the ground that her husband sold single candles, while she sold only by the pound."
Letty laughed heartily. "You will have to put up with the society of the gardener's wife a little while, Agnes; for I have asked her to tea, to meet Aunt Eunice. I am sure they will suit exactly."
"Aunt Eunice must be flattered!"
"I consider it a compliment to both of them," said Letty. "Here is your mother coming at last."
Letty's prophecy proved true. They did suit each other exactly. Aunt Eunice had penetration enough to understand perfectly the kind spirit which lay under Mrs. De Witt's bad English and unceremonious ways. And Mrs. De Witt, on her part, was charmed with the old lady's manners and dress, and the gentle wisdom of her conversation. As she afterwards said, it was as good as a picture to look at her, and better than a sermon to hear her talk. They found a common subject in their love of flowers; and nothing would do but that Aunt Eunice must come over and look at Mrs. De Witt's dahlias and snap-dragons, and then at the beautiful old-fashioned egg-shell china, and the tiny silver spoons,—so heavy in proportion to their size,—as well as the little silver cream-jug, marked with a coat-of-arms, which Mr. De Witt's father had brought from Holland.
"They have been in his family,—oh, I can't tell you how long! Mr. De Witt knows. He knows all about his family. There was a very great man in it once, who was torn to pieces by the people for something he did,—Grand—something,—I forget what."
"Grand-pensionary, perhaps," said Aunt Eunice. "And so the famous De Witt was an ancestor of thine. I should like to see thy husband and talk some Dutch with him,—that is, if I have not forgotten all I ever knew."
"Do tell!" exclaimed the good woman. "Can you talk Dutch? Mr. De Witt would be ready to stand on his head."
Letty could not help laughing heartily at the ludicrous idea of the grave, sober Mr. De Witt in such a position. "Do send for him," said she. "Let Gatty go and bring him here to tea. I am so glad I thought of it."
"Why, you'll have quite a tea-party," said Mrs. De Witt. "He'll be delighted, I'm sure, if it won't be too much trouble for you. But then I know you don't mind a little trouble. Mrs. Caswell, here, is like the woman in Scripture, Mrs. White:—she 'worketh willingly with her hands.'
"There's a great deal in that working willingly. That's what I always tell Gatty; because children don't always like to take hold of work, you know.
"'Gatty,' says I, 'work willingly: the willing mind is half the battle.'"
Agnes made no objection to this addition to the tea-party. The old china and silver, the coat-of-arms and the grand-pensionary, had worked a great change in her feelings and manners towards Mrs. De Witt, and she was very gracious all the rest of the evening.
Mrs. De Witt insisted on lending Letty her spoons and china, and gathered a dish of her precious early apricots to add to the entertainment. Aunt Eunice was as much pleased with Mr. De Witt as she had been amused with his wife. He was a slow-spoken, serious man, who seldom laughed, and almost always had his head full of some great subject, which he pondered as he worked at his carnation and verbenas. No one would have taken him for a Hollander, except for the extra exactness of his English,—which he certainly had never learned from his wife. He and Aunt Eunice fell into conversation directly, and kept it up briskly in Dutch, much to the amusement of Mrs. De Witt, who was delighted to see her husband appreciated.
"Well, children," said Aunt Eunice, as she looked at her watch after tea, "I expect neighbour Jones will soon be here. Let us have family worship together before we separate."
All were pleased with the proposal, and John brought the great Bible from its stand, Aunt Eunice remarking, with approbation, that the good book showed signs of daily use.
After the prayer, they sat a moment in silence, and then Aunt Eunice spoke. She said she should probably never see so many of her family together again, and she felt impelled to say a few words to them on the most important subject of all. She urged upon them the importance of a personal, vital faith,—a faith which should pervade and sanctify all their actions and make their daily life and conversation a continual praise-offering to God. In this way of living, she said, they would, in the darkest hour, find light in their dwellings, and God would always be with them. It might be sometimes in the cloud and sometimes in the pillar of fire; but he would always be there, and the one would guide them as surely as the other to the promised land. The old lady spoke with authority and solemnity, and her countenance seemed to glow with more than mortal light as she entreated her hearers, by the mercies of God, to serve him and to honour his name in their daily life and conversation.
Even Agnes was touched, and forgot all her grievances for the time. Tears filled all eyes as Aunt Eunice bade them what they all felt might be a final farewell; and Mrs. De Witt, always impulsive, sobbed aloud. She declared afterwards to her husband that such a season of worship was like a well in the desert. It would do her good all her life; and she felt thankful that she had thought of giving her a basket of her best apricots to carry home. It was a privilege to be allowed to do any thing for such a saint.
NEW NEIGHBOURS.
THE summer and autumn passed quietly away with our friends; and October saw a goodly supply of vegetables stowed away in John's cellar for winter use. The garden had paid for itself many times over, not only in solid comforts, but in pleasant and healthful amusement; while Joseph's equally good piece of ground had produced nothing better than docks and thistles.
Letty's flowers had done wonders; and her south window in the kitchen was filled with hardy plants in pots, looking rather paler just now in their transition from out-door to in-door life, but which might be expected to produce an abundance of flowers towards the end of winter.
Agnes wondered how Letty could bear to have the sunshine blazing in all day, showing every thing so plainly; but Letty loved sunshine, physical as well as mental; and indeed, her housekeeping could bear the full daylight better than that of her cousin.
November saw two important additions to the neighbourhood in Myrtle Street. Mr. and Mrs. Van Horn moved into Number Four, and Agnes's first baby was born. It proved a fine, bouncing little girl, black-eyed and dark-skinned,—exactly the image of its very good-looking father. Agnes had hoped for a boy, and that it would look like her; but she could not allow her disappointment to embitter her against the little, helpless being which drew its life from her. She even submitted without a murmur to its being called Margaret,—after Joe's mother,—and only made a wry face when he persisted in nicknaming it Peggy, and Madge, and Magpie, and every thing else which could be twisted out of the name of Margaret.
Agnes recovered soon from her confinement, and, Joseph getting an advance of wages about the same time, she hired a nice little English girl to assist her in taking care of the little Madge, as the child came finally to be called. She seemed more placid and contented, and also much more serious and thoughtful, than she had ever done since her marriage; and Letty believed that (as it often happens) the baby was going to make a woman of its mother.
As for Joseph, his admiration of the little stranger was almost painful to witness. The baby was never out of his arms while he was in the house: he built endless castles in the air as to its future, and was terrified at every one of its little ailments. He called Letty up one cold, rainy morning at two o'clock to come and see it expire in convulsions, and ran off a mile for Dr. Woodman before she could dress herself,—somewhat to the disgust of the good doctor, who had been up all the night before, and arrived to find Madge fast asleep in her mother's arms,—the disease having readily yielded to three drops of paregoric!
The other arrival made much more noise and stir in the neighbourhood. Number Four was the only house in the street which made any pretensions to gentility; and it was very genteel indeed. It had a tower, and a bow-window, and a veranda, and a gabled porch, and dormer windows, and every thing else which a house could have outside. And it had a drawing-room, and a parlour, and a dining-room, and a sitting-room, and a library, and every thing else which a house could have inside. And it was painted a delicate peach-blossom colour; and it had a varnished front door, and inside blinds, and various scollops and points and apertures about the roof, and looked just fit to hang up in a tree with a pair of white mice in it. So John said; but Joseph, whose imagination was dazzled with all this show, ascribed this remark to envy, and began to consider the possibility of converting his own dwelling into something similar.
The whole neighbourhood was kept in a state of excitement, for some time, by the arrival of Mrs. Van Horn's furniture. Some people admired the splendour of the carved rosewood sofa, the marble tables, and the pictures,—which seemed to be all gilt frames; and the excitement reached its height when it was discovered that Mrs. Van Horn actually had a piano! For Myrtle Street had hitherto been unblessed or unannoyed by the presence of any musical instrument except Mr. De Witt's fiddle.
But when Mrs. Van Horn made her appearance, the wonder and admiration were transferred from all other things to herself. It was during the time of the first great expansion of skirts; and Mrs. Van Horn's crinoline exceeded every thing that had heretofore been seen in Myrtle Street. Her basque was the longest, her sleeves the richest, her bonnet the most fashionable, that could be imagined. She was a pretty little woman, with pleasant features, long fair curls, a great deal of colour, and very lively manners. Her husband was a dark-whiskered, black-haired man, who dressed as extensively in his way as his wife did in hers. He wore a seal-ring on his finger and a heavy chain on his watch,—quite a contrast to the hard-working men who daily went up and down Myrtle Street with their dinner-pails and baskets.
Agnes was greatly taken with the new-comers, especially with Mrs. Van Horn. She thought the squirrel cage they occupied every thing that could be desired in the way of a mansion, and was really angry with Letty for wondering where they would put all their clothes and furniture, and, that being disposed of, where they would live themselves. What Letty thought of the new-comers may be gathered from a conversation she held with her husband the evening after she had been with her cousin to call on them.
"Have you seen any thing of our new neighbours?" he asked, as he composed himself in his favourite chair after supper.
"I have seen all I want to see," replied Letty, promptly.
It was seldom that she spoke so decidedly about any one; and John looked up in surprise. Letty set up her last dishes, gave a final brush to the stove-hearth, and sat down with her knitting on the other side of the fire. John waited quietly, knowing that Letty would begin to talk of her own accord by-and-by.
"So you didn't particularly like Mrs. Van Horn?"