University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
FINDING SOMETHING TO DO FOR THE WAR.

THE next morning the Mather carriage, containing
both Mrs. Carleton and Rose, drove down the
Hollow, and stopped in front of Annie's gate.
Mrs. Carleton's business was with Widow Simms, who
was mixing bread in the kitchen, and who experienced
considerable trepidation when told “the grand Boston
lady” had asked for her.

“I'm pesky glad I hain't tattled about Jim,” she
thought, as washing the flour from her hands and
hooking her sleeves at the wrist she entered the sitting-room,
and with a low courtesy, waited to hear the lady's
errand.

Mrs. Carleton had come with a request that the widow
should not repeat what Rose had so heedlessly told her
the previous night.

“You may think it strange that I care so much,” Mrs.
Carleton said, “and until you are placed in similar circumstances
you cannot understand how I shrink from
having it known that my son could fall so low, or do so
great injustice to his early training.”

If the widow had possessed one particle of prejudice
against the Carletons, this would have disarmed her entirely,
but she did not. Isaac's letter had swept that all
away, and she replied that “Jimmie's secret was as safe
with her as if locked up in an iron chest.”

“I did feel blazin' mad at you, though, for a spell,”
she said, “for I thought you might have brung him up
better; but this cured me entirely,” and she handed
Isaac's letter to Rose, bidding her read it aloud.

“Noble boy! You must be proud of him,” was Mrs.
Carleton's comment, while Rose, ever impulsive, seized
upon a new idea.

It would be so nice for the Rockland ladies to fit up a
box of things and send to Company R, reserving a corner
for Tom and Will. She should do it, anyway, on
her own responsibility, if nobody chose to help her, and
she whispered to Annie that George should have a large
share of the delicacies she would provide.

“You may send that candy to Tom, if you choose,”
she said to the widow, “though I think cod liver oil
would be better. And the ointment too,—only it mustn't
sit near my preserves, for fear the two will get mixed.”

Rose had found something to do, and so absorbed was
she in a plan which every one approved, that she forgot
to cry all the time for Will, as she had fully intended doing.
Up the streets and down she went, sometimes
walking, sometimes riding, but always in a flurry, always
excited, now tumbling over dry-goods boxes in quest of
one large enough to hold the many articles preparing in
Rockland for the then ill-fed, suffering soldiers of the
13th Regiment, now up at the express office, bargaining
about the expense, which she meant to bear herself, and now
down at the Hall, adroitly smoothing over little bickerings
frequently arising among the ladies assembled there,
concerning the articles sent in, some declaring the fried
apple pies brought by Mrs. Baker should not go, nor
yet the round balls of Dutch cheese she had saved sour
milk two weeks to make, just because “Billy relished it
so much, 'long with apple turnovers.”

Poor old Mrs. Baker! It was the best she could do, and
when Rose saw how the tears came at the prospect of
Billy's losing the feast she had prepared with so much
care, she declared the cheese should go if she had to send it

in a separate box. It was just so with the widow's poke
ointment, some of the ladies wondering what next would
be brought in and what it could be for. Rose knew
exactly what 'twas for; Tom had corns, and the despised
salve was for him, so that should go if nothing else.
But when Susan Ruggles Simms, her thoughts intent on
John, brought in a round of roasted veal, which her
mother-in-law said would be in a most lively condition
by the time it reached Washington, Rose, after suggesting
that it be packed in ice and put in a refrigerator,
yielded for once, and persuaded the girl-wife to carry
home her veal, which would most surely be spoiled ere
John came to see it.

“You can write him a nice long letter,” she said, when
she saw how disappointed Susan looked. “You can tell
him your intentions were good until we old experienced
married ladies persuaded you out of them.”

So Susan, with a sigh, carried back her nice stuffed
roast, the widow muttering in an aside tone, “That's all
them shiftless Ruggleses know! Might as well send
maggits and done with it.”

It was a strange medley that huge box contained, for
every member of Company R was remembered, thanks
to the indefatigable Rose, who procured a list of the
names, and when she found any without friends in that
immediate vicinity, she supplied the deficiency from her
own store of luxuries. Of course Will and Tom fared the
best, while next to them came Lieutenant Graham and
Isaac Simms, Rose writing a tiny note to the latter, telling
him how much she liked him for speaking so of Tom,
and sending him a pair of her fine linen sheets, because
she couldn't think of anything else, and thought these
would be cool to sleep in on hot summer nights. Dear
little Rose! how fast she grew in popularity, the people

wondering they had never seen before how good she was,
and imputing some portion of her present interest to the
presence of her mother, who had made arrangements to
remain for an indefinite length of time in Rockland, and
who, far less demonstrative than her active daughter,
did much by her sensible advice to keep the wheel in
motion, and Rose from overdoing the matter so zealously
taken in hand.

The box was packed at last;—every chink and crevice
was full. Mrs. Baker's Dutch cheese and fried apple
pies were there, wrapped by Rose Mather in innumerable
folds of paper, tied around with yards of the strongest
twine she could find, and safely stowed away where
they could not be harmed; Widow Simms's ointment
too, and the candy she had made, occupied a corner, together
with her daguerreotype sent to Isaac, and a letter
to Captain Carleton. That letter was a mammoth undertaking,
but the widow felt it her duty to write it, groaning
and sweating, and consulting Perry's old leathern-bound
dictionary for every word of which she felt at all
uncertain, and driving poor Annie nearly distracted
with asking “if this were grammar, and if that were too
lovin' like, for a widder to send a widower.” Not a little
amused, Annie gave the required advice, smiling in spite
of herself, as she read the note the widow handed her,
and which ran as follows:

This was the widow's letter, sent with Tom's parcel to
Washington, where the box was greeted by the company
with exclamations of joy, and could those who sent it
have seen the eager, happy faces of each one as he found
he was remembered, they would have felt doubly repaid
for all the trouble and annoyance it had cost them.
Only one growl of dissatisfaction was heard, and that
from Harry Baker, who, with a muttered oath, exclaimed,
as he undid his paper parcel,

“Apple turnovers, by jing! Sourer than swill, and
mouldier than the rot. Halloo, Bill, got some too, I see.
What in fury is this? Dutch cheese, as I'm alive. Make
good bullets for Secesh, so here goes!” and the next
moment there whizzed through the air the cheese poor
old Mrs. Baker had found so hard to smuggle in. The
apple pies followed next, and then the reckless Harry
amused himself with jeering at Bill, who, after carefully
stowing away in his pocket, the large, strong twine Rose
Mather had bound around the paper parcel, seated himself

upon the ground, and was munching away at his
pie, not because he liked it, but because his mother had
sent it, and Billy's mother was dearer to him now than
when he was at home.

Meanwhile, in another part of the camp, Tom Carleton
was opening his parcel, while around him stood a group
of officers, some his personal friends whom he had known
in Boston.

“There must be some mistake,” he said, as he daubed
his white fingers with the sticky candy. But Rose had
packed his things in a separate box, and directed it herself.
There could be no mistake, and he continued his
investigations, coming next upon the widow's picture,
which Rose had carelessly placed in his parcel.

It would be impossible to describe Tom's look of
amazement and perplexity, as his eye fell upon the face
which looked out upon him from its glass covering.
Precise, puckered, and prim, with a decided best-clothes
air. Who could it be? Tom asked this question aloud,
while his companions laughingly declared it some lady
love he had left behind, suggesting at last that he read
the note which lay just beneath it, as that might explain
the mystery. So Tom did read it, with a fellow-officer
looking over his shoulder, and reading too. But there
was too much of the anxious, genuine mother-tone about
that letter to cause more than three or four hearty
laughs at the expense of Tom and the widow. Tom
knew now for whom the picture was intended, and he
carried it to Isaac, but it was many a day ere Tom Carleton
heard the last of Mrs. Belinda Simms!

Numerous were the thanks sent by Company R to
Rose for her kind thoughtfulness in setting afloat a plan
which brought them so much good, and Rose, as she
received the messages, wished it was all to be done

again, and wondered what she could find to do next.
One of Will's letters told her at last what to do. She could
be kind to the soldiers, if there were any in Rockland.
She could visit their families, speak to them words of
comfort, and supply, if needful, their necessities. This
was just what suited her, and she commenced her task
with a right good will, startling many an awkward youth
wearing a soldier's dress, by accosting him in the street,
inquiring into his history, and frequently ending the interview
by offering him her soft white hand, and leaving
in his rougher one a piece of money, which affected him
less than the brightness of the brilliant eyes he remembered
long after the silver was spent. Every soldier's
wife and every soldier's mother was looked after, and
the Mather carriage was oftener seen in the muddy Hollow
and by lanes in Rockland, than at the gates of more
pretentious dwellings. Harry's mother and Bill's, and
others of her standing, blessed the little lady, for the
sunshine brought so often to their squalid homes, while
Annie and Widow Simms prayed from a full heart that
no evil should befall the husband or the brother of the
heroic Rose.