University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
A DUTCHMAN'S COURTSHIP, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

From the day that Harry Vrail started on his military expedition,
Gertrude Van Kleeck, saddened by his absence and solicitous
for his safety, yet unwilling to own even to herself the interest
which she felt in his welfare, became an eager listener to all
tidings of the Northern war.

No rumor of the successes or of the reverses of the insurgents
and their American coadjutors reached the village but found its
way to her, and she was kept in a constant state of painful anxiety
by the conflicting reports and conjectures which she heard.

Of the merits of the contest she did not suffer herself to judge,
but the opinion of Harry, and the prevailing sentiment of the
neighbors, she supposed to be correct, and the same authority
induced her to expect the triumph of the patriots.

She had no longer Brom for a newsbearer from the village,
but there were other sources of daily intelligence of which she
could avail herself, besides the weekly installment of news furnished
by the village gazette, which was always sure to be startling and
exciting, if not authentic. There was one individual too, who, to
some extent, supplied the place of Brom in furnishng Gertrude
with information, and, like him, without suspecting the nature of
the interest which she felt in his tidings.

This personage was a second cousin of Miss Van Kleeck, who,
like her, rejoiced in a Dutch lineage, and in the very Dutch name
of Garret Van Vrank. He was a young man, scarcely the senior

of his fair relative, and although of unusual size, and of great
physical strength, possessing a boyish and handsome face, and a
childlike simplicity of disposition.

Garret was the owner of a small farm, which had been left him
by his father, on which he lived nearly alone, and cultivated quite
in the way that his father had done, despite all the improving
innovations of the day. His route to the village, which he frequently
had occasion to visit, led him directly past the house of
Gertrude, and he had a good-natured habit of stopping there on
his way, to learn whether he could do any errand in town for the
family.

He did not always see Gertrude on these occasions, but on his
return call, she usually so managed as to encounter him, when a
very little tact served to extract from him all the news he had
picked up, without herself manifesting any but the most casual
interest in his story.

These frequent calls of Garret induced dame Becky to think he
came in the character of a suitor, an idea which had never most
remotely occurred to the unpresuming youth; and the prospect of
such a match was entirely in accordance with her wishes. Young
Garret was a man entirely after her own heart. He followed his
own plough; he carried his own grain to market, himself perched
upon the topmost bag, in his smock-frock, and with his ox-goad
in his hands; and with his smock-frock and his ox-goad did he
stand chatting by the half hour to Getty in these, his courting visits,
if courting visits they were.

What need she care that he was broad-shouldered, elephant-footed,
wide-waisted, and with hands in size and hue like a loaf of
brown bread? He was an honest fellow, with a kind heart, a fresh,
handsome face, boyish blue eyes, and teeth as white by nature as
others were rendered by laborious art.

Becky, indeed, made up her mind that he was the very man for
her niece; she encouraged his daily calls, and was as careful to

keep out of the way of the supposed lover as she had been before
to obtrude herself in the presence of such of Gertrude's visitors as
she did not like. But when these interviews had been continued
a long while without any approximation to a nearer intimacy, she
grew impatient, and resolved to hasten the dénouement which she
so gladly anticipated. She rallied Getty on the subject, but Getty
laughed broadly, and said nothing. She rallied Garret, who did
not even comprehend her sallies, broad as they were, and who,
being greatly puzzled, made some random replies very wide of the
mark.

Becky, however, did not let matters rest thus. The cousins
evidently liked each other, and she believed that nothing but a
little management was necessary to bring about the result she
desired. To effect this she left no means untried. Garry had
hints enough wasted upon him to have drawn a dozen lovers to
the feet of Gertrude, but they did not draw Garry there.

When he began to comprehend the old dame, he thought she
was jesting, or was becoming silly, for the idea of his marrying
Gertrude seemed altogether preposterous. He had no such
aspirations. He was sensible enough to know that she was in
every respect his superior, and that the difference in their fortunes,
great as it was, was the least of the differences between
them.

Aunt Becky tried an appeal to his cupidity.

“Your little farm,” she said to him one day, “joins one of
Getty's, don't it, Garry?”

“Yes, it joins on to Squire Jones' farm—that's Getty's; but why
do you call my farm little, aunt Becky?” he added, with commendable
pride; “there's e'enamost a hundred acres, counting the
marsh and the pond.”

“Yes, yes; but what's that to fifty hundred acres, and more,
that you may have one of these days, you know, and have other
people to work 'em for you, and you nothing to do but to sit still

and take in the rent, unless you choose, like poor Baltus, to keep
on working until you are grey, just for the fun of it—much good
did it do him!”

Van Vrank opened his eyes wider and wider, during the delivery
of this speech, as if the distension of those organs would assist
him in taking in the meaning of the speaker.

He did take it in at length, but considering it a renewal of
the old badinage on that topic, he only shook his head and
laughed.

“Why don't you come over, and see us sometimes on Sundays,
Garry?” continued Becky, her voice subsiding to a lower and more
confidential tone.

“Sundays?”

“Yes, in the afternoon or evening. You have a nice new suit
of clothes now, I see.”

“Ain't they nice, aunty? The wool came off my own sheep.”

“Yes, the cloth looks like store goods, and they fit you as if
they had been made by a tailor. Dress yourself up in them next
Sunday afternoon, and come round to see us, will you?”

“Yes,” replied Garry, looking very much pleased, and quite
failing to connect the invitation with the prior subject of their
remarks.

“Have you got any pomatum?”

Garry stared at this singular question, but replied that he
believed he had.

“Then use it!” she said. “Cut your hair first, then comb the
tangles out of it, and put on a little pomatum—you don't know
how much better you'll look.”

The young man promised compliance, and the next Sunday
evening saw him, punctual to his appointment, at the door of Gertrude's
house.

He did not inquire for her, however, but for aunt Becky, whom
he was about to seek in the kitchen, but a servant had been

directed to conduct him to the parlour, where, to his great uneasiness,
he soon found himself seated alone.

He was apparelled, according to agreement, in his best suit, set
off by a very fair show of linen; his hair was trimmed and pomatumed,
his thick boots were freshly greased, and altogether he was
quite a presentable specimen of a country beau.

Aunt Becky, meanwhile, had kept her own counsel. She allowed
no one to know that Van Vrank had called upon her invitation,
but she caused Getty to be informed of his presence, and sending
her into the parlor, she herself kept out of the way.

Yet, not altogether out of the way was aunt Becky, for she had
her hiding places, where, unseen, she could hear all that was said
above a whisper in the parlor, and if Garry and Getty came to
whispers, she would be satisfied without understanding their words,
for then she would know that all was right.

She was not destined, however, to be gratified by any such evidence
of confidential intercourse. What Garret had to say, he
spoke boldly and in a manly tone, at least after the first embarrassment
arising from the unusual position in which he found himself.

In vain aunt Becky listened for something of a wooing character,
or for something that might be construed into a hint matrimonial.
There was nothing in word or tone which intimated any
such sentiment in the visitor's breast.

He talked of the weather, of the farms and the crops, of his
horses, his sheep, and even of his new clothes, which he called
upon the young lady to admire, but all was in a spirit of frankness
and simplicity which rather elevated than lessened him in Gertrude's
estimation. In turn, he praised Getty's new pink dress,
and the handsome furniture of the parlor, and when conversation
flagged, he at length said, jocosely:—

“I suppose you'll be getting married one of these days, cousin
Gertrude—there must be lots of fine fellows after you?”

The dame's hopes revived, and she listened more intently.

Gertrude laughed, and said she did not expect to be married
very soon.

“No, I s'pose not—you're young enough yet these half dozen
years,” replied Garret; “I wouldn't be in a hurry if I were you.”

Gertrude replied that she was not.

“It will be somebody quite grand, I suppose, when it does happen,”
continued Garry; “some of the big bugs.”

“I hope not!” said the young lady, laughing.

“Yes, it will, I know—a lawyer or a congressman, or something
of that sort. Why, you are good enough for the best, and
any on 'em will be glad enough to get you.”

Aunt Becky now grew restive under this strange specimen of
courting, and she emerged from her hiding place by a back-way,
and came to the parlor door, with resolution stamped upon every
feature of her expressive face.

“Getty!” she said, as soon as she had entered the room, “Garry
wants you! He is afraid to ask, I suppose, but he wants you to
marry him.”

“Why, aunt—Becky!” exclaimed Van Vrank, as soon as he
could interpose a word.

“Hold your tongue,” said the dame. “If you can't speak, let
some one speak for you. Garry is a good fellow,” she continued,
addressing her niece; “and he will make you a good husband,
and will take the best care of everything, and, as I said before, he
wants you!”

“I don't, Getty—I never thought of such a thing!” replied
Garry, who had risen, and in his haste to vindicate himself from
the charge of so great presumption, did not stop to choose words.
“I did not come here sparking at all.”

“Did ever anybody hear such a—mollyhack?” exclaimed aunt
Becky.

“I may be a mollyhack, aunty—but I am not foolish enough to
s'pose Getty wants such a hawbuck as I am for a husband. Why

I should never know what to do with such a fine lady for a wife.
I tell you she is too good for me—a dozen times too good.

“Ah! that's talking something like! That's the way lovers
always talk. Now, Getty, what do you say? You will have him,
won't you?”

Gertrude was too much amused to be very angry, but she had
much kind regard for her coarse, but sincere cousin, and she was
embarrassed by the fear of adding to the awkwardness of the
position in which her aunt's manœuvring had placed him.

“I cannot accept or decline an offer which has not been made,”
she said, hesitatingly.

“You don't want me for a husband, Getty, I know—do you
now?” asked Van Vrank, who had no sensitiveness on the subject,
and was willing to come to a full understanding.

Getty, greatly relieved, now felt at liberty to reply plainly.

“No, cousin Garry,” she said, “I do not. I think, like you,
that we are not suited to each other, and I know you are too good
and too sensible to be offended at my saying so.”

“I offended? Never fear that, Getty—you have done nothing
to offend me; you have only answered a plain question which I
should never have asked, if it had not been for aunt Becky, but
she meant well enough.”

“I think you are both very foolish, but perhaps you'll grow
wiser one of these days,” said the aunt, leaving the room in no
amiable state of mind.

Van Vrank prolonged his visit a considerable time, giving Gertrude
many details of information, which he had picked up on the
preceding day in relation to the war, and when he departed there
was a mutual friendly understanding between the cousins which
admitted of no further misconception.