University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Much was yet to be done this morning, and I was
too much fatigued to wander about the hills any longer;
so I sought shelter in a log-house at no great distance,
to await the conclusion of the survey. I was received
with a civil nod by the tall mistress of the mansion,
and with a curiously grave and somewhat sweeping
curtsey by her auburn-tressed daughter, whose hair was
in curl papers, and her hands covered with dough. The
room was occupied at one end by two large beds not
partitioned off “private like,” but curtained in with
cotton sheets pinned to the unhewn rafters. Between
them stood a chest, and over the chest hung the Sunday
wardrobe of the family; the go-to-meeting hats
and bonnets, frocks and pantaloons of a goodly number
of all sizes.

The great open hearth was at the opposite end of
the house, flanked on one side by an open cupboard,
and on the other by a stick ladder.

Large broadside sheets, caravan show bills were

pasted on the logs in different places, garnished with
mammoth elephants, and hippopotamuses, over which
“predominated” Mr. Van Amburgh, with his head in
the lion's mouth. A strip of dingy listing was nailed
in such a way as to afford support for a few iron spoons,
a small comb, and sundry other articles grouped with
the like good taste; but I must return to my fair
hostesses.

They seemed to be on the point of concluding their
morning duties. The hearth was newly swept, a tin
reflector was before the fire, apparently full of bread,
or something equally important. The young lady was
placing some cups and plates in a pyramidal pile on
the cupboard shelf, when the mother, after taking my
bonnet with grave courtesy, said something, of which
I could only distinguish the words “slick up.”

She soon after disappeared behind one of the white
screens I have mentioned, and in an incredibly short time
emerged in a different dress. Then taking down the comb
I have hinted at, as exalted to a juxtaposition with the
spoons, she seated herself opposite to me, unbound her
very abundant brown tresses, and proceeded to comb
them with great deliberateness; occasionally speering
a question at me, or bidding Miss Irene (pronounced
Irenee) “mind the bread.” When she had finished,
Miss Irene took the comb and went through the same
exercise, and both scattered the loose hairs on the floor
with a coolness that made me shudder when I thought
of my dinner, which had become, by means of the
morning's ramble, a subject of peculiar interest. A
little iron “wash-dish,” such as I had seen in the morning,
was now produced; the young lady vanished—reappeared

in a scarlet circassian dress, and more combs
in her hair than would dress a belle for the court of St.
James; and forthwith both mother and daughter proceeded
to set the table for dinner.

The hot bread was cut into huge slices, several bowls
of milk were disposed about the board, a pint bowl of
yellow pickles, another of apple sauce, and a third containing
mashed potatoes took their appropriate stations,
and a dish of cold fried pork was brought out from some
recess, heated and re-dished, when Miss Irene proceeded
to blow the horn.

The sound seemed almost as magical in its effects as
the whistle of Roderick Dhu; for, solitary as the whole
neighbourhood had appeared to me in the morning, not
many moments elapsed before in came men and boys
enough to fill the table completely. I had made sundry
resolutions not to touch a mouthful; but I confess I
felt somewhat mortified when I found there was no
opportunity to refuse.

After the “wash dish” had been used in turn, and
various handkerchiefs had performed, not for that occasion
only, the part of towels, the lords of creation
seated themselves at the table, and fairly demolished in
grave silence every eatable thing on it. Then, as each
one finished, he arose and walked off, till no one remained
of all this goodly company but the red-faced
heavy-eyed master of the house. This personage used
his privilege by asking me five hundred questions, as
to my birth, parentage, and education; my opinion of
Michigan, my husband's plans and prospects, business
and resources; and then said, “he guessed he must
be off.”

Meanwhile his lady and daughter had been clearing
the table, and were now preparing to wash the dishes
in an iron pot of very equivocal-looking soapsuds, which
stood in a corner of the chimney place, rinsing each
piece in a pan of clean water, and then setting it to
“dreen” on a chair. I watched the process with no
increasing admiration of Michigan economics—thought
wofully of dinner, and found that Mrs. Danforth's
breakfast table, which had appeared in the morning
frugal and homely enough, was filling my mind's eye
as the very acme of comfort. Every thing is relative.

But now, prospects began to brighten; the tea-kettle
was put on; the table was laid again with the tea
equipage and a goodly pile of still warm bread, redolent
of milk yeast—the unfailing bowls of apple-sauce
and pickles, a plate of small cakes, and a saucer of
something green cut up in vinegar. I found we had
only been waiting for a more lady-like meal, and having
learned wisdom by former disappointment, I looked
forward with no small satisfaction to something like
refreshment.

The tea was made and the first cup poured, when in
came my husband and Mr. Mazard. What was my
dismay when I heard that I must mount and away on
the instant! The buggy at the door—the sun setting,
and the log causeway and the black slough yet to be
encountered. I could not obtain a moment's respite,
and I will not pretend to describe my vexation, when I
saw on looking back our projector already seated at my
predestined cup of tea, and busily engaged with my
slice of bread and butter!

I walked over the logs in no very pleasant mood and

when we reached the slough it looked blacker than ever.
I could not possibly screw up my fainting courage to
pass it in the carriage, and after some difficulty, a
slender pole was found, by means of which I managed
to get across, thinking all the while of the bridge by
which good Mussulmans skate into Paradise, and wishing
for no houri but good Mrs. Danforth.

We reached the inn after a ride which would have
been delicious under other circumstances. The softest
and stillest of spring atmospheres, the crimson rays
yet prevailing, and giving an opal changefulness of hue
to the half-opened leaves;—

could scarcely pass quite unfelt by one whose delight
is in their beauty: but, alas! who can be sentimental
and hungry?

I alighted with gloomy forebodings. The house was
dark—could it be that the family had already stowed
themselves away in their crowded nests? The fire was
buried in ashes, the tea-kettle was cold—I sat down in
the corner and cried. * * * * *

I was awakened from a sort of doleful trance by the
voice of our cheery hostess.

“Why, do tell if you've had no supper! Well, I
want to know! I went off to meetin' over to Joe Bunner's
and never left nothing ready.”

But in a space of time which did not seem long even
to me, my cup of tea was on the table, and the plate
of snow-white rolls had no reason to complain of our
neglect or indifference.