 | CHAPTER V.
THE CHRISTMAS BALL. Haunted hearts |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
THE CHRISTMAS BALL.
The kitchen was the ball-room, — not the outer
kitchen or pantry, where all day long Stein's wife had
been spitting fowls, rolling out pie-crust, or anxiously
thrusting her head into the mouth of the wide Dutch
oven, — but the great inner kitchen, with its row of
windows looking out on the stable yard, its low, smoke-stained
ceiling, brick hearth, and quaint old clock, on
whose forehead a ship under heavy sail was always
pitching up and down on the waves of time.
The floor of this ball-room was not a spring-floor.
The rafters on which it rested would have furnished
timber enough for a modern house-raising, and the
thickness of its planks had defied the tread of generations
of feet, and the scrubbing of generations of hands.
Here and there a hollow was worn in its surface, now
and then a knot in the wood served to trip up the
unwary, and the kitchen hearth, scarcely any two of
whose bricks were on a level, obtruded into the very
centre of the apartment. But these things were matters
fashion of the day encouraged them to spring high and
clear obstacles. They were used to the inequalities
of the ground, and, on the whole, like children coasting
down hill, they rather enjoyed the jounces.
The band which furnished music for this ball was
neither a Germanian orchestra nor a city Brigade
band, but old Cato Loo, yellow, wrinkled, and with
his woolly head gray as a chancellor's wig, played
vigorously on the same violin which had served him
as far back as the memory of the oldest inhabitant,
and called the figures with a voice as loud and inspiring
as a field marshal's at a review. His sole assistant
was an individual so wholly obscured by his instrument,
— a violoncello; painted in resemblance of the
national stars and stripes, — that he only merits mention
by his nom de guerre of “the Star-spangled Banner;”
under which name he had been associated with
Cato ever since the old man first aspired to the honors
of an orchestral leader. If their music was not strictly
scientific, it was lively, and within the appreciation of the
audience — so that it is to be doubted whether the
strains of Strauss and Weber were ever half so seductive
to the loungers in modern ante-rooms of fashion as
were the first notes of Soldier's Joy or Money Musk
to the rustic crowd, who, huddled together above stairs,
were impatiently awaiting the signal note from Cato's
fiddle.
They poured in simultaueously, the bed-rooms yielding
girls, the men coming as flies come in summer, singly,
from every crack and cranny in and about the house,
and like flies, clinging to the edges of the room, especially
to the neighborhood of the windows and doors,
as if to secure some means of retreat. From these
posts they shyly eyed the female portion of the company,
who occupied the side of the kitchen next the
blank wall, against which benches from the bar-room
were placed for the accommodation of the elders, while
the younger women stood awkwardly, or anxiously
awaiting Cato's word of command — “Choose yer
partners, gen'l'men!”
There were a few exceptions, however, to this general
rule; Angie had the tact to loiter a moment at the foot
of the stairs, the coquetry immediately to engross the
captain, and the courage to enter the assembly-room leaning
on his arm, at the very moment when their entrance
was sure to command attention and produce an effect.
Meanwhile Mr. Cousin, whose sociability and courtesy
were in complete contrast to the rustic embarrassment
of his neighbors, moved briskly about within the
enemy's lines, — that is to say, in the female quarter, —
making profuse inquiries concerning the health of the
old people, complimenting the young girls, and regretting
his inability to offer himself as every body's partner in a
dance. The little old gentleman looked so trim and
courtly in his black small clothes, worn almost threadbare,
but scrupulously preserved and brushed, and his
as snow, that every body was pleased and flattered by
his attentions; the young girls blushed rosy red at his
whispered praises, and wished the young men were
half so “civil-like;” and one or two elderly spinsters,
who were strangers to all forms of gallantry, felt a
thrill of self-complacency at the belief that Mr. Cousin
was making love, — an elation of spirits which was, however,
somewhat damped by the suspicion that possibly
he had been drinking. Neither was the case, however;
Mr. Cousin was merely a Frenchman, and in his native
element — society.
There were one or two others among the company
who ventured to overstep the restraints which the
majority imposed upon themselves. Thus, Squire
Runyan, justice of the peace, believed it incumbent on
him to stand by his niece, who was very shy, until
she got a partner; and farmer Rycker seized the first
opportunity to put himself under his wife's protection,
squeeze into a seat on the bench beside her, and watch to
see “who would dance fust with our darters.”
“This is purty consid'able of a ball, wife,” said the
farmer, to his better half; “nigh on to two dozen couple,
I should judge, old folks and young folks included; —
but Jarsey people will turn out when there's dancin' in
the wind.”
“An' so they ought ter,” said Dame Rycker, “'specially
when there's Christmas doin's, and they've got gals to
look arter. Now, Susy,” — and she gave a smart twitch
of not more than fifteen years, who was edging as close
as possible to the maternal skirts, — “you hold yer head
up smart, same as Phebe does. Joel Beck had his eye
on you a minute ago — I seen him. Jest look out smart
now, an' you'll git asked — first set.”
“Do see Angie Cousin!” exclaimed the bolder Phebe,
to two or three of her companions, “what a splurge
she is making with Cap'n Josselyn. They've been
parading all round the room, quite military-like; and
now her tongue's going like a mill-clapper. Ma says
mine's loose at both ends; but, law! if he should speak
to me, he has such a knowing way with him, I should
flutter like a scared hen.”
“More fool, you!” cried Polly Stein, thrusting her
long neck in among the group of girls. “He's so entertaining
nobody that had any shine in 'em could help
being bright that kept comp'ny with him.”
“Law, you needn't talk, Polly,” retorted Phebe, who
was smart enough in her own sphere. “I don't see
but what your light's put out.”
“Goodness me!” ejaculated Polly. “I ain't in any
such dreadful hurry as to snap up folks before they're
fairly in the room. I have plenty of chances to talk
with the cap'n any day.”
“One chance 's enough to them that know how to
make the most of it,” answered Phebe. “Besides, the
cap'n was took with Angie from the first. He never set
eyes on her until last Sunday, and then didn't he stare
well at the singing seats!”
“There's others sits in the seats besides Angie,” insinuated
Polly, with a completely satisfied air.
“O, so there is,” replied Phebe. “I forgot the first
treble. (Polly was this first, unpleasantly shrill treble.)
Phebe maliciously jogged the elbow of the girl nearest
to her as she made her last remark, and continued, — “It
was the second, and not the first treble, though, that the
cap'n managed to walk home with between meetin's.
He made a lot o' talk with the old gentleman too, and
managed to get invited to luncheon. Old Happy told our
Joe that the reason she came so late to afternoon meetin'
was, 'cause they had a real gentleman to take a piece
with 'em, and had had uncommon fixins on that account.”
“Well, and what o' that?” cried Polly, in the shrillest
tone of her first treble. “He went up to look at the
grape vines, and talk to Mr. Cousin about raisin' 'em,
same 's they do in Europe, where the cap'n 's been
on his travels. And twice since that he's been up in
the afternoons to play some kind of a game with the old
gentleman; and those are the only three times he's ever
seen Angie Cousin, to my certain knowledge.”
“O, he's been courting the old gentleman, has he?”
inquired Phebe, facetiously, and again jogging her neighbor's
elbow. “Then there's nothing to speak sharp or
look jealous about, Polly. I 'spose it's on the old gentleman's
account that the cap'n 's beauing Angy round
now, and talking soft sawder to her, and, — why, sure
as the world, they've taken places, and the dancing 's
all the girls faced round, anticipating a charge of partners;
and when Phebe spoke again, it was to give
a pleased affirmative to the salutation of a brisk
young farmer, — “Phebe, they're a formin'; shall we
jine in?”
“Who's goin' to lead off? Where's Geordie
Rawle?” anxiously inquired Joel Beck. Dame
Rycker had managed to push Susan forward at the
right moment to secure the bashful Joel; Susan was
a novice; Joel, at the best, could only, as he said,
“foller,” and the couple stood holding each other by the
hand, but keeping as far apart as possible. “Where's
Geordie Rawle? We can't do without Geordie!” was
echoed by the voices of several who had not until now
missed the usual master-spirit of their festivities. There
was no answer. Some shook their heads, in doubt or
ignorance; some referred sympathetically to George's
disappointment in the afternoon; more than one glanced
significantly at the handsome couple at the top of the
set, and concluded that the stranger had slipped into
Geordie's shoes. It was as well Geordie wasn't there
to see, &c.
“Where is Geordie!” echoed Angie's heart; and, half
in a triumph which she could not help wishing he might
witness, half in an anxiety which she could not wholly
suppress, she gave a quick glance at the right and left,
looked over her shoulder with apparent carelessness,
then, excited by chagrin at her lover's absence, gave
down the dance in fine style. The other couples, thus reassured,
fell easily into their places; the captain, though
he declared he had never seen a Fisher's Hornpipe in his
life before, caught the figure as if by magic, executed all
the changes with grace and skill, and even encouraged
and assisted others who had the advantage of him in
practice.
Thus he seized Susan Rycker's passive hands at the
right moment, twirled her round like a top, and left her
so prepared, by a few rapid instructions, for the part she
was next to play, that the farmer and his wife, witnessing
from their post of observation how successfully she
and Joel went through the figures of down the outside,
down the middle, cast off, and right and left,
chuckled with pleasure, and said to one another,
“I don't see but our Susin goes it with the rest
on 'em.”
One of the ancient spinsters before alluded to, Miss
Sabrina Rycker, sister to the farmer, was only saved
from a mortifying fall by the captain's adroit gallantry.
Those were not days when any person, however advanced
in years, was banished from the dance for other
cause than lack of vigor; and this elderly miss, though
frequently sneered at by her sister-in-law and nieces,
could have maintained her ground with the youngest
competitors, had she not been embarrassed by three tall
ostrich feathers, which were mounted erect in her head,
and which it required all her efforts to balance properly.
the captain contrived to break her fall nobody knew;
but that she found herself restored to her feet before her
younger rivals witnessed her discomfiture, was due to a
promptness which at once won for the captain the good
will of the most voluble tongue in the parish. Thus,
before he reached the bottom of the dance, he had attained
the summit of popularity; and, this too, in spite
of the prejudice which might be supposed to exist
against him on account of his nationality, and the character
he had so lately sustained on board an enemy's
sloop of war. But then, to offset this, there was the
pathos connected with his having been a prisoner, which
appealed to the women's sympathies; the bravery indicated
by the late sabre cut on his arm, which both sexes
could appreciate; and altogether, his position as a stranger
and an exile, which called forth whatever chivalrous
feeling there was in this rustic community. Had he
conducted himself too loftily, this sentiment might have
lain dormant, or given place to others of a reverse order.
As it was, the condescension of his deportment on the
present occasion excited it to the utmost, and exalted the
young lieutenant in the enemy's service into a popular
hero.
So Angie and he went down the dance in triumph, he
courting favor along the female line, and Angie, on her
part, dispensing pleasant words and smiles in the opposite
ranks, and both, at length, reaching the pantry door
at the farther end of the kitchen, somewhat out of
breath, but in high glee.
Here Mr. Cousin awaited them to offer the captain
his snuffbox. Another indication of the stranger's
facility in making conquests; not that it was difficult to
win the favor of the Frenchman, or to overcome the
national antipathy which might be supposed to be as
strong, at least, in his case as in that of the people with
whom England was actually at war, for never was man
so open to friendship as Mr. Cousin; and as to prejudices,
he was free from all prejudices but one, and that a
general prejudice in favor of every body. There had
been no drawback, therefore, from the beginning, to the
pleasure the old man took in the society of this aristocratic
stranger, who, whatever he might be by birth,
knew how to take a pinch of snuff with the air of a
Parisian; at the same time tickling the ears of his
French friend with the sound of his own name (always
Anglicized by his rustic neighbors), but now given with
the true French accent, and prefaced by the title Monsieur.
Angie, meanwhile, manifested at once her good breeding
and her good nature by exchanging a few kind words
with Dame Stein, who, having brushed up her person
a little, but having, as usual, too much business on her
hands to be presentable, clung to her pantry, only now
and then peering into the kitchen ball-room to see the
dancing, — a proceeding, of which Polly, when she
reached that neighborhood, did not hesitate to express
her disapprobation, in the words, — “Mother! don't!
Why will you show yourself — looking so?”
The ball consisted wholly of country-dances, varied
now and then by a rustic reel. But no modern invention
of Terpsichore furnishes more variety, or calls for
more vigorous effort, than these same country-dances.
They were, therefore, particularly well adapted to a
population so accustomed to active labor that any
recreation would have been tame which did not call
their muscles into full play. To the captain only was
this species of exercise a novelty; but he did not flinch.
The chief motive for his exertions, indeed, was securing
Angie for a partner. Still, although he danced with her
so many times as to excite the remarks of the women
and the envy of the men, he occasionally suffered himself
to be satisfied with meeting her in the changes of
the dance, or whispering adroit flatteries in her ear
during the intervals. The reluctance, which he felt or
feigned, to accept her proposition to introduce him to
the other belles of the evening, was none the less flattering
that he was at last over-persuaded; for, while he
stood faithfully opposite to Squire Runyan's niece, or farmer
Rycker's Phebe, his dark, sparkling eyes were still
pursuing Angie, and now and then catching a responsive
glance.
Whether Polly Stein took care to remind him of his
engagement to dance with her, or whether he chanced to
remember it, he at last saved his credit in this quarter
by holding her to the agreement. It was a noticeable
fact, — a proof, perhaps, of his quick appreciation of character,
— that when conversing with Polly he dropped the
to Angie's vanity, and, as if adapting himself to a
lower level, assumed a tone of familiarity and jest which
he would not have ventured on with her. But then,
perhaps, as the other girls said, and Polly intimated, it
was because he was a member of the tavern household,
and the landlord's daughter knew him so well.
At all events it pleased and satisfied Polly. It did
not prevent her owing Angie a grudge for engrossing so
large a share of the captain's attention, but it prevented
her believing that attention to be sincere on his
part, and persuaded her that his relations with herself
were, on the whole, more confidential.
As to Angie, she gave herself up to excitement and
gratified vanity without remorse, or much regard to
consequences. Here was an opportunity to exercise her
inherent ambition for conquest, and punish Geordie for
his past neglect. Was Geordie to be left to the supposition
that he was the only man whom she was capable
of bringing to her feet? Especially was he to be indulged
in this belief at a time when, if ever, he had
neglected her, had been self-engrossed, irritable, and out
of spirits? What right had any man to be depressed in
the possession of her affections? No; it was enough that
for half a dozen Christmas balls in succession she had
been mated with a youth who seemed no nearer than ever
to a position in which he could claim her hand. Lately,
when she had seen him, he had been shamefaced and
sullen. If he must be sulky in her presence, she would
give him something to be sulky about.
So she reasoned with herself; but that her heart
argued better than her head, might be guessed from her
penetrating review, now and then of the entry, and other
passages leading to the ball-room, and a slight start and
quick glance of her eye whenever a tall shadow fell
across the threshold of either doorway. In spite of
herself, she was asking the same question which others
have asked, and which it is time to answer, — “What
has become of Geordie?”
| CHAPTER V.
THE CHRISTMAS BALL. Haunted hearts | |