University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

“DON'T think about them”—how easy to say, how hard
to practise, when annoyances are in question! Former
ones we could in a measure forget; but those new
perplexities that ever sprang up by our wayside—could we
pass them by without notice? Sometimes—and sometimes
we took them up and bare them along with us.

“I do not want to go, in the least,” said I when the
preparations for my visit were near an end.

“Kate is going to spend one day in Philadelphia with
you,” said my stepmother,—“you will like to go in her
company?”

“But I wish she would stay longer—why should she go
for one day?”

“It will do her good, and we want sundry things that
your father will have no time to get,—if he attends that
meeting of the — Society.”

“Mamma,” said Kate, “was it for that he said his coat
was not fit?”

“He wants a new one at all events,” said Mrs. Howard,
“and I'm sure—I'm sure I don't know how he's to get it
just now.”

“I'll tell you mamma, let's sell our old cake-basket.”

“O Kate!” said I, “you don't mean the one grandma
gave us?”

“That is the only one that belongs to you and me,
Gracie.”

“But would you sell it?”

“We have another, you know,” said Kate, “and the old
one is not a good shape.”

“I know—but I love it so much!”

“But papa wants this coat.”

“Well—” said I sighing.

“What do you say, mamma?”

“I should say yes, my dear, if it were mine—you must
do nothing that will trouble your sister.”

“O you must not mind me.”

“But see,” said Kate, “perhaps papa will be able to
give us the money again before long, and then we can redeem
our fruit-knives,—wouldn't you like that as well?”

“No—you know I have a great fancy for old things; but
let us sell it—papa must have the coat.”

So it was settled; and when I went to Philadelphia,
Kate and the basket went too, and from the trunk it was
speedily transferred to the jeweller's counter.

Many a time one wants sympathy when it cannot reasonably
be looked for, yet does not the want seem lighter.
I know that it was with a feeling almost of impatience that
I watched Mr. Jewett, as he turned the cake-basket about,
eyed it with some curiosity and some little compassion for
the “dark ages” of his craft, and finally remarked, (what
business had he to remind me of it?)

“A piece of old family silver, I should judge sir,—we
don't often see such things now-a-days.”

Then came question and answer, and it was worth so
much in ready money, and so much in other articles of plate;
and the matter ended we left the shop both richer and
poorer than we had entered it. The coat took but a part
of the money, and for the rest we debated between our
fruit-knives and some other things that had long been wanting,
but prudence prevailed over inclination.

I know not what became of the cake-basket—perhaps it
does duty as silver skewers at the table of some millionaire
who never heard of scarcity or sacrifice. The coat is long
since worn out—the “other things” have disappeared, but
the fruit-knives have not been heard of; and Kate and I
sometimes say to each other, “our poor basket!—it is
almost a pity we sold it; and yet what could papa have
done without that coat?”

Once more we resorted to such an expedient, and then
learned the wise lesson that expedients of all sorts are but
poor things—a barter of the reality for the seeming; not
only failing to remedy the evil, but weakening the energy
which alone can.

Once more, as I said, we tried it,—while the ready money
from the first attempt yet dwelt in our minds and tempted
us;—the proposed articles of exchange were brought down
by Mr. Howard when he came for me.

It was a selection from our small stock of trinkets, and
touched me far more nearly than the cake-basket. I cared
little for the things in themselves—in fact they were most
of them either worn out, or such as we should never use;
but if dimmed and broken, so were not my associations
with them. The hands that had touched them, the faces
they had touched, I had heard of at least; and these poor
little reminders of what had long ago perished, seemed to
help both imagination and memory. It signified little that
my mother's old watch could not be made to go—it had
kept time once, and for her, and the grasp of strange fingers
seemed almost sacrilegious. Mr. Jewett shewed no
curiosity this time, but his look was methought a little
scornful as he tumbled the things about, and then declared
he could not say what they were worth, till he had separated
and weighed the gold. Even then would I have rescued
them had the money been for me! I had enough of
expedients.

And what did we live on all this while?—partly on driblets
of former debts and property, partly on new trifles—a
little rent here and a little business there,—not on very
much of anything. But Mrs. Howard was an excellent
manager in any circumstances, and our neighbours thought
our style of living both comfortable and pretty. So it was,
had we reached it by some other road; but the enjoyment
of many a thing was shadowed by the preliminary “ought
we?” or “can we have it?”

I realized it all the more, when after spending some time
with Stephanie in a happy forgetfulness of money and its
long train of difficulties and doubts, I came back to Glen
Luna. Nothing had changed for the worse, but my mind
once set free, loathed to take up again the old burden of

dollars and cents. Neither is there much truth in that favourite
maxim with some ladies, that “servants are the
greatest plagues in the universe”—a house with no servants
is more to be deprecated. However we managed pretty
well, for Mrs. Barrington was only too glad to do anything
for us, and her daughter Prudence (become 'Dency by a
little contraction and elongation) was always ready when
wanted. Indeed if for nothing else, they liked to come and
tell of the queer doings at Daisy Lea.

“Don't it beat all!” 'Dency would say. “Why Mis'
Howard, they've sent down the dreadfullest sight of dogs!
—and a man that ain't got nothin' to do but mind 'em;
and he says when they begin to hunt he feeds 'em on raw
meat to make 'em more savager.”

I may notice in passing, that during my absence Mr. and
Mrs. Carvill had left the Lea, and without returning our
visit.

“You may as well tell her at once mamma,” said Kate
the day after I got home.

“Tell me what?”

“Poor child!” said my stepmother kissing me, “she
don't look as if she could bear much. Why Gracie, have
you worn such a face ever since you went away?”

“I don't know mamma—I suppose I am tired now: but
tell me what?”

“Did you ever hear your father talk of his being surety
with a Mr. Van Wart for somebody?”

“I believe I have.”

“Well things have gone so that the sureties are called
upon to pay; and Van Wart's son-in-law Jenkinson, has
contrived to have the creditors come down upon your
father for the whole amount.”

“But he can't pay it?”

“Certainly not; and they have entered up a judgment,
and while you were gone a sheriff came here with an execution
upon all our furniture.”

“Is that all?” said I with a long breath, and really feeling
relieved, for the time.

“All!” said Kate—“books, shells and everything! I
should think that was enough.”

“But they didn't take them,” said I casting a somewhat
blank look round the room.

“O no,” said Mrs. Howard, “and I hope they will not.
But your father was away, and this man Jenkinson came
with the sheriff and knocked at the door, and Kate let them
in; for we didn't know that we could do otherwise. Your
father says we had a right to keep even the sheriff out, and
that Jenkinson had no business to come at all.”

“And only think!” said Kate, “he had put on green
spectacles that mamma might not recognise him! And
they went all over the house making a list of everything—
silver and all, and I had to go with them. And now they
have advertised the things to be sold some day next
month.”

“And will papa let them?”

“Not if he can help it—I don't quite understand what
he means to do—get an injunction I believe, whatever that
is, till the matter can be tried.”

The injunction was obtained; but though a stay of proceedings
was in one way a comfort, yet we found the suspense
very trying. And the courts were dilatory, as courts
always are, and months wore on; and still we looked doubtfully
at our indoor possessions, and wondered how long we
should keep each other company. Whether all this was made
public we could not tell; but as no one ever spoke to us of
it, the contrary seemed most probable. From Miss Easy we
carefully hid all our troubles, for she had been and was still
unwell; and though she would sometimes look earnestly
at Kate and me as we sat by her sofa, and sometimes sigh
to herself as if she saw or imagined too much gravity in
our faces; we generally contrived to be so very bright
during the rest of the visit, that she at least did not question
us. Miss Bain would certainly have found out all and more
than all that was known of our affairs, had she been at
home;—but while I was away, she had gone to visit some
fourteenth cousin who was as far off in geography as in
blood.

And with these sayings and doings we came to the last
week in August.