University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Despite the night's fair promise the morning rose upon bad
weather; but in the moral atmosphere the change had been
the other way, and everything looked brighter. Though
indeed according to one fancy the changes were much alike,
and

`I am so glad it snows!' exclaimed Hulda dancing into
the breakfast room. `You know you said you would give
me a sleigh-ride, Thornton, as soon as I was well enough,
and we had some more—'

She stopped short, the evening before suddenly in her
thoughts.

`As soon as we had some more what?' said her brother
looking off the paper. `Rain?'

`I was going to say snow,' said Hulda in a low voice.

`That is a tremendous word, certainly,—it is not surprising
that you were afraid to speak it. See here, Hulda—
I don't want two guardians, and I think on the whole I
prefer Rosalie to your little ladyship,—so do you never take

it upon you to give me advice. I am not gifted with the
Moon's patience, unfortunately.'

`The Moon's patience!' said Hulda. `I never heard of
that before.'

`Why you know,' said Thornton, `when a little dog once
undertook to bark at the Moon, the Moon kept on shining.'

`I don't think you are like the Moon,' said Hulda laughing,
but eyeing him a little askance,—`not a bit.'

`Never mind—in future you must deliver your opinions
of me and my conduct to Rosalie, and she may repeat what
of them she likes. Where is she this morning?'

She was at his side, even as he spoke; with a face so
fair, so shadowless except for a little anxious feeling when
she first looked at him—a half glance of inquiry as it were
—that Thornton was too touched to speak; and taking both
her hands, he kissed her first on one cheek and then on the
other, wishing from his heart that he had ever done more to
fill the vacant place of which that black dress spoke. Such
a purpose had often been formed, but when it came to the
point there was always some hindrance. He had not learned
yet how hard it is to obey the second great command while
disregarding the first.

`Then do you think you will give me a sleigh-ride,
Thorton?' said Hulda, emboldened by something in his
face to press her request.

`Half a dozen, if there is snow enough.'

`O that is very good of you!' said Hulda, `because Alie
don't like to go alone. I guess there'll be snow enough—I
mean I think there will,—I saw one baker's sleigh go
by.'

`Which proves nothing concerning my runners,' said
Thornton, as he seated himself at the breakfast table.
`Bakers have a facility of enjoyment which belongs to few
other people.'

`Have they?' said Hulda. `But here comes another
sleigh—I hear the bells.'

`And a remarkably slow tinkle they make,' said Thornton,—`I'll
wager something that's a coal man. It's a singular
fact that everybody is out of fuel as soon as a storm
comes.'

`Yes it is a charcoal man,' said Hulda—`all white and
black. And here comes somebody else.'

`Somebody else had better come here,' said her sister,
`or more than breakfast will get cold.'

`I'll come—' said the child, getting down with some reluctance
from the chair where she had been kneeling, and
taking a last peep out of the window,—`but it looks so nice
out,—and the people look so funny,—just let me see what
this one sleigh is—O such a queer one! like a little old
coach without any wheels. And it's stopping at our door!
—O Alie, I do believe it's Miss Bettie Morsel!'

And the next act being like to come off within doors,
Hulda came to her breakfast.

The queer sleigh, which was in truth but a coach-body
on runners, drew up at the door as she had said. A most
literal drawing-up!—the driver tugging at his horse till both
were slanted back at no inconsiderable angle. Then the
driver got down and clapped his hands once or twice, and
the horse shook his head to make sure he was all right
again,—a fact attested by a miserable little bell that hung
about him—somewhere. And the coach-body door being at
length opened, a little dark figure darted out through the
white medium and up the steps. But her ring was by no
means in accordance with so fierce a beginning. It was a
kind of gentle intimation that if it was all the same to everybody,
she would like to come in—a mere suggestion that
perhaps there might be somebody outside in the snow,—a

ring which a thorough-bred waiter of the present day would
go to sleep over, and dream of visiters.

But Martha Jumps, who was on duty while Tom carried
buckwheats into the breakfast room, and whose eyes, ears,
and understanding were always wide awake,—dropped her
duster, settled her cap, and went to the door. And having
presently detailed her message to Tom, Tom entered the
breakfast-room and said,

`Miss Morsel, sir.'

`What the deuce have I to do with Miss Morsel?' said
Thornton. `Why don't you tell your mistress?'

Tom coloured up to his eyes but replied,

`That's what Martha said sir—she said she wanted to see
you.'

`Martha humbugs you Tom, about ten times a day. But
shew Miss Morsel in here, and then she can suit herself.'

`And give me another cup and saucer,' said his mistress.
`Is the parlour fire burning?'

`Well—pretty smart,' said Tom doubtfully,—`not over
and above.'

`Never mind, ask Miss Morsel to walk in here.' And
meeting her visiter at the door, Rosalie explained to her
how she thought the warmest room was the best that
morning.

`So good of you!' said Miss Morsel, who was a benign,
anxious-looking, somewhat care-worn little personage. `Yes
it is rather cold this morning—the wind blows quite keen.'
And she shivered in her winter habiliments, which were
none of the thickest.'

`It is particularly cold at this time in the morning,'
said Rosalie, as she brought Miss Morsel round to the side
of the table next the fire. `You must sit down and take
some breakfast with us.'

`O no my dear—thank you, I can't indeed.'

`Not a cup of coffee?'

`Well, a single cup—' said Miss Morsel, her face brightening
up under bright influences—for it was a wonderfully
pleasant thing to be so gently put into that comfortable
chair by the fire. `I believe I must take a single cup—and
only one lump of sugar if you please. It don't matter much
about the size of it, but not more than one lump. I came
out this morning—queer, isn't it?—but I came out to see
your brother. Captain Thornton, is it a true statement of
facts that the city's bombarded?'

`Not unless the reports have deafened my ears,' said
Thornton, fortifying himself with half a cup of coffee before
he spoke. `I have heard nothing of it.'

`Well I thought it couldn't be,' said Miss Morsel, looking
very much relieved, `for I've heard nothing of it either;
only last night a boy was screaming about the streets. It's
astonishing to me that boys are suffered to go at large as
they are.'

`Instead of shutting them up like any other wild animals,'
said Thornton.

`That's just what I said to ma,' said Miss Morsel, `that
it ought to be,—and she said it never used to be in her
time, that boys never were wild then nor girls neither. It
was ma that was so scared last night, for she always thinks
something is going to happen to her, though I tell her she's
just as liable to live as I am. No my dear—no more. It's
really a shame to eat two breakfasts, though to be sure
something depends upon how much a person took at the
first.'

`O have another cup!' said Thornton, `and you'll stand
the bombardment better.'

`I don't know about that,' said Miss Morsel, but handing

her cup at the same time,—`it seems too bad to enjoy
oneself now-a-days. It's a good thing we're none of us married
people, for separations in families are dreadful; and
gentlemen are the property of the government now, I suppose,
to have and to hold, as the saying is.'

It was hard to tell which was most discomposed by this
speech—Tom or his master.

`Are married people essential to your idea of a family?'
said Rosalie smiling.

`Certainly,' said the little woman gravely. `Now for
instance—I can't call myself a family you know,—it would
be absurd.'

`Most true,' said Thornton. `But here Rosalie and I
have a family Miss Morsel, and if either of us should get
married it would break it up at once.'

`O dear!' said Miss Morsel. `How could that be?'

`Why, not to go any further,' said Thornton, `Rosalie
is so fond of having the upper hand, that she never would
endure to see my wife manage me.'

`But your wife would be a very nice person, of course,
said Miss Morsel, `and—dear me! that is a great pity. I
always thought you would all live together so delightfully.
I declare it has quite spoiled my breakfast—though to be
sure I had eaten all I could.'

`It must have been the bombardment,' said Thornton
laughing.

`Well maybe,' said Miss Morsel. `But now Captain
Thornton, what is the news, really?'

`Really Miss Morsel, there isn't much. Bonaparte has
blown up the Kremlin and left Moscow, and Lord Wellington
has left Madrid—that's the last news from Europe. Out
west here the Indians have been defeated and Tecumseh
taken prisoner; and nearer home still, one of our harbours
is blockaded by a gun brig, a 74, and two frigates.'

`What is a gun brig?' said Miss Morsel,—`a brig loaded
with guns?'

`Sounds enough like it,' said Thornton.

`What a dreadful thing it must be to be blockaded!'
said Miss Morsel. `Which harbour is it?'

`Our own here—of New York.'

`New York harbour blockaded!' exclaimed Miss Morsel.
`And has the bay and Staten Island and Fort Hamilton, and
all those beautiful places come into possession of the British?'

`I wish they had,' said Thornton. `Never mind Miss
Morsel,—there are a good many guns between you and them
yet. Tom bring some more cakes.'

`What will they do there?' said Miss Morsel curiously.

`Find out how little of our bread and butter comes that
way, maybe,' said Thornton. `Miss Morsel— you have not
half fortified yourself for a siege.'

`O dear!' said poor Miss Morsel. `If I thought I was
ever to be besieged and taken, I shouldn't eat another ounce
from now till then. You don't really think there's any
danger?'

`Not a bit!' said Thornton laughing. `I should like to
see anybody attempt it! I'll let you know a week beforehand,
Miss Morsel, and you can put up your defences.'

`Thank you—I'm sure you're very kind,' said Miss
Morsel, `but then you know we haven't got any. We never
did have anything that could be called arms in our house.
But I must go—it's so warm here and pleasant that I believe
I forgot there was anybody out in the cold. Poor man!'
said Miss Morsel looking out at her driver, `I daresay he's
been clapping his hands this whole time, and not for joy,
either. It was very extravagant in me to ride, but I wanted
to know so much about things,—and I can't always keep
warm in the snow—and I'm afraid to take cold, you know,
for ma's sake.'

`You have not learned much, after all,' said Thornton.

`O a great deal! You say Cumsetah's certainly taken?'

`Tecumseh?' said Rosalie with a kind smile. `Yes, I
saw the account myself.'

`Thank you my dear—and for telling me the man's real
name again,—I'm so apt to forget. But youe'r so good—
and I do like to get things straight, though you wouldn't
think it. Tecumseh—I sha'n't forget—you spoke it so distinctly
for me. Do you know I always do understand what
you say? Some people confuse me so,—and then I get hold
of the wrong ball of yarn and begin at the toe of my stocking.
Tecumseh—but who took him?'

`One of Harrison's officers,' said Thornton. `But mind
you tell the story to-day, Miss Morsel, for he'll probably
escape before to-morrow.'

`Dreadful creature!' said Miss Morsel,—`I hope not.
I hope they'll take good care of him though. Thank you
my dear very much—your coffee was excellent.'

`I will try to have it just as good whenever you will
come and breakfast with us,' said Rosalie as she shook
hands with her poor little guest. `I wish you would come
oftener.'

`I'm sure you do!' said Miss Morsel earnestly; `and
there isn't much else in the world I am sure of. But you're
like nobody else,—such Christmas presents and all,—and I
haven't said a word about them—because I couldn't. I
don't know now—were they yours or your brother's?'

`Not mine,' said Thornton,—`Rosalie does everything
good that is done in this house. But mine shall come, Miss
Morsel,—I shall remember it now, as surely as you will
Tecumseh.'

`Tecumseh—yes, I'll remember. But you are all so
good—to let me come and talk, talk,—not a bit like rich

people,—and it's such a comfort sometimes,—and smile at
me just as sweetly when I come as when I go. O there'll
be one blessing upon your heads if words can call it down!'

And she slid out of the room; while Thornton having
found out that he did not want to go and put her in the old
coach-body, went—and made her perfectly happy thereby.

`Not quite all the good that is done in this house,' said
his sister, meeting him when he came back with a look that
was worth the purchase.

`The Sun has as much to do with the Moon's light as
with his own,' said Thornton rather sadly. `I am dark
enough when I am turned away from you, Alie. You never
turn from me—like a blessed child as you are.'