 | CHAPTER XXVII. My brother's keeper |  |
27. CHAPTER XXVII.
She learned from her mother a precept divine
About something that butters no parsnips, her forte
In another direction lies, work is her sport,
(Though she'll curtsey and set her cap straight, that she will,
If you talk about Plymouth and one Bunker's Hill.)
Fable for Critics.
How lovely it was! how fresh, how sweet!—with what a
fair face did Massachusetts welcome the summer. Ceres
followed close on the steps of her labourers, and the young
grain with its vivid green hue was fast shooting up into perfection.
The potato fields with their long alternate lines of
brown and green, the corn fields with their tufted crop; and
meadows in the mowing stage, and others that were one
spread of red clover blossoms; swelled upon the hills and
sloped down into the valleys, and were dovetailed into each
other as far as the eye could reach. Everything about the
farms and about the houses had that perfectly done up look,
which shewed the owners quick of eye and hand. The fence
rails were up, the bar-place stood steady, the gates swung
freely and shut tight. And vines were trained, and wood
sheds full, and barns and outhouses in good order. The cattle
too looked sleek, and the many-coloured droves of horses
and good living. Content was the very atmosphere of the
region.
But Rosalie found it hard to get used to her new way of
life. She loved its quietness with all her heart, but it gave
her more thinking time than was quite good for her. For
with a heart in itself perfectly in tune with all the sweet
sounds and influences that were around her, she wanted a
little of Hulda's untouched joyousness to take their full
benefit. As it was they often set her a musing,—as often
perhaps made her grave as gay. Constantly the image of
Thornton would present itself; and `what is he doing?' was
no resting question,—she wearied herself with asking what
there was none to answer. She tried to throw the burden
off, and yet the shadow of it remained; and like a fair plant
deprived of the sunlight, her colour grew more and more delicate.
Little Hulda was every day gaining strength and
health, and her gambols were almost her sister's only amusement;
but even from them Rosalie sometimes turned away,
with a sickness at heart that refused to be forgotten.
For a while after Thornton left her, he wrote long letters,
for him, and often; but then they dwindled, and became
angel's visits only in the length of time between. Yet his
sister craved even them most eagerly, and each time hoped
to find more words and those more comforting. The change
was the other way; and well she felt that they would have
been longer had the writer been better satisfied with himself,
— that if the stream of his daily thought and action had
flowed in a purer channel, it would have turned with a fuller
gush towards her. He was going on then just in the old
way, and she was not there to use even her weak efforts.
And sometimes unbelief was ready to ask why?—and when
faith bade her wait,—then came back the old Captain's quotation—“It
`It aint none o' my business, I do suppose,' said Mrs.
Hopper one day, when she had followed Rosalie out to the
edge of the ravine and stood within three feet of her for some
time without being observed; `and 'taint likely I'll get many
thanks for speaking; but it does appear to me, Miss Clyde,
that you want shaking up.'
`I!' said Rosalie starting.
`Why yes,' said Mrs. Hopper, `you. What's the use
o' coming out here to stand'n look at that brook—jus' as if
it hadn't been running as hard as it could ever since the
deluge.'
`But it's a pretty thing to look at,' said Rosalie.
`Maybe it is—' said Mrs. Hopper,—`I'm not in that
line o' business myself. I'd rather look at a mill tail. Do
you more good too. Don't that everlasting spattering down
there make you think of all the friends you ever had or expected?'
`What makes you imagine such a thing?' said Rosalie.
`Looked as if you'd been talkin with half of 'em, to say
the least. Now I've always got too much to do for my
friends to sit'n think about 'em.'
`Suppose there was nothing else you could do, Mrs.
Hopper?' said Rosalie.
`Then I'd take good care of myself for 'em—besides
there always is something—one thing or 'tother. Folks that
can work, can work; and folks that can write, can write;
and folks that can pray, can pray, one would suppose,—and
believe too.'
But Rosalie turned to her a face so submissive to this
last reproof, that Mrs Hopper had no heart to give more.
`Now I'll tell you what it is,' she said, `my tongue's as
the wrong way; 'n it makes me feel queer to have you
gettin' thin on the place—and payin' so handsome too—
which nobody ever did afore, nary one. To be sure you do
run round after that child all day, but it's a question which
way that works.'
`What would you like to have me do?' said Rosalie
smiling.
`Will you do it?' said Mrs. Hopper.
`I will try.'
`Just let Hulda run round by herself a spell then,' said
Mrs. Hopper—`I'll have an eye to her—and you get on one
of the farm horses and trot off to seek your fortune. I tell
you old Lord North 'll shake up a person's ideas so you
wouldn't know 'em again afterward!'
`Is Lord North one of the farm horses?' said Rosalie.
`Why yes,' said Mrs. Hopper, taking off her sunbonnet
and straightening the edge; `Stamp act and Lord North
—he called 'em so because he hadn't no patience with Lord
North. However the horse behaves better 'n he did, by
a long jump, and so does Stamp. Will you try him?'
`If I can get a saddle and skirt—and find a day when
the horse is not ploughing.'
`He won't plough with you on his back,' said Mrs. Hopper,
`and you might do worse if he did. The saddle 's easy
enough—what ails the frock you have on?'
`O it's too short,—I will get some stuff and make one.'
`That's long enough, for gracious,' said Mrs. Hopper—
`you might as well not have tops to your feet, now; but fix
it any way you like. I'll get some Indian willer and twist
you up a first rate rattan. See if that don't put a little
genuine red in your cheeks. All you've got now just makes
you look whiter. Don't you want to go up to the sewin'
you, and if you can't knit you can look on.'
`I will go anywhere you have a mind to take me,' said
Rosalie, with a hearty appreciation of the good will of her
hostess.
`Well now that's clever,' said Mrs Hopper. `I like to
see folks that have got some reason into them. And I
s'pose you won't mind your Martha's going along,—times
when all the men fight together 'twon't hurt the women to
knit, I guess. But I don't believe now you'd be a bit stuck
up in the best o' times—I'll say that for you, and you're
the first city body I ever did say it for.'
The sewing meeting—which might more properly have
been called a knitting meeting—met that afternoon in a tall
white house by the roadside, which having neither porch nor
vines nor piazza, nor even a wing, presented a singularly
bare and staring appearance. It being generally supposed however,
that juvenile seats of learning should be as unattractive
as possible, this was quite in order, and might be claimed as
a model. Straight, square, the windows drawn up like the
multiplication table, the doors at either end,—the building
was highly fitted to inspire its tenants with a love for irregularities
of any kind. Even the white paling was angled
by rule, and equally distant from the house on every side.
At twelve o'clock that day the school had been dismissed
for the usual Saturday afternoon holiday; and so
soon thereafter as dinner could be eaten and cleared away,
ones and twos and threes of the feminine population of
White Oak, began to approach the angular schoolhouse
paling. Some few in straw bonnets with knots of gay
ribbon, but the most in calico sunbonnets,—made it is true
after very different patterns—ruffled and unruffled, corded,
pasteboarded, and quilted; but each with its long depending
beneath.
Hardfeatured not by nature but by work,—staid, and
combed down, as their hair was combed back; and with a
certain mingling of sober, subdued, wide awake, and energetic,
in the general look and mien, which spoke a life of
work and emergency that each one must meet for herself,
and could. The mere walk of these women as they converged
towards the schoolhouse, spoke energy and independence,—there
was freedom and self assertion in the very
gait; yet more of the feeling which says `I am as good as
you are,' than of that which would say `I am better.'
Neighbours of very different standing indeed (as to wealth
and name) exchanged most affable salutations; though always
with that same air of gravity which seems chosen by
our country people as more dignified than a smile.
Some—especially the younger women—carried fanciful
and gay coloured workbags, from the top of which stuck out
bright knitting-needles; but more had their work in their
pockets or merely wrapped together in their hands, just as
it had been caught up from the window sill, with perhaps a
twisted skein or two of yarn to bear it company. One or
two were even knitting as they walked along.
`I wouldn't wonder a bit if we were late,' said Mrs. Hopper,
as they went up the little slope down which the boys used
to rush with accelerated speed the moment school was let out.
`Mis' Clipper's bunnet's gone in, and she aint apt to be the
first apple that falls.'
A steady murmur that issued from one of the end doors
seemed to confirm this suspicion, and when they entered
the room it was quite full. That is it was well lined, for
everybody sat back against the wall,—and there was a perfect
glitter of knitting-needles. Knit, knit, knit, knit,—
comforter; while the knitters went carelessly on with their
talk, looked out of the window and at each other's work, got up
and crossed the floor and came back again, and never stayed
their fingers for an instant. Eyesight seemed needless—
except to examine Miss Clyde when she appeared, and to
form an exact opinion as to her dress. One or two of the
younger ones, who had worn straw bonnets to the meeting,
laid down their work for a minute till the new arrival had
taken her seat, but the others knit on as fast as ever; with
merely a `Hope you're well Miss Clyde,' from those who
felt best acquainted.
At the further end of the room a large wheel flew round
and round, under the hands of a brisk young lady who
stepped back and forth with very creaking shoes; and the
bright little spindle whirr-r-red! off the yarn with consummate
neatness and speed.
`What will you set me about?' said Rosalie, when she
had found a place—not of rest—upon one of the hard
wooden chairs. `Shall I wind some yarn?'
`A person can do that for himself about as handy,' said
one of the company, who with her right knee a rest for the
left had elevated her left toe into the air, where it did duty
as a reel.
`What then?' said Rosalie. `I am afraid I do not knit
fast enough to be of much use in that way.'
`Every roll makth one leth, Mith Clyde,' said the brisk
little spinner, stooping as she spoke to take another from
the bundle that lay across the wheel.
`Yes, if I could turn them off as fast as you do,' said
Rosalie.
`Maria Jane does spin fast,' observed Mrs. Clipper.
`But look a here,' said Mrs. Hopper, `there's just that
knittin' work.'
Nobody had.
`There's nothing for her to do but look on then,' said
Mrs. Hopper.
`What ails her to read the news?' said the postmaster's
wife producing a paper from her pocket. This only just
come from York; and he brought it when he came in this
noon and then went off and left it after all. So thinks I
I'll take it along—the children won't get it anyway.'
This motion was much approved; and with exemplary
patience and distinctness Miss Clyde read the paper for the
benefit of the meeting. Nor without interest to herself; for
there was much that she wanted to know.
A few paragraphs read, such as `Battle of Bridgewater'
—`Truly British account,' &c. then came,
“Phœbe and Essex—before the capture of the latter.”
`Before the capture of the latter!' said Mrs. Hopper
dropping her work. `Why when on earth or on water was
the Essex taken?'
`It does not say,—it refers to some former account.'
`We lost our last paper,' remarked the postmaster's
wife.
`Then Abijah Hopper's a prisoner and I knew no more
of it than a baby!' said his mother.
There was a pause, even of the knitting-needles, and then
Mrs. Clipper vouchsafed to say,
`He mayn't be took, Mis' Hopper—he might ha' got
away.'
`Got away!' said Mrs. Hopper contemptuously—`skimming
over the ocean like a sea-duck! And what did he go
to sea for, I should like to know?'
`Didn't go to be took, did he?' ventured Mrs. Clipper.
`Yes he did,' said Mrs. Hopper—`when his time come
and he couldn't help it.'
`'Taint worth while to fret till you do know, Mith
Hopper,' said Maria Jane from her wheel.
`I should like to see myself at it,' said Mrs Hopper,
the little burst of indignation having been eminently useful
in keeping down her anxiety. `Read straight on Miss
Clyde—don't stop for half a piece of news.'
Rosalie read straight on.
“Fortifications at Brooklyn.”
“On Tuesday morning last, the artillery company of
Capt. Clyde (reinforced to the number of about 70 by volunteers
from the seventh ward) with the officers of the third
brigade of infantry under Gen. Mapes, repaired to Brooklyn
for the purpose of commencing the additional fortifications
for the defence of this city. They broke ground about
8 o'clock under a salute from a 6 pounder of Capt. Clyde's,
on the heights southeast of the Wallabout. Gen. Swift
superintended their construction, attended by alderman Buckmaster,
of the corporation committee of defence; and Major
Raynor, commandant of the district, with others, visited and
remained with them through the morning. The weather
was extremely fine, the situation airy and the prospect
beautiful and commanding; and the labour was begun with
a degree of cheerfulness and alacrity highly honourable to
the gentlemen concerned.
“The societies of Printers, Cabinetmakers, Tanners and
Curriers, Cordwainers, Butchers, House-carpenters, Pilots,
officers of the 10th brigade infantry, of the 3d regt. artillery,
students of medicine, sixty hands of the wire factory, and
many others not mentioned, have already volunteered one
day's labour to the construction of these works.”
“The Printers being employed yesterday at Brooklyn
In quiet talk upon these and other matters, the afternoon
wore away; and as shadows began to stretch across the
road, and the tinkling of cow-bells made itself heard, stockings
were rolled up and the knitters prepared to depart.
`I'll have to wait, I s'pose,' said Mrs. Hopper, as they
walked home; `with just such patience as I can pick up.'
But the anxious feeling seemed to have come up again,
and her walk was too straight and determined.
`You don't think nothing's fallen on Abijah, mother?'
said Jerusha.
`I don't know no more'n you do about it,' said her
mother. `The ship's took—that's one thing,—what the
tother is I can't say. Like enough he's took in her, and
sent off to live with the Britishers.'
`He might be away for a time, in that case,' said Rosalie;
`and then be exchanged for some English prisoner.'
`Maybe so and maybe no,' said Mrs. Hopper. `But
somehow I don't feel as though Abijah was comin' home
no more!'
| CHAPTER XXVII. My brother's keeper | |