University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.
BUSTLE IN THE PARISH.

The announcement of the definite engagement
of two such bright particular stars in the hemisphere
of the Doctor's small parish excited the interest
that such events usually create among the
faithful of the flock.

There was a general rustle and flutter, as when
a covey of wild pigeons has been started; and
all the little elves who rejoice in the name of
“says he” and “says I” and “do tell” and “have
you heard” were speedily flying through the consecrated
air of the parish.

The fact was discussed by matrons and maidens,
at the spinning-wheel, in the green clothes-yard,
and at the foamy wash-tub, out of which
rose weekly a new birth of freshness and beauty.
Many a rustic Venus of the foam, as she splashed
her dimpled elbows in the rainbow-tinted froth,
talked of what should be done for the forthcoming
solemnities, and wondered what Mary would
have on when she was married, and whether she

(the Venus) should get an invitation to the wedding,
and whether Ethan would go, — not, of
course, that she cared in the least whether he did
or not.

Grave, elderly matrons talked about the prosperity
of Zion, which they imagined intimately
connected with the event of their minister's marriage;
and descending from Zion, speculated on
bed-quilts and table-cloths, and rummaged their
own clean, sweet-smelling stores, fragrant with
balm and rose-leaves, to lay out a bureau-cover,
or a pair of sheets, or a dozen napkins for the wedding
outfit.

The solemnest of solemn quiltings was resolved
upon. Miss Prissy declared that she fairly couldn't
sleep nights with the responsibility of the wedding-dresses
on her mind, but yet she must give one
day to getting on that quilt.

The grand monde also was in motion. Mrs.
General Wilcox called in her own particular carriage,
bearing present of a Cashmere shawl for the
bride, with the General's best compliments, — also
an oak-leaf pattern for quilting, which had been
sent her from England, and which was authentically
established to be that used on a petticoat
belonging to the Princess Royal. And Mrs. Major
Seaforth came also, bearing a scarf of wrought
India muslin; and Mrs. Vernon sent a splendid
China punch-bowl. Indeed, to say the truth, the

notables high and mighty of Newport, whom the
Doctor had so unceremoniously accused of building
their houses with blood and establishing their
city with iniquity, considering that nobody seemed
to take his words to heart, and that they were
making money as fast as old Tyre, rather assumed
the magnanimous, and patted themselves
on the shoulder for this opportunity to show the
Doctor that after all they were good fellows, though
they did make money at the expense of thirty per
cent. on human life.

Simeon Brown was the only exception. He
stood aloof, grim and sarcastic, and informed some
good middle-aged ladies who came to see if he
would, as they phrased it, “esteem it a privilege
to add his mite” to the Doctor's outfit, that he
would give him a likely negro boy, if he wanted
him, and, if he was too conscientious to keep him,
he might sell him at a fair profit, — a happy stroke
of humor which he was fond of relating many
years after.

The quilting was in those days considered the
most solemn and important recognition of a betrothal.
And for the benefit of those not to the
manner born, a little preliminary instruction may
be necessary.

The good wives of New England, impressed
with that thrifty orthodoxy of economy which forbids
to waste the merest trifle, had a habit of saving

every scrap clipped out in the fashioning of
household garments, and these they cut into fanciful
patterns and constructed of them rainbow
shapes and quaint traceries, the arrangement of
which became one of their few fine arts. Many a
maiden, as she sorted and arranged fluttering bits
of green, yellow, red, and blue, felt rising in her
breast a passion for somewhat vague and unknown,
which came out at length in a new pattern of
patchwork. Collections of these tiny fragments
were always ready to fill an hour when there was
nothing else to do; and as the maiden chattered
with her beau, her busy flying needle stitched together
those pretty bits, which, little in themselves,
were destined, by gradual unions and accretions,
to bring about at last substantial beauty, warmth,
and comfort, — emblems thus of that household life
which is to be brought to stability and beauty by
reverent economy in husbanding and tact in arranging
the little useful and agreeable morsels of
daily existence.

When a wedding was forthcoming, there was a
solemn review of the stores of beauty and utility
thus provided, and the patchwork-spread best
worthy of such distinction was chosen for the
quilting. Thereto, duly summoned, trooped all intimate
female friends of the bride, old and young;
and the quilt being spread on a frame, and wadded
with cotton, each vied with the others in the

delicacy of the quilting she could put upon it.
For the quilting also was a fine art, and had its
delicacies and nice points, — which grave elderly
matrons discussed with judicious care. The quilting
generally began at an early hour in the afternoon,
and ended at dark with a great supper and
general jubilee, at which that ignorant and incapable
sex which could not quilt was allowed to
appear and put in claims for consideration of
another nature. It may, perhaps, be surmised that
this expected reinforcement was often alluded to
by the younger maidens, whose wickedly coquettish
toilettes exhibited suspicious marks of that
willingness to get a chance to say “No” which
has been slanderously attributed to mischievous
maidens.

In consideration of the tremendous responsibilities
involved in this quilting, the reader will not
be surprised to learn, that, the evening before, Miss
Prissy made her appearance at the brown cottage,
armed with thimble, scissors, and pincushion, in
order to relieve her mind by a little preliminary
confabulation.

“You see me, Miss Scudder, run 'most to
death,” she said; “but I thought I would just
run up to Miss Major Seaforth's and see her best
bedroom quilt, 'cause I wanted to have all the
ideas we possibly could, before I decided on the
pattern. Her's is in shells, — just common shells, —

nothing to be compared with Miss Wilcox's oak-leaves;
and I suppose there isn't the least doubt
that Miss Wilcox's sister, in London, did get that
from a lady who had a cousin who was governess
in the royal family; and I just quilted a little bit
to-day on an old piece of silk, and it comes out
beautiful; and so I thought I would just come
and ask you if you did not think it was best for
us to have the oak-leaves.”

“Well, certainly, Miss Prissy, if you think so,”
said Mrs. Scudder, who was as pliant to the opinions
of this wise woman of the parish as New
England matrons generally are to a reigning dress-maker
and factotum.

Miss Prissy had the happy consciousness, always,
that her early advent under any roof was considered
a matter of especial grace; and therefore it
was with rather a patronizing tone that she announced
that she would stay and spend the night
with them.

“I knew,” she added, “that your spare chamber
was full, with that Madame de —, what do
you call her? — if I was to die, I could not remember
the woman's name. Well, I thought I
could curl in with you, Mary, 'most anywhere.”

“That's right, Miss Prissy,” said Mary; “you
shall be welcome to half my bed any time.”

“Well, I knew you would say so, Mary; I
never saw the thing you would not give away

one half of, since you was that high,” said Miss
Prissy, — illustrating her words by placing her hand
about two feet from the floor.

Just at this moment, Madame de Frontignac
entered and asked Mary to come into her room
and give her advice as to a piece of embroidery.
When she was gone out, Miss Prissy looked after
her and sunk her voice once more to the confidential
whisper which we before described.

“I have heard strange stories about that French
woman,” she said; “but as she is here with you
and Mary, I suppose there cannot be any truth in
them. Dear me! the world is so censorious about
women! But then, you know, we don't expect
much from French women. I suppose she is a
Roman Catholic, and worships pictures and stone
images; but then, after all, she has got an immortal
soul, and I can't help hoping Mary's influence
may be blest to her. They say, when she
speaks French, she swears every few minutes; and
if that is the way she was brought up, may-be
she isn't accountable. I think we can't be too
charitable for people that a'n't privileged as we
are. Miss Vernon's Polly told me she had seen
her sew Sundays, — sew Sabbath-day! She came
into her room sudden, and she was working on
her embroidery there; and she never winked nor
blushed, nor offered to put it away, but sat there
just as easy! Polly said she never was so beat

in all her life; she felt kind o' scared, every time
she thought of it. But now she has come here,
who knows but she may be converted?”

“Mary has not said much about her state of
mind,” said Mrs. Scudder; “but something of
deep interest has passed between them. Mary is
such an uncommon child, that I trust everything
to her.”

We will not dwell further on the particulars of
this evening, — nor describe how Madame de Frontignac
reconnoitred Miss Prissy with keen, amused
eyes, — nor how Miss Prissy assured Mary, in the
confidential solitude of her chamber, that her fingers
just itched to get hold of that trimming on
Madame de Frog— something's dress, because
she was pretty nigh sure she could make some
just like it, for she never saw any trimming she
could not make.

The robin that lived in the apple-tree was fairly
outgeneralled the next morning; for Miss Prissy
was up before him, tripping about the chamber
on the points of her toes, knocking down all the
movable things in the room, in her efforts to be
still, so as not to wake Mary; and it was not
until she had finally upset the stand by the bed,
with the candlestick, snuffers, and Bible on it, that
Mary opened her eyes.

“Miss Prissy! dear me! what is it you are
doing?”

“Why, I am trying to be still, Mary, so as not
to wake you up; and it seems to me as if everything
was possessed, to tumble down so. But it
is only half past three, — so you turn over and
go to sleep.”

“But, Miss Prissy,” said Mary, sitting up in
bed, “you are all dressed; where are you going?”

“Well, to tell the truth, Mary, I am just one
of those people that can't sleep when they have
got responsibility on their minds; and I have been
lying awake more than an hour here, thinking
about that quilt. There is a new way of getting
it on to the frame that I want to try; 'cause,
you know, when we quilted Cerinthy Stebbins's,
it would trouble us in the rolling; and I have got
a new way that I want to try, and I mean just
to get it on to the frame before breakfast. I was
in hopes I should get out without waking any of
you. I am in hopes I shall get by your mother's
door without waking her, — 'cause I know she
works hard and needs her rest, — but that bedroom
door squeaks like a cat, enough to raise the
dead!

“Mary,” she added, with sudden energy, “If I
had the least drop of oil in a teacup, and a bit
of quill, I'd stop that door making such a noise.”
And Miss Prissy's eyes glowed with resolution.

“I don't know where you could find any at
this time,” said Mary.

“Well, never mind; I'll just go and open the
door as slow and careful as I can,” said Miss
Prissy, as she trotted out of the apartment.

The result of her carefulness was very soon announced
to Mary by a protracted sound resembling
the mewing of a hoarse cat, accompanied
by sundry audible grunts from Miss Prissy, terminating
in a grand finale of clatter, occasioned by
her knocking down all the pieces of the quilting-frame
that stood in the corner of the room, with
a concussion that roused everybody in the house.

“What is that?” called out Mrs. Scudder, from
her bedroom.

She was answered by two streams of laughter,
— one from Mary, sitting up in bed, and the
other from Miss Prissy, holding her sides, as she
sat dissolved in merriment on the sanded floor.