 | CHAPTER XXXII.
THE JOURNEY TO CLOUDLAND. Oldtown folks |  |
32. CHAPTER XXXII.
THE JOURNEY TO CLOUDLAND.
THE next morning Aunt Lois rapped at our door, when
there was the very faintest red streak in the east, and
the birds were just in the midst of that vociferous singing which
nobody knows anything about who is n't awake at this precise
hour. We were forward enough to be up and dressed, and, before
our breakfast was through, Uncle Jacob came to the door.
The agricultural population of Massachusetts, at this time,
were a far more steady set as regards locomotion than they are
in these days of railroads. At this time, a journey from Boston
to New York took a fortnight, — a longer time than it now takes
to go to Europe, — and my Uncle Jacob had never been even
to Boston. In fact, the seven-mile tavern in the neighborhood
had been the extent of his wanderings, and it was evident that
he regarded the two days' journey as quite a solemn event
in his life. He had given a fortnight's thought to it; he had
arranged all his worldly affairs, and given charges and messages
to his wife and children, in case, as he said, “anything should
happen to him.” And he informed Aunt Lois that he had been
awake the biggest part of the night thinking it over. But when
he had taken Tina and her little trunk on board, and we had finished
all our hand-shakings, and Polly had told us over for the
fourth or fifth time exactly where she had put the cold chicken
and the biscuits and the cakes and pie, and Miss Mehitable had
cautioned Tina again and again to put on her shawl in case a
shower should come up, and my grandmother and Aunt Lois had
put in their share of parting admonitions, we at last trolled off as
cheery and merry a set of youngsters as the sun ever looked
upon in a dewy June morning.
Our road lay first along the beautiful brown river, with its
sweeping bends, and its prattling curves of water dashing and
ourselves winding up and up amid hemlock forests, whose solemn
shadows were all radiant and aglow with clouds of blossoming
laurel. We had long hills to wind up, when we got out and
walked, and gathered flowers, and scampered, and chased the
brook up stream from one little dashing waterfall to another,
and then, suddenly darting out upon the road again, we would
meet the wagon at the top of the hill.
Can there be anything on earth so beautiful as these mountain
rides in New England? At any rate we were full in the faith
that there could not. When we were riding in the wagon,
Tina's powers of entertainment were brought into full play.
The great success of the morning was her exact imitation of a
squirrel eating a nut, which she was requested to perform many
times, and which she did, with variations, until at last Uncle
Jacob remarked, with a grin, that “if he should meet her and a
squirrel sitting on a stone fence together, he believed he should
n't know which was which.”
Besides this, we acted various impromptu plays, assuming
characters and supporting them as we had been accustomed to
do in our theatrical rehearsals in the garret, till Uncle Jacob
declared that he never did see such a musical set as we were.
About nightfall we came to Uncle Sim Geary's tavern, which
had been fixed upon for our stopping-place. This was neither
more nor less than a mountain farm-house, where the few travellers
who ever passed that way could find accommodation.
Uncle Jacob, after seeing to his horses, and partaking of a
plentiful supper, went immediately to bed, as was his innocent
custom every evening, as speedily as possible. To bed, but not
to sleep, for when, an hour or two afterward, I had occasion to
go into his room, I found him lying on his bed with his clothes
on, his shoes merely slipped off, and his hat held securely over
the pit of his stomach.
“Why, Uncle Jacob,” said I, “are n't you going to bed?”
“Well, I guess I 'll just lie down as I be; no knowin' what
may happen when you 're travelling. It 's a very nice house, and
a very respectable family, but it 's best always to be prepared for
all go to bed and keep quiet.”
What roars of laughter there were among us when I described
this scene and communicated the message of Uncle Jacob! It
seemed as if Tina could not be got to sleep that night, and we
could hear her giggling, through the board partition that separated
our room from hers, every hour of the night.
Happy are the days when one can go to sleep and wake up
laughing. The next morning, however, Uncle Jacob reaped the
reward of his vigilance by finding himself ready dressed at six
o'clock, when I came in and found him sleeping profoundly.
The fact was, that, having kept awake till near morning, he was
sounder asleep at this point of time than any of us, and was
snoring away like a grist-mill. He remarked that he should n't
wonder if he had dropped asleep, and added, in a solemn tone,
“We 've got through the night wonderfully, all things considered.”
The next day's ride was the same thing over, only the hills
were longer; and by and by we came into great vistas of mountains,
whose cloudy purple heads seemed to stretch and veer
around our path like the phantasmagoria of a dream. Sometimes
the road seemed to come straight up against an impenetrable
wall, and we would wonder what we were to do with it; but lo!
as we approached, the old mountain seemed gracefully to slide
aside, and open to us a passage round it. Tina found ever so
many moralities and poetical images in these mountains. It
was like life, she said. Your way would seem all shut up before
you, but, if you only had faith and went on, the mountains
would move aside for you and let you through.
Towards night we began to pull in earnest up a series of ascents
toward the little village of Cloudland. Hill after hill, hill
after hill, how long they seemed! but how beautiful it was when
the sun went down over the distant valleys! and there was such
a pomp and glory of golden clouds and rosy vapors wreathing
around the old mountain-tops as one must go to Cloudland to
know anything about.
At last we came to a little terrace of land, where were a white
of one of these our wagon drove. There stood Mr. Jonathan
Rossiter and the minister and Esther. You do not know Esther,
do you? neither at this minute did we. We saw a tall, straight,
graceful girl, who looked at us out of a pair of keen, clear, hazel
eyes, with a sort of inquisitive yet not unkindly glance, but as if
she meant to make up her mind about us; and when she looked
at Tina I could see that her mind was made up in a moment.
LETTER FROM TINA TO MISS MEHITABLE.
“Here we are, dear Aunty, up in the skies, in the most beautiful
place that you can possibly conceive of. We had such a
good time coming! you 've no idea of the fun we had. You
know I am going to be very sober, but I did n't think it was
necessary to begin while we were travelling, and we kept Uncle
Jacob laughing so that I really think he must have been tired.
“Do you know, Aunty, I have got so that I can look exactly
like a squirrel? We saw ever so many on the way, and I got a
great many new hints on the subject, and now I can do squirrel
in four or five different attitudes, and the boys almost killed
themselves laughing.
“Harry is an old sly-boots. Do you know, he is just as much
of a mimic as I am, for all he looks so sober; but when we get
him a going he is perfectly killing. He and I and Horace acted
all sorts of plays on the way. We agreed with each other that
we 'd give a set of Oldtown representations, and see if Uncle
Jacob would know who they were, and so Harry was Sam Lawson
and I was Hepsy, and I made an unexceptionable baby out
of our two shawls, and Horace was Uncle Fliakim come in to
give us moral exhortations. I do wish you could hear how we
did it. Uncle Jacob is n't the brightest of all mortals, and not
very easily roused, but we made him laugh till he said his sides
were sore; and to pay for it he made us laugh when we got to
the tavern where we stopped all night. Do you believe, Aunty,
Uncle Jacob really was frightened, or care-worn, or something,
place that ever you saw, and there was a good motherly woman,
who got us the nicest kind of supper, and a peaceable, slow, dull
old man, just like Uncle Jacob. There was n't the least thing
that looked as if we had fallen into a cave of banditti, or a castle
in the Apennines, such as Mrs. Radcliffe tells about in the Mysteries
of Udolpho; but, for all that, Uncle Jacob's mind was so
oppressed with care that he went to bed with all his clothes on,
and lay broad awake with his hat in his hand all night. I
did n't think before that Uncle Jacob had such a brilliant imagination.
Poor man! I should have thought he would have lain
down and slept as peaceably as one of his own oxen.
“We got up into Cloudland about half past six o'clock in the
afternoon, the second day; and such a sunset! I thought of a
good subject for a little poem, and wrote two or three verses,
which I 'll send you some time; but I must tell you now about
the people here.
“I don't doubt I shall become very good, for just think what
a place I am in, — living at the minister's! and then I room with
Esther! You ought to see Esther. She 's a beautiful girl; she 's
tall, and straight, and graceful, with smooth black hair, and piercing
dark eyes that look as if they could read your very soul.
Her face has the features of a statue, at least such as I think
some of the beautiful statues that I 've read about might have;
and what makes it more statuesque is, that she 's so very pale;
she is perfectly healthy, but there does n't seem to be any red
blood in her cheeks; and, dear Aunty, she is alarmingly good.
She knows so much, and does so much, that it is really discouraging
to me to think of it. Why, do you know, she has read
through Virgil, and is reading a Greek tragedy now with Mr.
Rossiter; and she teaches a class in mathematics in school, besides
being her father's only housekeeper, and taking care of her
younger brothers.
“I should be frightened to death at so much goodness, if it
were not that she seems to have taken the greatest possible fancy
to me. As I told you, we room together; and such a nice room
as it is! everything is just like wax; and she gave me half of
my things so nicely in their places, and then in the morning she
gets up at unheard-of hours, and she was beginning to pet me
and tell me that I need n't get up. Now you know, Aunty, that 's
just the way people are always doing with me, and the way poor
dear old Polly would spoil me; but I told Esther all about my
new resolutions and exactly how good I intended to be, and that
I thought I could n't do better than to do everything that she
did, and so when she gets up I get up; and really, Aunty,
you 've no idea what a sight the sunrise is here in the mountains;
it really is worth getting up for.
“We have breakfast at six o'clock, and then there are about
three hours before school, and I help Esther wash up the breakfast
things, and we make our bed and sweep our room, and put
everything up nice, and then I have ever so long to study, while
Esther is seeing to all her family cares and directing black
Dinah about the dinner, and settling any little cases that may
arise among her three younger brothers. They are great, strong,
nice boys, with bright red cheeks, and a good capacity for making
a noise, but she manages them nicely. Dear Aunty, I hope
some of her virtues will rub off on to me by contact; don't you?
“I don't think your brother likes me much. He hardly noticed
me at all when I was first presented to him, and seemed to
have forgotten that he had ever seen me. I tried to talk to him,
but he cut me quite short, and turned round and went to talking
to Mr. Avery, the minister, you know. I think that these people
that know so much might be civil to us little folks, but then I
dare say it 's all right enough; but sometimes it does seem as if
he wanted to snub me. Well, perhaps it 's good for me to be
snubbed: I have such good times generally that I ought to have
something that is n't quite so pleasant.
“Life is to me such a beautiful story! and every morning when
I open my eyes and see things looking so charming as they do
here, I thank God that I am alive.
“Mr. Rossiter has been examining the boys in their studies.
He is n't a man that ever praises anybody, I suppose, but I can
see that he is pretty well pleased with them. We have a lady
think, and very pleasant and affable. I shall tell you more about
these things by and by.
“Give my love to dear old Polly, and to grandma and Aunt
Lois, and all the nice folks in Oldtown.
“Dear Aunty, sometimes I used to think that you were depressed,
and had troubles that you did not tell me; and something
you said once about your life being so wintry made me
quite sad. Do let me be your little Spring, and think always
how dearly I love you, and how good I am going to try to be for
your sake.
| CHAPTER XXXII.
THE JOURNEY TO CLOUDLAND. Oldtown folks | |