Kitabı oku: «Silver Pitchers: and Independence, a Centennial Love Story», sayfa 14
CHAPTER III.
WHAT BECAME OF THEM
Private Lennox certainly had chosen pretty hard work, for the – th was not a "kid-glove" regiment by any means; fighting in mid-winter was not exactly festive, and camps do not abound in beds of roses even at the best of times. But Belle was right in saying she knew a soldier when she saw him, for, now that he was thoroughly waked up, he proved that there was plenty of courage, energy, and endurance in him.
It is my private opinion that he might now and then have slightly regretted the step he had taken, had it not been for certain recollections of a sarcastic tongue and a pair of keen eyes, not to mention the influence of one of the most potent rulers of the human heart; namely, the desire to prove himself worthy the respect, if nothing more, of somebody at home. Belle's socks did seem to keep him safe, and lead him straight in the narrow path of duty. Belle's comfort-bag was such in very truth, for not one of the stout needles on the tri-colored cushion but what seemed to wink its eye approvingly at him; not one of the tidy balls of thread that did not remind him of the little hand he coveted, and the impracticable scissors were cherished as a good omen, though he felt that the sharpest steel that ever came from Sheffield couldn't cut his love in twain. And Belle's lessons, short as they had been, were not forgotten, but seemed to have been taken up by a sterner mistress, whose rewards were greater, if not so sweet, as those the girl could give. There was plenty of exercise nowadays, and of hard work that left many a tired head asleep for ever under the snow. There were many opportunities for diving "into the depths and bringing up pearls worth having" by acts of kindness among the weak, the wicked, and the suffering all about him. He learned now how to earn, not buy, the thanks of the poor, and unconsciously proved in the truest way that a private could be a gentleman. But best of all was the steadfast purpose "to live and die for a principle," which grew and strengthened with each month of bitter hardship, bloody strife, and dearly bought success. Life grew earnest to him, time seemed precious, self was forgotten, and all that was best and bravest rallied round the flag on which his heart inscribed the motto, "Love and Liberty."
Praise and honor he could not fail to win, and had he never gone back to claim his bounty he would have earned the great "Well done," for he kept his oath loyally, did his duty manfully, and loved his lady faithfully, like a knight of the chivalrous times. He knew nothing of her secret, but wore her blue ribbon like an order, never went into battle without first, like many another poor fellow, kissing something which he carried next his heart, and with each day of absence felt himself a better man, and braver soldier, for the fondly foolish romance he had woven about the scarlet stockings.
Belle and Kate did comfort one another, not only with tears and kisses, but with womanly work which kept hearts happy and hands busy. How Belle bribed her to silence will always remain the ninth wonder of the world; but, though reams of paper passed between brother and sister during those twelve months, not a hint was dropped on one side in reply to artful inquiries from the other. Belle never told her love in words; but she stowed away an unlimited quantity of the article in the big boxes that went to gladden the eyes and – alas for romance! – the stomach of Private Lennox. If pickles could typify passion, cigars prove constancy, and gingerbread reveal the longings of the soul, then would the above-mentioned gentleman have been the happiest of lovers. But camp-life had doubtless dulled his finer intuitions: for he failed to understand the new language of love, and gave away these tender tokens with lavish prodigality. Concealment preyed a trifle on Belle's damask cheek, it must be confessed, and the keen eyes grew softer with the secret tears that sometimes dimmed them; the sharp tongue seldom did mischief now, but uttered kindly words to every one, as if doing penance for the past; and a sweet seriousness toned down the lively spirit, which was learning many things in the sleepless nights that followed when the "little prayer" for the beloved substitute was done.
"I'll wait and see if he is all I hope he will be, before I let him know. I shall read the truth the instant I see him, and if he has stood the test I'll run into his arms and tell him every thing," she said to herself, with delicious thrills at the idea; but you may be sure she did nothing of the sort when the time came.
A rumor flew through the town one day that Lennox had arrived; upon receipt of which joyful tidings, Belle had a panic and hid herself in the garret. But when she had quaked, and cried, and peeped, and listened for an hour or two, finding that no one came to hunt her up, she composed her nerves and descended to pass the afternoon in the parlor and a high state of dignity. All sorts of reports reached her: he was mortally wounded; he had been made a major or a colonel or a general, no one knew exactly which; he was dead, was going to be married, and hadn't come at all. Belle fully expiated all her small sins by the agonies of suspense she suffered that day, and when at last a note came from Kate, begging her "to drop over to see Harry," she put her pride in her pocket and went at once.
The drawing-room was empty and in confusion, there was a murmur of voices upstairs, a smell of camphor in the air, and an empty wine-glass on the table where a military cap was lying. Belle's heart sunk, and she covertly kissed the faded blue coat as she stood waiting breathlessly, wondering if Harry had any arms for her to run into. She heard the chuckling Biddy lumber up and announce her, then a laugh, and a half-fond, half-exulting, "Ah, ha, I thought she'd come!"
That spoilt it all; Belle took out her pride instanter, rubbed a quick color into her white cheeks, and, snatching up a newspaper, sat herself down with as expressionless a face as it was possible for an excited young woman to possess. Lennox came running down. "Thank Heaven, his legs are safe!" sighed Belle, with her eyes glued to the price of beef. He entered with both hands extended, which relieved her mind upon another point; and he beamed upon her, looking so vigorous, manly, and martial, that she cried within herself, "My beautiful brown soldier!" even while she greeted him with an unnecessarily brief, "How do you do, Mr. Lennox?"
The sudden eclipse which passed over his joyful countenance would have been ludicrous, if it hadn't been pathetic; but he was used to hard knocks now, and bore this, his hardest, like a man. He shook hands heartily; and, as Belle sat down again (not to betray that she was trembling a good deal), he stood at ease before her, talking in a way which soon satisfied her that he had borne the test, and that bliss was waiting for her round the corner. But she had made it such a very sharp corner she couldn't turn it gracefully, and while she pondered how to do so he helped her with a cough. She looked up quickly, discovering all at once that he was very thin, rather pale in spite of the nice tan, and breathed hurriedly as he stood with one hand in his breast.
"Are you ill, wounded, in pain?" she asked, forgetting herself entirely.
"Yes, all three," he answered, after a curious look at her changing color and anxious eyes.
"Sit down – tell me about it – can I do any thing?" and Belle began to plump up the pillows on the couch with nervous eagerness.
"Thank you, I'm past help," was the mournful reply accompanied by a hollow cough which made her shiver.
"Oh, don't say so! Let me bring father; he is very skilful. Shall I call Kate?"
"He can do nothing; Kate doesn't know this, and I beg you won't tell her. I got a shot in the breast and made light of it, but it will finish me sooner or later. I don't mind telling you, for you are one of the strong, cool sort, you know, and are not affected by such things. But Kate is so fond of me, I don't want to shock and trouble her yet awhile. Let her enjoy my little visit, and after I'm gone you can tell her the truth."
Belle had sat like a statue while he spoke with frequent pauses and an involuntary clutch or two at the suffering breast. As he stopped and passed his hand over his eyes, she said slowly, as if her white lips were stiff, —
"Gone! where?"
"Back to my place. I'd rather die fighting than fussed and wailed over by a parcel of women. I expected to stay a week or so, but a battle is coming off sooner than we imagined, so I'm away again to-morrow. As I'm not likely ever to come back, I just wanted to ask you to stand by poor Kate when I'm finished, and to say good-by to you, Belle, before I go." He put out his hand, but, holding it fast in both her own, she laid her tearful face down on it, whispering imploringly, —
"Oh, Harry, stay!"
Never mind what happened for the next ten minutes; suffice it to say that the enemy having surrendered, the victor took possession with great jubilation and showed no quarter.
"Bang the field-piece, toot the fife, and beat the rolling drum, for ruse number three has succeeded. Come down, Kate, and give us your blessing!" called Lennox, taking pity on his sister, who was anxiously awaiting the dénouement on the stairs.
In she rushed, and the young ladies laughed and cried, kissed and talked tumultuously, while their idol benignantly looked on, vainly endeavoring to repress all vestiges of unmanly emotion.
"And you are not dying, really, truly?" cried Belle, when fair weather set in after the flurry.
"Bless your dear heart, no! I'm as sound as a nut, and haven't a wound to boast of, except this ugly slash on the head."
"It's a splendid wound, and I'm proud of it," and Belle set a rosy little seal on the scar, which quite reconciled her lover to the disfigurement of his handsome forehead. "You've learned to fib in the army, and I'm disappointed in you," she added, trying to look reproachful and failing entirely.
"No, only the art of strategy. You quenched me by your frosty reception, and I thought it was all up till you put the idea of playing invalid into my head. It succeeded so well that I piled on the agony, resolving to fight it out on that line, and if I failed again to make a masterly retreat. You gave me a lesson in deceit once, so don't complain if I turned the tables and made your heart ache for a minute, as you've made mine for a year."
Belle's spirit was rapidly coming back, so she gave him a capital imitation of his French shrug, and drawled out in his old way, —
"I have my doubts about that, mon ami."
"What do you say to this – and this – and this?" he retorted, pulling out and laying before her with a triumphant flourish a faded blue ribbon, a fat pincushion with a hole through it, and a daintily painted little picture of a pretty girl in scarlet stockings.
"There, I've carried those treasures in my breast-pocket for a year, and I'm firmly convinced that they have all done their part toward keeping me safe. The blue ribbon bound me fast to you, Belle; the funny cushion caught the bullet that otherwise might have finished me; and the blessed little picture was my comfort during those dreadful marches, my companion on picket-duty with treachery and danger all about me, and my inspiration when the word 'Charge!' went down the line, for in the thickest of the fight I always saw the little gray figure beckoning me on to my duty."
"Oh, Harry, you won't go back to all those horrors, will you? I'm sure you've done enough, and may rest now and enjoy your reward," said Kate, trying not to feel that "two is company, and three is none."
"I've enlisted for the war, and shall not rest till either it or I come to an end. As for my reward, I had it when Belle kissed me."
"You are right, I'll wait for you, and love you all the better for the sacrifice," whispered Belle. "I only wish I could share your hardships, dear, for while you fight and suffer I can only love and pray."
"Waiting is harder than working to such as you; so be contented with your share, for the thought of you will glorify the world generally for me. I'll tell you what you can do while I'm away: it's both useful and amusing, so it will occupy and cheer you capitally. Just knit lots of red hose, because I don't intend you to wear any others hereafter, Mrs. Lennox."
"Mine are not worn out yet," laughed Belle, getting merry at the thought.
"No matter for that; those are sacred articles, and henceforth must be treasured as memorials of our love. Frame and hang them up; or, if the prejudices of society forbid that flight of romance, lay them carefully away where moths can't devour nor thieves steal them, so that years hence, when my descendants praise me for any virtues I may possess, any good I may have done, or any honor I may have earned, I can point to those precious relics and say proudly, —
"My children, for all that I am, or hope to be, you must thank your honored mother's scarlet stockings."
INDEPENDENCE: A CENTENNIAL LOVE STORY
CHAPTER I.
MISS DOLLY
"Stupid-looking old place! Dare say I shall have to waste half an hour listening to centennial twaddle before I get what I want! The whole thing is a bore, but I can't quarrel with my bread and butter, so here goes;" and, with an air of resignation, the young man applied himself to the rusty knocker.
"Rather a nice old bit; maybe useful, so I'll book it;" and, whipping out a sketch-book, the stranger took a hasty likeness of the griffin's head on the knocker.
"Deaf as posts; try, try, try again;" and, pocketing his work, the artist gave an energetic rat, tat, tat, that echoed through the house.
Having rashly concluded that the inhabitants of the ancient mansion were proportionately aged, he assumed a deferential expression as steps approached, and prepared to prefer with all due respect the request which he had come many miles to make. The door opened with unexpected rapidity, but the neatly arranged speech did not glide glibly off the young man's tongue, and the change which came over him was comically sudden; for, instead of an old woman, a blooming girl stood upon the threshold, with a petulant expression on her charming face, which only made it more charming still.
"What did you wish, sir?" asked the rosy mouth, involuntarily relaxing from a vain attempt to look severe, while the hazel eyes softened with a mirthful gleam as they rested on the comely, but embarrassed countenance before her.
"Beg pardon for making such a noise. I merely wished to inquire if the famous chair in which Washington sat when he visited the town is here," replied the stranger, clutching off his hat with a very different sort of respect from that which he had intended to show, and feeling as if he had received a shock of some new and delightful sort of electricity.
"Yes;" and the girl began to close the door, as if she knew what question was coming next.
"Could I be allowed to sketch it for 'The Weekly Portfolio'? All such relics are so valuable this year that we venture to ask many favors, and this is such a famous affair I've no doubt you are often troubled by requests of this sort," continued the artist, with the persuasive tone of one accustomed to make his way everywhere.
"This is the fifth time this week," replied the damsel, demurely; though her lips still struggled not to smile.
"It's very good of you, I'm sure, to let us fellows in, but the public demand is immense just now, and we only obey orders, you know," began the fifth intruder, fervently hoping the other four had been refused.
"But Mrs. Hill never does let artists or reporters in," was the gentle quencher which arrested him, as he was industriously wiping his feet on the door-mat.
"Never?" he asked, stopping short, while an expression of alarm changed suddenly to one of satisfaction.
"Never," answered the damsel, like a sweet-voiced echo.
"Then the other fellows lost their chance, and that makes the old thing doubly valuable. If I could see Mrs. Hill for a moment, I've no doubt she will allow me to sketch the chair."
"She is not at home."
"So much the better; for, when I tell you that I've come fifty miles to pick up antiquities in this town, I know you won't have the heart to send me away without the gem of the collection," replied the artist, nothing daunted; for his quick eye read the artless face before him, and saw a defiant expression come over it, which made him suspect that there had been a falling out between mistress and maid, if such they were. He was sure of it when the girl threw open the door with a decisive gesture, saying briefly, —
"Walk in, if you please; she won't be home for an hour."
"What a little beauty!" thought the young man, admiring her spirit, and feeling that the "stupid old place" contained unexpected treasures, as he followed her into the room where the ubiquitous Father of his Country was reported to have dried his august boots, and drunk a mug of cider some hundred years ago.
It seemed as if the ghosts of many of the homely household articles used then had come back to celebrate the anniversary of that thrilling event; for there was nothing modern in the little room but the girl and her guest, who stared about him at the tall andirons on the hearth, the bright, brass candlesticks above it, the spinning-wheel on one side, a dresser on the other strewn with pewter platters, porringers, and old china, while antique garments hung over the settle by the fire.
"Bless my soul, what a capital old place!" he ejaculated, taking it all in with an artist's keen appreciation. "I feel as if I'd gone back a century, and the General might come in at any minute."
"That is the chair he used, and this the tankard he drank from," answered the girl, pointing out the sacred objects with a reverential air which warned her visitor that he must treat the ancient and honorable relics with due respect.
Then feeling that this was an unusual stroke of luck, he hastened to make the most of it, by falling to work at once, saying, as he took a seat, and pointed his pencils, —
"There is such a lot of treasures here that I don't know where to begin. I hope I shall not be very much in your way."
"Oh, no! if you don't mind my going on with my work; for I can't leave it very well. All these things are to be sent away to-morrow, that's why the place is in such confusion," replied the girl, as she fell to polishing up a brass snuffer-tray.
"Here's richness!" thought the artist, with a sigh of satisfaction, as he dashed at his work, feeling wonderfully inspired by his picturesque surroundings.
The dull winter sky gloomed without, and a chilly wind sighed through the leafless elms; but within the little room fairly glowed with the ruddy firelight that shone in the bright brasses, glimmered over the tarnished silver of the quaint vests on the settle, and warmed the artist's busy hand, as if it liked to help him in his task. But the jolly flames seemed to dance most lovingly about their little mistress; bathing the sweet face with a softer bloom, touching the waves of brown hair with gold, peeping under the long lashes at the downcast eyes that peeped back again half arch, half shy; glorifying the blue apron that seemed to clasp the trim waist as if conscious of its advantages, and showing up the dimples in the bare arms working so briskly that even the verdigris of ages yielded to their persuasive touch.
"Who can this pretty Priscilla be? I must make her talk and find out. Never shall get the eyes right, if she doesn't look up," thought the artist, who, instead of devoting himself to the historical chair, was basely sketching the girl whose youth and beauty were wonderfully enhanced by the antiquity around her.
"Mrs. Hill is a rich woman, if all these treasures have a history. Even if they haven't, they would bring a good price; for things of this sort are all the rage now, and the older the better," he said aloud in a sociable tone, as he affected to study the left arm of the famous chair.
"They are not hers to sell, for they belonged to the first Mrs. Hill, who was a Quincy, and had a right to be proud of them. The present Mrs. Hill doesn't value them a bit; but she was a Smith, so her family relics are nothing to boast of," answered the girl, using her bit of wash-leather as if the entire race of Smith ought to be rubbed out of existence.
"And she is going to sell all these fine old things, is she?" asked the artist, with an eye to bargains.
"No, indeed! they belong to – to the first Mrs. Hill's daughter, named after her, Dorothy Quincy," the girl began impetuously, but checked herself, and ended very quietly with a suddenly averted head.
"A fine name, and I shouldn't think she would be in haste to change it," said the artist, wondering if Miss Dorothy Quincy was before him.
"Not much hope of that, poor thing," with a shake of the head that made several brown curls tumble out of the net which tried to confine a riotous mass of them.
"Ah, I see, a spinster?" and the young man returned to his work with greatly abated interest in the subject.
The bright eyes glanced quickly up, and when they fell the snuffer-tray reflected a merry twinkle in them, as their owner answered gravely, —
"Yes, a spinster."
"Is she one of the amiable sort?"
"Oh, dear, no! very quick in her temper and sharp with her tongue. But then she has a good deal to try her, as I happen to know."
"Sorry for that. Spinsterhood is trying, I fancy, so we should be patient with the poor old ladies. Why I asked was because I thought I might induce Miss Dolly to let me have some of her relics. Do you think she would?" he asked, holding his sketch at arm's length, and studying it with his head on one side.
"I'm very sure she won't, for these old things are all she has in the world, and she loves them dearly. People used to laugh at her for it, but now they are glad to own her and her 'duds,' as they called them. The Smiths are looking up every thing they can find of that sort, even poor relations. All these things are going down to a fair to-morrow, and Miss Dolly with them."
"As one of the relics?" suggested the artist, glancing at a green calash and a plum-colored quilted petticoat lying on the settle.
"Exactly," laughed the girl, adding with a touch of bitterness in her voice, "Poor Miss Dolly never got an invitation before, and I'm afraid it's foolish of her to go now, since she is only wanted to show off the old-fashioned things, and give the Smiths something to boast of."
"You are fond of the old lady in spite of her temper, I see."
"She is the only friend I've got;" and the speaker bent over the tray as if to hide emotion of some sort.
"I shall probably have to 'do' that fair for our paper; if so, I'll certainly pay my respects to Miss Dolly. Why not? Is she so very awful?" he asked quickly, as the girl looked up with a curious mixture of mirth and malice in her face.
"Very!" with a lifting of the brows and a pursing up of the lips delightful to behold.
"You think I won't dare address the peppery virgin? I never saw the woman yet whom I was afraid of, or the man either for that matter, so I give you my word I'll not only speak to Miss Dolly, but win her old heart by my admiration for her and her ancestral treasures, said the artist, accepting the challenge he read in the laughing eyes.
"We shall see, for I'm going with her. I do the spinning, and it's great fun," said the girl, prudently changing the conversation, though she evidently enjoyed it.
"I never saw it done. Could you give me an idea of the thing, if it is not asking too much?" proposed the artist in his most persuasive tone, for somehow play of this sort was much more interesting than the study of old furniture.
With amiable alacrity the girl set the big wheel buzzing, and deftly drew out the yarn from the spindle, stepping briskly to and fro, twirling and twisting with an ease and grace which convinced the admiring observer that the best thing ever invented to show off a round arm, a pretty foot, a fine figure, and a charming face, was a spinning-wheel.
This opinion was so plainly expressed upon his own countenance that the color deepened in the girl's cheeks as she looked over her shoulder to see how he liked it, and dropping the thread she left the wheel still whirling, and went back to her work without a word.
"Thank you very much; it's beautiful! Don't see how in the world you do it," murmured the young man, affecting to examine the wheel, while his own head seemed to whirl in sympathy, for that backward glance had unconsciously done great execution.
A moon-faced clock behind the door striking eleven recalled the idler to his task, and resuming his seat he drew silently till the chair was done; then he turned a page, and looked about for the next good bit.
"Rather warm work," he said, smiling, as he shook the hair off his forehead, and pushed his chair back from the hearth.
"This is what makes the place so hot. I've been learning to make old-fashioned dishes for the fair, and this batch is going down to show what I can do."
As she spoke, the girl threw open the door of a cavernous oven, and with an air of housewifely pride displayed a goodly array of brown loaves round as cannon-balls, earthen crocks suggestive of baked beans and Indian pudding, and near the door a pan of spicy cakes delectable to smell and see. These she drew forth and set upon the table, turning from the oven after a careful inspection of its contents with the complexion of a damask rose.
"Delicious spectacle!" exclaimed the artist, with his eyes upon the pretty cook, while hers were on her handiwork.
"You shall taste them, for they are made from a very old receipt and are called sweethearts," said the innocent creature, setting them forth on a large platter, while a smile went dimpling round her lips.
"Capital name! they'll sell faster than you can make them. But it seems to me you are to have all the work, and Miss Dolly all the credit," added this highly appreciative guest, subduing with difficulty the rash impulse to embrace Miss Dolly's rosy handmaid on the spot.
She seemed to feel the impending danger, and saying hastily, "You must have some cider to go with your cake: that's the correct thing, you know," she tripped away with hospitable zeal.
"Upon my soul, I begin to feel like the Prince of the fairy tale in this quiet place where every thing seems to have been asleep for a hundred years. The little beauty ought to have been asleep too, and given me a chance to wake her. More of a Cinderella than a princess, I fancy, and leads a hard life of it between Miss Dolly and the second Mrs. Hill. Wonder what happy fellow will break the spell and set her free?" and the young man paced the kitchen, humming softly, —
"And on her lover's arm she leant,
And round her waist she felt it fold;
And far across the hills they went,
In that new world which is the old,"
till the sound of a light step made him dart into a chair, saying to himself with a sudden descent from poetry to prose, "Bless her little heart, I'll drink her cider if it's as sour as vinegar."
In came the maid, bearing a tankard on a salver; and, adding several sweethearts, she offered the homely lunch with a curtsey and a smile that would have glorified even pork and beans.
"You are sitting in the General's chair, and here is the tankard he used; you can drink his health, if you like."
"I'd rather drink that of the maker of sweethearts;" and, rising, the artist did so, gallantly regardless of consequences.
But the cider was excellent, and subsiding into the immortal chair he enjoyed his lunch with the hearty appetite of a boy, while the damsel began to fold up the garments airing on the settle, and lay them into a chest standing near; the one quite unconscious that he was drinking draughts of a far more potent liquor than apple-juice, the other that she had begun to spin a golden thread instead of yarn when she turned the great wheel that day.
An eloquent sort of silence filled the room for a moment, and a ray of sunshine glanced from the silver tankard to the bright head bent over the chest, as if to gild the first page of the romance which is as fresh and sweet to-day as when the stately George wooed his beloved Martha. A shrill voice suddenly broke that delicious pause, exclaiming, as a door opened with a bang, —
"Not packed yet! I won't have this rubbish cluttering round another minute – " There the voice abruptly fell, and the stranger had time to see a withered, yellow face in a pumpkin hood stare sharply at him before it vanished with an exclamation of unmistakable disapproval.
"Miss Dolly seems more afraid of me than I of her, you see," began the young man, much amused at the retreat of the enemy; for such he regarded any one who disturbed this delightful tête-à-tête.
"She has only gone to put her cap on, and when she comes back you can pay your respects to – Mrs. Hill;" and the girl looked over the lid of the chest with dancing eyes.
"Then I'd better be off, since reporters and artists are not allowed on the premises," exclaimed the visitor, rising with more haste than dignity.
"Don't hurry; she is only a woman, and you are not afraid, you know."
"I'm afraid you will get a scolding," began the artist, pocketing his sketch-book, and grasping his hat.
"I'm used to that," answered the girl, evidently enjoying the rout with naughty satisfaction.
But the sharp, black eyes and the shrill voice had effectually broken the pleasant day-dream; and Mrs. Hill in a pumpkin hood was quite enough for his nerves, without a second appearance in one of the awe-inspiring caps such ladies affect.
"I couldn't think of repaying your kindness by intruding any longer, now that I've got my sketch. A thousand thanks; good-morning;" and, opening the first door he came to, the dismayed man was about to plunge into the buttery, when the girl arrested his flight and led him through the long hall.
