CHAPTER IX
ANNABEL LEE
It was queer up at West Farms, delightful, too. The house was old, witha hall through the middle, and a Dutch door just as there was up atYonkers. The top part was opened in the morning, sometimes the wholedoor. The front room was the parlour, and it had not been refurnishedsince Mrs. Odell came there as a bride; so it looked rather antiquatedto modern eyes. The back room was the sleeping chamber; on the otherside, a living room with rag carpet on the floor; then a kitchen and agreat shed-kitchen, one side of which was piled up with wood. There wasa big back stoop that looked on the vegetable garden; there was anorchard down below, and then cornfields and meadows.
The old house was what was called a story and a half. The pointed roofhad windows in the end, but none in the front. There were two nice bigchambers upstairs, and a garret. Mr. Odell began to talk about buildinga new house; and Mrs. Odell said the things--by which she meant thecarpets and furniture--were good enough for the old place, but they'dhave all new by the time the girls grew up, to fit the new house.
Mr. Odell had a peach-orchard and a quince-orchard, and two long rows ofcherry-trees. Then he kept quite a herd of cows, and sold milk. He had asplendid new barn, with two finished rooms in that, where the handsslept in summer. The old barn was devoted to the hay and the horses.There were chickens and ducks and geese, and a pen of pigs. This summer,they were raising three pretty calves and one little colt, who wasdesperately shy. But the calves would come up to be patted, and eat outof your hand.
Both of the girls were what their mother called regular tomboys. Pollywas a few months older than the little girl, and Janey two years hersenior. They were smart too. They could wash dishes and make beds andsweep, weed in the garden, look after the poultry; and Janey could ironalmost as well as her mother. But they did love to run and whoop, andtumble in the hay, and they laughed over almost everything. They werenot great students, though they went to school regularly.
A second or third cousin lived with the Odells, and did a great deal ofthe housework. She was not "real bright," and had some queer ways. Herimmediate relatives were dead; and the Odells had taken her from afeeling of pity, and a fear lest at last she would be sent to thepoor-house. She had an odd way of talking incoherently to herself, andnodding her head at almost everything; yet she was good-tempered andalways ready to do as she was told. But the worst was her lack ofmemory; you had to tell her the same things everyday,--"get her startedin the traces," Mr. Odell said.
Mrs. Odell put a cot in the girls' room for Hanny, since there wasplenty of space. And Polly seemed to find so many funny stories to tellover that Hanny fell asleep in the midst of them, and woke up in themorning without a bit of homesick feeling. Then Mr. Odell was going tothe mill, and he took Polly and Hanny along, and they had a ratheramusing time.
Hanny was very much interested in the process, and amazed when she foundhow they made the different things out of the same wheat. They used"middlings" for pancakes at home, when her mother was tired ofbuckwheat. Not to have had griddle-cakes for breakfast would have beenone of the hardest trials of life for men and boys through the winter.It warmed them up of a cold morning, and they seemed to thrive on it.
Mr. Odell was very willing to explain the processes to Hanny. Pollywanted to know if she thought of going into the milling business, andsuggested that she never would be big enough. Then they ran round tolook at the water-wheel and the little pond where the stream was dammedso there would be no lack of water in a dry time.
They had a drawing pattern in school just like it, except that it lackedthe broken rustic bridge a little higher up. She would take a newinterest in drawing it now.
It was noon when they reached home, and Hanny felt real hungry, thoughMrs. Odell declared she didn't eat more than a bird. She was glad hergirls were not such delicate little things.
They went out on the shady back stoop afterward. Janey was sewing theover-seam in a sheet that her mother wanted turned. When she hadfinished, and picked out the old sewing, she was free. Then she saidthey would go down to the Bristows' and have a good game of hide andseek. They always had such fun at the Bristows'.
Polly brought out her basket of carpet-rags,--a peach basket nearlyfull.
"I just hate to sew carpet-rags!" she declared.
"Couldn't I help you?" asked Hanny.
"Why, to be sure you _could_, if you would, and knew how to sew."
"Of course I know how to sew," said Hanny, rather affronted.
"Oh, I was only in fun! I'll find you a thimble. It's in my work-boxthat was given me on Christmas. It's real silver, too. Mother's going tochange it when she goes to New York, only she never remembers. Myfingers are so fat. Oh, Hanny, what a little mite of a hand! It'll neverbe good for anything."
"I have made a whole shirt myself, and I have hemstitched, and doneembroidery, and I wipe dishes when I haven't too many lessons,"interposed the little girl.
"You can't make your own frocks," in a tone of triumph.
"No. Miss Cynthia Blackfan comes and does it. Can you?"
"No, she can't," said Janey, while Polly threw her head back andlaughed, showing her strong white teeth. "And she could no more make ashirt than she could fly. You're real smart, Hanny. I'm two years older,and I've never made a whole one. I'm going to try though, and father'spromised me a dollar when I do it all by myself."
Polly had found the thimble. It wasn't any prettier than Hanny's, thoughPolly begged her "to be real careful and not lose it."
"Now you can just sew hit or miss; and then you can put in a long stripof black, 'cause there's more black than anything else. Oh, dear, I dohate to sew rags!"
"What kind of sewing do you like?" asked Janey, in a tone that wouldhave been sarcastic in an older person.
"I just don't like any kind. Hanny, do _you_ know that some one hasinvented a sewing-machine?" and Polly looked up with the triumph ofsuperior wisdom.
"Oh, yes, I saw it at the Institute Fair. And there's a place onBroadway where a woman sits in the window and sews. It's very queer; butwe think it doesn't sew real nice."
Polly was for the moment nonplussed. Hanny _did_ seem to know almosteverything. Then curiosity overcame her.
"Does it do really and truly sewing?"
"Why, yes. When you come down, I'll ask Joe to take us over to see it."
"Carpet-rags?"
"Well--I don't know. Long straight seams, and hems and stitching."
"Well, I'm going to have one when I'm married. I wonder if they costvery much!"
"There'll be lots of things for you to do before you are married. Andsome girls don't have any chance. You'll want to know how to keephouse--"
"I like housekeeping. You just go from one thing to another. I'll havesome one to cook and peel potatoes and all that. And we'll keep a horseand waggon, and I shall go to ride every day."
Janey laughed. "Just now, you had better sew carpet-rags."
"And I'll never have any rag carpets. I will give away all the oldclothes."
"I'm afraid you'll never have much of anything, nor a husband either,Polly Odell," said her mother. "You talk, and leave the rags for Hannyto sew."
Polly turned scarlet, and sewed very industriously.
"I'd like to see a sewing-machine," began Janey, presently. "How does itgo?"
"There is a strap around a wheel that is fast to a frame. You put yourfeet on, so, and just make them go up and down after you have startedthe wheel with your hand. The needle goes through, and something catchesthe thread, then it goes through again, and that makes the stitch. It isvery curious."
"You know a good many things, don't you, Hanny?" said Janey, admiringly.
Hanny coloured.
"I can beat her all out running, I know; and I'll bet a penny she can'tjump over the creek."
"And don't you dare her to, Polly. Remember how you fell in. Oh, Hanny,she was a sight to behold!"
"Well--it had been raining, and the ground was soft, so I slipped alittle on the star
t. But I've done it time and again."
"And you're a regular tomboy. Girls don't train around that way in thecity."
Janey had begun to rip out the old seam. She sighed a little, and wishedshe was sewing carpet-rags. That was such easy work.
"Hanny sews a great deal faster than you," she said to Polly. "See whata pile she has. I will wind them up."
It made quite a ball, and was a little rest from the ripping, thatsounded so easy and yet was tedious. But Janey persevered, and finally,after turning about a time or two, came to the middle with a sigh ofrelief. Polly had been working like a steam-engine for ten minutes, andpicked out a good many long pieces, so she had a ball as large asHanny's.
Then they put on their sun-bonnets, and ran down to the Bristows', whichwas in the turn of the road. There were three girls,--one of nine whowas almost as big as Hanny, and the one of eleven, much taller.
They all had a good drink of buttermilk: Mrs. Bristow had just beenchurning. Then they went out to the barn and played "hide-and-seek," andhad a noisy, jolly time. They sat down and fanned themselves with theiraprons, and presently started out for some blackberries.
"There's a German settlement down below, and the children are up hereevery day picking berries. You can't have anything now, unless it isplanted in your own garden. We have some lovely big blackberries, whenthey get ripe."
Then the girls ran a race. Hanny was out of breath presently, andstopped, so did little Kitty Bristow. But Julie Bristow beat in therace. Polly wanted to run again; but the others were tired.
Mrs. Bristow gave Janey a beautiful, big pot-cheese to take home; and itwas just delicious.
One of the cousins from Fordham had been down. The children were all tocome up and spend the day to-morrow, and Mrs. Odell was invited tosupper.
Hanny felt a little lonely. If she could just see her father and Joe,and her mother and the boys. But she slept very soundly; and truly shewasn't homesick when they all came to breakfast in the morning. Janeyhurried around and did her work, and they were soon ready to be off. Aday meant all day, then.
It was a pretty country walk, with here and there a house, and onelittle nest of Irish emigrants. Some of the women had their wash-tubsout of doors, and were working and gossiping. Then there was St. John'sCollege, with its pretty, shady grounds, and on the other side a hotelwhere the trains stopped as they went up and down. After that, youclimbed a long hill that wound a little, and on one side there was a rowof beautiful, stately cherry-trees that were a sight to behold in theirearly bloom and in the rich harvest of fruiting.
Just at the brow of the hill stood a rather quaint house, with the endto the street. It was built against the side of the hill. You ascended arow of stone steps, and reached the lower floor, which was a dining-roomwith a wide stone-paved area, then you went up several more steps to acheerful sunny room, and this was the kitchen. When you went upstairsagain, one side of the house was just even with the ground, and theother up a whole story. Here was a parlour, a sitting-room, severalsleeping chambers; but what the little girl came to love most of all wasa great piazza built over the area downstairs, with a row of wide steps.When you were up there, you were two stories above the street, and youcould look down the long hill and all about. It was a beautifulprospect. Afterward, the little girl found some chalets in Switzerlandthat made her think of this odd house that had been added to since thefirst cottage was built.
There was always a host of people in the old house. Hospitality musthave been written on its very gates, for relatives, unto the third andfourth generation, were continually made welcome: a sweet, placidgrandmother who had seen her daughter, the housemother, laid away to hersilent resting-place, and who had tried to supply her place to thechildren; the father; the aunt who took part of the care; the sons anddaughters, some of whom had grown up and married, and whose childrenmade glad the old home.
There was a houseful of them now; but there was a wide out-of-doors forthem to play in. A few hundred feet farther up, where the road turnedand ran off to Kingsbridge, as well as to the Harlem River, stood thevillage smithy; and the Major, who had been in the War of 1812, hadrelegated the business mostly to his sons. He enjoyed the coming andgoing, the bright young faces, and had a hearty welcome for thechildren, though he sometimes pretended to scold them.
A queer tract of land it was, with a great rift of rock running throughit where the children played house, and had parties, and occasionallytook their dinner out to eat in picnic fashion. Just beyond the strataof rock, on the good ground, stood two splendid apple-trees called"Jersey Sweetings," and for nearly two summer months their bounty wasthe delight of the children. Farther down, the ground sloped abruptlyand settled into a pleasant orchard; then another sudden decline, andhere a pretty stream came purling through, making a tiny cascade as ittumbled over the rocks.
The little girl was deeply touched by beauty; and as they ran around shestopped now and then to drink in the shady vistas and wild nooks thatseemed fairy-haunted. She had been reading a little mythology, and shecould believe in a great many things. There were places where she lookedto see Pan piping on his reed, and dryads and nymphs coming out of thegroves.
How they did run and play! The air was merry with shouts and laughter.Some of them took off their shoes and stockings, and waded in the brook.And one of the big boys proposed that on Saturday afternoon they shouldgo down to the Harlem River and get some crabs and clams.
There were enough children for a second table, and that was laid in theupper kitchen. Auntie thought they must be starved; but instead they hadbeen stuffed with sweet apples. Still most of them did justice to thebountiful dinner.
"This little girl looks tired out," said grandmother. "I think she hadbetter stay in and rest a while."
Hanny was very glad to do this. While grandmother took her nap, she wentupstairs where the grown-up people were talking and sewing. She wishedshe had brought her crocheting; but Polly had laughed her out of it.Then she took up a book, and was soon lost in that. It was an Englishnovel, as most of our novels were then, "Time the Avenger."
"That is a rather sad book for a little girl," said Cousin Jennie. "I'llsee if I can't find you something better. You look as if you were fondof reading. You are Vermilye Underbill's little girl. And your brotherGeorge has gone to California. I know him quite well, and the Yonkersfamily. I suppose he hasn't found his nugget of gold yet?"
The little girl smiled, and said she did not think he had yet. Hisletters had been full of the wonderful country; and it took so long toget a letter.
"Here are some magazines with pictures and verses. Are you fond ofpoetry? Maybe you are a poet. You have a delicate, ethereal look."
"Do poets have that?" asked Hanny. "I know a girl who writes verses andstories; but she isn't at all ethereal. I'm quite sure I couldn't writeverses or anything," and she gave a soft laugh.
"Well, I think geniuses look quite like other people. I've seen a numberof them lately. We have a genius living up the road, and ever so manypeople come to see him. Some quite famous ladies."
Hanny opened her eyes very wide.
"Let me see--I think I can find one of his poems." She took a pile ofmagazines from the top of the high old-fashioned bureau. "Oh,yes,--though, like 'Time the Avenger,' I think it's too old for you. I'm not very fond of poetry. Here is 'Annabel Lee.'"
Then Cousin Jennie was called into the other room, where some one wantedto talk about the best way to ruffle a lawn skirt. Should the ruffles beon the straight or bias?
Hanny read the verses over and over, and saw the city by the sea wheredwelt beautiful Annabel Lee, and how her high-born kinsman, who came ingreat state in a chariot, carried her away from the one who loved her sodearly. But when, later on, she came to know and understand the poem,and the high-born kinsman had come for some of those she held most dear,she could always go back to the vague mysterious awe that filled andthrilled her then. She sat as if in a trance until grandmother, who hadtaken her nap, came and took the arm-chair
beside the open window.
"Well, are you rested?" said grandmother, cheerfully. "I should thinkJaney and Polly would wear you out. It isn't a good thing for littlegirls to run too much. But everything has changed since my day. AlthoughI think they ran and played then; but they had to help work, there wasso much out-of-doors work. Everything is easier now. There are so manyimprovements. And, oh, how much there is to read! I'm not sure that isso good for them."
"But it is very delightful," returned the little girl.
"If it only made people wiser!"
"But they are growing curiously wise," said Hanny. "There is thetelegraph. It seemed so queer that you could make a bit of wire talk,that at first people didn't believe it. Uncle Faid did not when he sawit at the Fair."
"And people laughed about the steamboat, I remember, and the idea ofrailroad trains drawn by an engine. Yes, there are a good many strangethings. And steamships crossing the ocean. There used to besailing-vessels, and it took such a long while."
Hanny told grandmother about her friend who had gone abroad; andgrandmother, in return, told her about some Welsh ancestors who had tofly for their lives on account of being mixed up with some insurrectionabout a young prince, and the stormy time they had coming over,--howthey were driven up and down the coast, and their voyage consumed twomonths. They were almost out of provisions, and suffered many hardships.So the wisdom of the world had amounted to something.
The children came in. They were going up the road, and didn't Hanny wantto join them? Mrs. Odell said they must not stay very long, she wasgoing home before supper.
There was a protest about this; but Mrs. Odell said there were peopleand children enough without them, and she had told her husband theywould be home to supper.
"Do we go by the poet's house?" Hanny asked as they passed thecross-road.
"The poet?" Two or three of the children stared blankly.
"Oh, Hanny means that Mr. Poe. Why, yes; it's the old Cromwell house. Itisn't much to see. There, that little cottage."
No, it was not much to see,--a very bird's nest house with a great treeshading it, and a little porch at the side. A rather thin elderly womansat sewing in a rocking-chair. She did not even look up at the children.
They were full of fun and nonsense, and presently were joined by twoneighbouring girls. They went up by the old church, and then theywandered to the graveyard. It was a rather neglected place, as countrygraveyards were wont to be at that time. Some red clovers were in bloom,and a few belated buttercups. The trees were rather straggling, a fewmagnificent in their age. There were long-armed rose-trees that had donetheir best in the earlier season, a few wild roses, pale from growing inthe shade, and the long slender blades of grass fell about in veryweakness. There were some curious inscriptions; there were places whererelatives of several of the children were buried.
"Oh, Hanny, come here," said Cousin Ann. "That Mr. Poe's wife is buriedhere. It's the Valentine plot. They're going to take her away sometime.They're all very poor, you know. She died in the winter. People said shewas beautiful; but,"--Ann lowered her voice,--"they were awful poor, andit is said she didn't have comfortable things. I should hate to be sopoor; shouldn't you?"
Hanny shuddered. She was glad to get out in the sunshine again with herfew wild flowers in her hand.
Bessie Valentine made them come in and have a chunk of cake, and it wasa chunk indeed. Those who liked had a glass of buttermilk.
Cousin Jennie had gone up to the corner to look for them. Hanny espiedher, and ran forward.
"Oh," she cried, "I've seen the house where Mr. Poe lives. And we wentin the graveyard. Who was the other lady sitting on the porch?"
"That was Mrs. Clemm. I go up there to borrow books; and I like Mr. Poe,only--well, he is rather unfortunate."
"Was she so beautiful?" asked the child, irrelevantly.
"Mrs. Poe? Yes; I think she must have been. She looked like a smallwhite wraith--do you know what a wraith is?" smilingly.
"A kind of ghost. And were they very poor?"
"It's a sad story. I think they were proud as well, for any one wouldhave come in and done any needed thing. They had friends in the city whoused to visit them. Mrs. Clemm was Mrs. Poe's mother and the poet'saunt; and it is said Annabel Lee means his wife. It's a wild, musicalthing. Every story or poem of his has a curious ghostly sound."
"But--the high-born kinsman--"
The little girl's eyes were vague and puzzled.
"You can't understand it. Poets say queer things. I'm not fond ofpoetry, only here and there. And the stories make you shiver. Youwouldn't like them. He has all sorts of books, and he is very generouswith them. We've planned that you are to come up and stay a week withus. Some of the folks are going away, and there will be plenty of room."
Hanny squeezed her hand. The throng of children ran over the grassy pathfrom the shop; and they all began to clamour that Polly and Janeyshould come up Saturday and go crabbing with them.
Mrs. Odell said she'd see, if they could get their work done in time.
There was a hubbub of good-byes, and the small cavalcade started downthe road.