SCENE VII.
_The Old Homestead._
MISTRESS AND MAID FIND TO THEIR AMAZEMENT THAT A CHILD, MORE THAN ALLOTHER GIFTS, BRINGS HOPE WITH IT AND FORWARD LOOKING THOUGHTS.
It was called the White Farm, not because that was an unusual color inPleasant River. Nineteen out of every twenty houses in the village werepainted white, for it had not then entered the casual mind that anyother course was desirable or possible. Occasionally, a man of riotousimagination would substitute two shades of buff, or make the back of hisbarn red, but the spirit of invention stopped there, and the majority ofsane people went on painting white. But Miss Avilda Cummins was blessedwith a larger income than most of the inhabitants of Pleasant River, andall her buildings, the great house, the sheds, the carriage and dairyhouses, the fences and the barn, were always kept in a state of dazzlingpurity; "as if," the neighbors declared, "S'manthy Ann Ripley went over'em every morning with a dust-cloth."
It was merely an accident that the carriage and work horses chanced tobe white, and that the original white cats of the family kept on havingwhite kittens to decorate the front doorsteps. It was not accident,however, but design, that caused Jabe Slocum to scour the country for agood white cow and persuade Miss Cummins to swap off the old red one, sothat the "critters" in the barn should match.
Miss Avilda had been born at the White Farm; father and mother had beentaken from there to the old country churchyard, and "Martha, aged 17,"poor, pretty, willful Martha, the greatest pride and greatest sorrow ofthe family, was lying under the apple trees in the garden.
Here also the little Samantha Ann Ripley had come as a child years ago,to be playmate, nurse, and companion to Martha, and here she had stayedever since, as friend, adviser, and "company-keeper" to the lonely MissCummins. Nobody in Pleasant River would have dared to think of her asanybody's "hired help," though she did receive bed and board, and acertain sum yearly for her services; but she lived with Miss Cummins onequal terms, as was the custom in the good old New England villages,doing the lion's share of the work, and marking her sense of thesituation by washing the dishes while Miss Avilda wiped them, and bynever suffering her to feed the pig or go down cellar.
Theirs had been a dull sort of life, in which little had happened tomake them grow into sympathy with the outside world. All the sweetnessof Miss Avilda's nature had turned to bitterness and gall after Martha'sdisgrace, sad home-coming, and death. There had been much to forgive,and she had not had the grace nor the strength to forgive it until itwas too late. The mystery of death had unsealed her eyes, and there hadbeen a moment when the sad and bitter woman might have been drawn closerto the great Father-heart, there to feel the throb of a Divinecompassion that would have sweetened the trial and made the burdenlighter. But the minister of the parish proved a sorry comforter andadviser in these hours of trial. The Reverend Joshua Beckwith, whoseview of God's universe was about as broad as if he had lived on theinside of his own pork-barrel, had cherished certain strong andunrelenting opinions concerning Martha's final destination, which werenot shared by Miss Cummins. Martha, therefore, was not laid with theelect, but was put to rest in the orchard, under the kindly,untheological shade of the apple trees; and they scattered their tintedblossoms over her little white headstone, shed their fragrance about herquiet grave, and dropped their ruddy fruit in the high grass thatcovered it, just as tenderly and respectfully as if they had beenregulation willows. The Reverend Joshua thus succeeded in drying up thesprings of human sympathy in Miss Avilda's heart when most she neededcomfort and gentle teaching; and, distrusting God for the moment, aswell as his inexorable priest, she left her place in the oldmeeting-house where she had "worshiped" ever since she had acquiredadhesiveness enough to stick to a pew, and was not seen there again formany years. The Reverend Joshua had died, as all men must and as mostmen should; and a mild-voiced successor reigned in his place; so theCummins pew was occupied once more.
Samantha Ann Ripley had had her heart history too,--one of a differentkind. She had "kept company" with David Milliken for a little matter oftwenty years, off and on, and Miss Avilda had expected at various timesto lose her friend and helpmate; but fear of this calamity had at lengthbeen quite put to rest by the fourth and final rupture of the bond, fiveyears before.
There had always been a family feud between the Ripleys and theMillikens; and when the young people took it into their heads to fall inlove with each other in spite of precedent or prejudice, they found thatthe course of true love ran in anything but a smooth channel. It was, infact, a sort of village Montague and Capulet affair; but David andSamantha were no Romeo and Juliet. The climate and general conditions oflife at Pleasant River were not favorable to the development of suchexotics. The old people interposed barriers between the young ones aslong as they lived; and when they died, Dave Milliken's spirit wasbroken, and he began to annoy the valiant Samantha by what she calledhis "meechin'" ways. In one of his moments of weakness he took a widowedsister to live with him, a certain Mrs. Pettigrove, of Edgewood, whoinherited the Milliken objection to Ripleys, and who widened the breachand brought Samantha to the point of final and decisive rupture. Thelast straw was the statement, sown broadcast by Mrs. Pettigrove, that"Samanthy Ann Ripley's father never would 'a' died if he'd ever had anydoctorin'; but 't was the gospel truth that they never had nobody to'tend him but a hom'pathy man from Scratch Corner, who, of course, bein'a hom'path, didn't know no more about doctorin' 'n Cooper's cow."
Samantha told David after this that she didn't want to hear him open hismouth again, nor none of his folks; that she was through with the wholelot of 'em forever and ever, 'n' she wished to the Lord she'd had senseenough to put her foot down fifteen years ago, 'n' she hoped he'd enjoybein' tread underfoot for the rest of his natural life, 'n' she wouldn'tspeak to him again if she met him in her porridge dish. She thenslammed the door and went upstairs to cry as if she were sixteen, as shewatched him out of sight. Poor Dave Milliken! just sweet and earnest andstrong enough to suffer at being worsted by circumstances, but neverquite strong enough to conquer them.
And it was to this household that Timothy had brought his child foradoption.
When Miss Avilda opened her eyes, the morning after the arrival of thechildren, she tried to remember whether anything had happened to giveher such a strange feeling of altered conditions. It wasSaturday,--baking day,--that couldn't be it; and she gazed at the littledimity-curtained window and at the picture of the Death-bed of Calvin,and wondered what was the matter.
Just then a child's laugh, bright, merry, tuneful, infectious, rang outfrom some distant room, and it all came back to her as Samantha Annopened the door and peered in.
"I've got breakfast 'bout ready," she said; "but I wish, soon 's you'redressed, you'd step down 'n' see to it, 'n' let me wash the baby. Iguess water was skerse where she come from!"
"They're awake, are they?"
"Awake? Land o' liberty! As soon as 't was light, and before the boy hadopened his eyes, Gay was up 'n' poundin' on all the doors, 'n'hollorin' 'S'manfy' (beats all how she got holt o' my name so quick!),so 't I thought sure she'd disturb your sleep. See here, Vildy, we wantthose children should look respectable the few days they're here. Idon't see how we can rig out the boy, but there's those old things ofMarthy's in the attic; seems like it might be a blessin' on 'em if weused 'em this way."
"I thought of it myself in the night," answered Vilda briefly. "You'llfind the key of the trunk in the light stand drawer. You see to thechildren, and I'll get breakfast on the table. Has Jabe come?"
"No; he sent a boy to milk, 'n' said he'd be right along. You know whatthat means!"
Miss Vilda moved about the immaculate kitchen, frying potatoes andmaking tea, setting on extra portions of bread and doughnuts and a hugepitcher of milk; while various noises, strange enough in that quiethouse, floated down from above.
"This is dreadful hard on Samanthy," she reflected. "I don't know 's I'dought to have put it on her, knowing how she hates confusion andcompan
y, and all that; but she seemed to think we'd got to tough it outfor a spell, any way; though I don't expect her temper 'll stand thestrain very long."
The fact was, Samantha was banging doors and slatting tin pails aboutfuriously to keep up an ostentatious show of ill humor. She tried herbest to grunt with displeasure when Gay, seated in a wash-tub, crowedand beat the water with her dimpled hands, so that it splashed all overthe carpet; but all the time there was such a joy tugging at herheart-strings as they had not felt for years.
When the bath was over, clean petticoats and ankle-ties were chosen outof the old leather trunk, and finally a little blue and white lawndress. It was too long in the skirt, and pending the moment whenSamantha should "take a tack in it," it anticipated the present fashion,and made Lady Gay look more like a disguised princess than ever. Thegown was low-necked and short-sleeved, in the old style; and Samanthawas in despair till she found some little embroidered muslin capes andfull undersleeves, with which she covered Gay's pink neck and arms.These things of beauty so wrought upon the child's excitable nature thatshe could hardly keep still long enough to have her hair curled; andSamantha, as the shining rings dropped off her horny forefinger, waswrestling with the Evil One, in the shape of a little box of jewelrythat she had found with the clothing. She knew that the wish was avicious one, and that such gewgaws were out of place on a little pauperjust taken in for the night; but her fingers trembled with a desire tofasten the little gold ears of corn on the shoulders, or tie the stringsof coral beads round the child's pretty throat.
When the toilet was completed, and Samantha was emptying the tub, Gayclimbed on the bureau and imprinted sloppy kisses of sincere admirationon the radiant reflection of herself in the little looking-glass; then,getting down again, she seized her heap of Minerva Court clothes, and,before the astonished Samantha could interpose, flung them out of thesecond-story window, where they fell on the top of the lilac bushes.
"Me doesn't like nasty old dress," she explained, with a dazzling smilethat was a justification in itself; "me likes pretty new dress!" andthen, with one hand reaching up to the door-knob, and the otherthrowing disarming kisses to Samantha,--"By-by! Lady Gay go circus now!Timfy, come, take Lady Gay to circus!"
There was no time for discipline then, and she was borne to thebreakfast-table, where Timothy was already making acquaintance with MissVilda.
Samantha entered, and Vilda, glancing at her nervously, perceived withrelief that she was "taking things easy." Ah! but it was lucky for poorDavid Milliken that he couldn't see her at that moment. Her whole facehad relaxed; her mouth was no longer a thin, hard line, but had acertain curve and fullness, borrowed perhaps from the warmth of innocentbaby-kisses. Embarrassment and stifled joy had brought a rosier color toher cheek; Gay's vandal hand had ruffled the smoothness of her sandylocks, so that a few stray hairs were absolutely curling with amazementthat they had escaped from their sleek bondage; in a word, Samantha AnnRipley was lovely and lovable!
Timothy had no eyes for any one save his beloved Gay, at whom he gazedwith unspeakable admiration, thinking it impossible that any humanbeing, with a single eye in its head, could refuse to take such an angelwhen it was in the market.
Gay, not being used to a regular morning toilet, had fought against itvaliantly at first; but the tonic of the bath itself and the exercise ofwar had brought the color to her cheeks and the brightness to her eyes.She had forgiven Samantha, she was ready to be on good terms with MissVilda, she was at peace with all the world. That she was eating thebread of dependence did not trouble her in the least! No royal visitor,conveying honor by her mere presence, could have carried off a delicatesituation with more distinguished grace and ease. She was perched on aWebster's Unabridged Dictionary, and immediately began blowing bubblesin her mug of milk in the most reprehensible fashion; and glancing upafter each naughty effort with an irrepressible gurgle of laughter, inwhich she looked so bewitching, even with a milky crescent over her redmouth, that she would have melted the heart of the most predestinate oldmisogynist in Christendom.
Timothy was not so entirely at his ease. His eyes had looked into lifeonly a few more summers, but their "radiant morning visions" had beendispelled; experience had tempered joy. Gay, however, had not arrived atan age where people's motives can be suspected for an instant. If therehad been any possible plummet with which to sound the depths of herunconscious philosophy, she apparently looked upon herself as a guestout of heaven, flung down upon this hospitable planet with the singleresponsibility of enjoying its treasures.
O happy heart of childhood! Your simple creed is rich in faith, andtrust, and hope. You have not learned that the children of a commonFather can do aught but love and help each other.