CHAPTER XIII
OUT-OF-THE-WAY CORNERS
If the outside was gloomy, it had a queer, disorderly, and rathercheerful aspect within, for the sun was pouring a flood of gold in onewindow where it happened to strike a spot between two trees. And FrankForrester was by no means melancholy to-day. He shook hands cordiallywith Mr. Whitney, and welcomed the rest of the party with the utmostaffability,--a fine-looking Englishman with a picturesque air, duelargely to his rather long hair, which fell about his forehead and neckin a tumbled manner, suggesting a tendency to curls.
"These young people may like to look over my curiosities, while we haveour talk," he said. "Take a cigar, and I'll bring a bottle of wine.Won't you join us, Doctor? Here, young folks, are curiosities fromeverywhere."
He ushered them into a small room that was library and everything byturns. There were trophies of hunting expeditions, some rare birdsstuffed and mounted, looking so alive Hanny would not have beensurprised if they had suddenly begun to warble; books in every stage ofdilapidation, some of them quite rare copies, Ben found; portfolios ofold engravings; curious weapons; foreign wraps; Grecian and Turkish bitsof pottery; and the odd things we call bric-a-brac nowadays.
Delia began to make some notes. Ben laughed a little. Interviewing wasnot such a fine art then; and people were considered greater subjects ofinterest than their belongings. But Delia was saving up things forstories which she meant to write as she found time.
Doctor Joe had come in here with the young people, leaving the twofriends to discuss their business. He, too, found much to interest him;and he was amused at Delia's running comments, some of them very brightindeed. She was quite a spur to Ben, he found; and he was surprised atthe varied stock of knowledge Ben had accumulated.
It did not seem as if they had explored half, when Mr. Whitney openedthe door.
"Young folks, we must be going, if we expect to reach home that verysame night, like the old woman with her pig," he said.
"Are you talked out?" asked Delia, archly; "for we haven't half lookedthrough things."
"I want your brother to stay and have some supper with me. I'm my ownhousekeeper now; but I think we could manage."
"What fun it would be," said Delia. "As there are no stores, we shouldhave to start at the foundation of things."
"I have a loaf of bread, and some cold mutton, and eggs, I think, andtea and coffee. Come, you had better accept my hospitality."
"I must be home in the early evening," remarked Doctor Joe.
"And Hanny's not to stay out after dark," appended Ben.
"We are going down to Cockloft Hall," explained Mr. Whitney. "I am sorrywe cannot accept."
"Then you must bring your happy family again. If they are fond ofcuriosities, the old house could entertain them all day long."
"And if they are fond of adventures, which they are, they might put youto the test," said Delia, daringly.
Herbert laughed at the vivacious tone.
"Then you'd have to find me in the mood. In that respect, I amvariable."
"Do you have a mood for each day? Then your friends could be sure--"
"A good idea, like the ladies' reception-days. Must I put on the card,Serious, Jolly, Adventurous, etc.?"
"And supernatural. I should come on the ghost days. For if ever a ghostwalked out of its earthy habitation, I should think it would be here.Did you ever see a ghost, Mr. Herbert?"
"I have seen some queer things. But these up here," nodding his head,"seem a very well behaved community. I can't say that they have troubledme; and I've come down the road at twelve or so at night. Perhaps myimagination is not vivid enough in that line. Have you ever seen aghost, Miss Whitney?"
"No, I have not, except the ghosts of my imagination. I can shut my eyesnow, and see them come trooping down that lonely road by twos andthrees."
Herbert laughed again. "A vivid imagination is worth a good deal attimes," he said. "There ought to be a ghost-walk about here; and nexttime you come over, we'll arrange one so perfectly that he shall defydetection. I'll walk a bit with you, if I am not a ghost."
When he put on his wide-brimmed, rather high-crowned hat, he looked moreSpanish than English. They went through another room that opened on aporch, and, from thence, through the garden, or an attempt at one thatdid not betoken signal success.
The cemetery sloped down from a high hill that was such a thicket ofwoods it hid all indications of the City of the Dead. The placid river,in which there was only a gentle tide up here, lapped the shores with alittle murmur as it came up from the bay. The green, irregular shoreopposite showed here and there a house. The wood-robins were beginningtheir vespers already. Hanny thought them the sweetest singers she hadever heard.
Just here there was a terraced garden-spot and an old house adorned withall kinds of blossoming shrubbery.
"You see we two are guardians of the place, at either end. MissWhitney, this house could tell some interesting tales of the bygonetime; but the glory is departing. In a few years the city will stretchout and invade our solitude."
A wild spot of ground it was below, hilly, gravelly, sloping sharplydown to the river. But people were beginning to take advantage of theshore-edge for business. There were shops, and a foundry stretching outsmoky, dingy arms in various directions.
They said their good-byes here, as they were in sight of the oldGouverneur mansion. And no one guessed then that a tragedy of love anddesperation to madness was soon to follow, and that in the dreary oldhouse "Frank Forrester" was to lie, slain by his own hand, that he wavedso jauntily to them as he bade them "Come again."
They scrambled up the small ascent, and sprang over the wall. Here waswhere the Nine Worthies used to come for their merry-making in theirexuberant youth, and, as one of their number said afterward, "enlivenedthe solitude by their mad-cap pranks and juvenile orgies." The house hadnot been much modernised up to that period. Its young owner, Mr. Kemble,who was the Patroon of the merry company, still held it. They found theold honeydew cherry-tree standing; but some of its long-armed brancheswere going to decay. The odd, octagonal summer-house had not then fallendown.
They went up to the old room in the south-western angle, the greenmoreen chamber, as it had been called, where the Nine Worthies used tocongregate, and where Irving concocted some choice bits of fun for theSalamagundi Club. And here was the great drawing-room where theydisposed themselves to sociable naps on Sunday afternoons, thevine-covered porch on which they sat and smoked starlit evenings, andthe grassy lawn over which they rambled. And now Mr. Washington Irvinghad been minister to Spain, and the guest of noted people in England andon the continent. He had won fame in more than one line, and hosts ofappreciative readers.
Hanny could hardly realise it all, as she thought of the still handsomethough rather delicate man, past middle life, gracious and dignified andkindly, sitting on his own porch at Sunnyside. She couldn't help goingback to her first love, the old "Knickerbocker History" that seemed soreal to her, even now.
The hand of improvement touched Cockloft Hall shortly after. The oldsummer-house was taken down; the famous cherry-tree, where the robinssang and reared their young for so many generations, succumbed to oldage and wintry blasts; but she was glad she had seen it in its romantichalo.
They were not far from the upper railroad station then,--the old Morrisand Essex that had stirred up the country people mightily when it firstwent thundering through quiet vales, and screaming out at littleway-stations. They were just in time for a train. The sun had droppeddown behind the Orange Mountain, though the whole west was alive withchangeful gold and scarlet, melting to fainter tints, changing toindescribable hues and visionary islands floating in seas of amber andchrysoprase.
Hanny was quite tired, and leaned her head on Joe's shoulder. Ben andDelia were in front, and Mr. Whitney in the seat behind. They kept up ananimated conversation, and thought it had been a delightful afternoon.
"And I feel like quoting a bit out of a letter of the Poet Gray,"
saidBen. "'Do you not think a man may be the wiser, I had almost saidbetter, for going a hundred or two miles?' We have gone a tenth or so ofthat, and I feel ever so much richer as well as wiser. How is it withyou, little Hanny?"
"I've been to the land of heroes," she replied, with a soft smile. "Ishall insist that Jim must honour New Jersey in the future."
"Bravo!" said Mr. Whitney. "And there are many more heroes in it, and Ithink some heroines, that we must hunt up at a leisure day. There wasAnn Halsted of Elizabethtown, who saw the British foraging expeditioncoming over from Staten Island, where the ship lay at anchor; and,donning a suit of her father's clothes, and taking an old musket, shewent down to the only road they could come up, and blazed away at themwith such intrepidity that the red-coats were alarmed lest a whole squadmight be quartered there, and retreated in haste. It was said whenWashington heard of it, he toasted the young lady. And there were thebrave women of Valley Forge."
"And Moll Pitcher, don't forget her," put in Ben. "We in New York don'town quite everything."
They went rumbling into the tunnel, and Hanny started. She was used tothe Harlem tunnel; but this came upon her unexpectedly.
"And there are three considerable tunnels," laughed Delia. "Yet thereare people who believe the State is one vast sandy plain, and that theagricultural products are solely watermelons and peaches. Some onealways stands ready to believe ridiculous things."
"Hereafter, we will take up the cudgels for New Jersey," declared Ben."I am hungry as a bear! That rye bread was splendid, wasn't it! We mustask mother to make some, Joe."
Mr. Whitney begged them to stop to tea; but Doctor Joe thought they hadbetter get home. They were late, of course; but Mrs. Underhill had anice supper for them.
When Jim heard about Captain Alden, he half wished he had gone.
"But I had to come in and save the day, or we should have been beatenout of sight, so I was of some use," he announced.
Mrs. Underhill was put on her mettle by hearing about Mrs. Alden's ryebread; and the very next week she made some quite as splendid.
Hanny displayed her sprig of hawthorn,--real hawthorn.
"Are you sure it isn't artificial?" asked Jim, teasingly.
"An artificial branch can't grow," she said indignantly.
The next week at school, the girls' compositions had to be read aloud;and Hanny wrote about her tour, which received the highest commendation.
Delia came up to get the story of the man who had been on board theslave ship. She had a sketch of her own under way, and she wanted tomake it very thrilling.
"And I shall have to give you half the money for it," she saidlaughingly.
It had a rather amusing hitch about its acceptance. The editor of thepaper to which it was offered liked it extremely for its vigouroustreatment, but begged her to use a masculine name, or simply initials,because it didn't sound like a young girl's story.
She told this over with great gusto, and showed her check for twentydollars. But Mr. Underhill magnanimously refused to accept the half ofit.
"I don't approve of so much mannishness in a girl," Mrs. Underhill saiddecisively. In her heart she wished Ben did not like her so well. Butthey really were more like two boys than lovers.
She took every occasion to make sharp little comments. Delia was rathercareless in her attire; and while she dressed her heroines in the stylesof their period, or in good taste, if they were modern, she had a rathermismatched look herself, except when she wore white, which she nearlyalways did evenings at home.
And she made home a really delightful place. She was quite ambitious forreception evenings. Mrs. Osgood was holding them for a literary circle.Of course she could not aim at anything as elegant as that; butnewspaper men, young and old, were in the habit of dropping in upon Mr.Whitney quite informally. About ten, they might be asked down to thedining-room, where there was a dainty little spread, sometimes a Welshrarebit that Dele could concoct to perfection. To be sure, they smokedthe room blue; and Mr. Whitney often brought out a bottle of wine, aswas the custom then; true, he waited until Delia and Nora had goneupstairs, and taken some of the younger men. Delia had made a strongprotest against it, in her humourous way.
"I don't so much mind you old fellows, who, if you haven't sense enoughnot to addle your brains, never will have. But the young men oughtn'thave the temptation thrust in their way. They think it looks smart andmanly; and they make themselves so silly that I'm like a lump of ice tosome of them. I like clear-brained people."
So upstairs they had music and recitations. Every young man of anyelocutionary ability felt himself empowered to recite "The Raven," thatmuch admired and sharply discussed poem by the Poet Poe, whosemelancholy end still created much interest. Critical spirit ran high.One party could see only a morbid faculty heightened by opium andintoxicants; others found the spirit of true and fine genius in many ofhis efforts, and believed the circumstances of his life had been againsthim.
Ben was reading one evening in Doctor Joe's cosy library, enjoying themost capacious arm-chair, and improvising a foot-rest out of one notquite so luxurious. The Doctor had been making out bills, and feelingquite encouraged, perhaps lighter-hearted than he would when he hadwaited a year for the payment of some of them.
"Joe," began his brother, abruptly, "what do you suppose makes mother sobitter about Delia Whitney?"
"Bitter?" repeated Joe, in the tone of indecision people often use whena proposition or question takes them by surprise.
"Yes. We all used to be so nice and jolly together, and Delia likes usall so much. Hanny has such good times down there, with the old lady whosings such pretty old-fashioned songs, if her voice is rather crackedand tremulous; and Nora is bright and entertaining. But the other daymother wouldn't let her go; and she was dreadfully disappointed; andmother is not as cordial to Delia as she used to be. Dele spoke of it."
Ben looked straight at his brother, out of the frankest of eyes. It wasJoe who changed colour.
"I hate things to go crosswise. And when something keeps you just alittle ruffled up all the time--"
Ben drew his brows. Was he really unconscious of the trouble?
"You go there a good deal, you know. Some of the men are not quite thecompany a young fellow should choose, mother thinks."
That was begging the main issue, of course.
"I don't see much of the older men. They're mostly smoking downstairs,and I don't care a bit for that. But their talk is often worth listeningto. People who just keep in one little round have no idea how rich theworld is growing intellectually, scientifically; and on what broad linesit is being laid."
"It is not the men altogether. Ben, you don't go anywhere else. Perhapsit would be wisdom to enlarge your acquaintance among girls, youngladies," and Joe gave a short laugh that betrayed the effort.
"I don't care a penny for girls in general," said Ben, with elderlygravity. "Delia sometimes asks them in; and we seldom have as good atime. She's a host in herself; and I've always liked her."
"You haven't had a very wide experience. And you are too young to makeup your mind about--anything."
Ben started up suddenly and flushed. What a fine, strong, solid face hehad! It wasn't the face of one turned about with every wind of doctrine;it was not as handsome as Jim's bid fair to be, but it had hardly a weakor selfish line in it. Ben had always been such a good, generous, steadyboy.
"You don't mean," he began with a little gasp,--"Joe, you can't thinkthat mother--that any one would object if the time came for me to--tomarry Delia?"
"You are too young to think of such things, Ben," said his brother,gently.
"Why--I've been thinking of it ever since Mr. Theodore came home. Wewere talking one time about going to Europe--"
"Are you really engaged, Ben?"
The young fellow laughed and blushed.
"Well--I suppose not exactly," he answered slowly. "We've never come tothat boshy stuff you find now and then in stories. But we know all abouteach other's plans; and we like
so many of the same things; and wealways feel so comfortable together, not a bit as if we were trigged upin Sunday clothes. I don't think she's the most beautiful girl in theworld; but she has lovely eyes, and I've never seen a handsome girl Ihave liked as well. Steve chose his own wife, and so did John.Cleanthe's a splendid housekeeper; but she doesn't have time to read anewspaper. Dolly's well informed, and has something fresh to talk about.But it seems to me Margaret is always caring about society andetiquette, and who is in our set, and a hundred things that bore me.Phil has all his life been used to style, so Margaret's just the one forhim. And why shouldn't I have just the one for me?"
Joe laughed heartily then.
"I'd wait a year or two," he answered drily. "You are not out of yourtime; and it is an unwise thing to take the responsibilities of life tooearly. Delia may fancy some one else."
"Oh, no, she won't," replied Ben, confidently. "We just suit. I can'texplain it to you, Joe; but it is one of the things that seem to comeabout without any talking. Are some things ordained? I should be awfulsorry to have mother object to it; but I know Dolly would stand by uswhen the time came."
"Well--don't hurry; and, Ben, take the little comments patiently. Ifmother was convinced that it was for your happiness, she would consent.We all know there are unwise marriages, unhappy ones, as well."
"Oh, we're not in any hurry! You see, Delia is really needed at home.The old aunt is awfully fond of her. And she's so interested in herstories. We have such fun planning them out; and she does some capitallittle sketches."
Joe nodded in a friendly manner, as if he did not altogether disapprove.But there was a belief that literary women could not make good wives.People quoted Lady Bulwer and Lady Byron; and yet right in the city werewomen of literary proclivities living happily with their husbands.
And Joe had found careless, fretful, indifferent wives and poorhousekeepers among women who could not even have written a coherentaccount-book. Come to think, he liked Delia a good deal himself. And ifshe wasn't such a great worker, she did have the art of making acheerful, attractive home, and putting everybody at ease.
The new woman and cooking-schools were in the far future. Every mother,if she knew enough, trained her daughter to make a good wife, to buyproperly, to cook appetisingly if not always hygienically, to make herhusband's shirts, and do the general family sewing, to keep her houseorderly, to fight moths and mice, and to give company teas with the bestchina and the finest tablecloth.
To be sure there was a little seething of unrest. Mrs. Bloomer had putforth a new costume that shocked the feminine world, though they werecomplaining of the weight of heavy skirts and the various devices fordistending them. Lucretia Mott and some other really fine women wereadvocating the wider education of the sex. Women were being brought tothe fore as teachers in schools, and higher institutions were beingdiscussed. There was a Mrs. Bishop who had preached; there were womenwho lectured on various subjects.
The sewing-machine was making its way; and the argument in its favourwas that it would save a woman's strength and give her more leisure. Butemployment of any kind out of the house _was_ considered derogatoryunless one had no father or brother to supply her needs.
Still, the old simple life was going out of date. There was more style;and some leaders of opinion professed to be shocked at the extravaganceof the day. There was a sudden influx of people up-town. There were newstores and offices. One wondered where all the people came from. But NewYork had taken rapid strides in her merchant-marine. The fastest vesselsin the China trade went out of her ports. The time to both Californiaand China was shortened by the flying clippers. The gold of thatwonderful land of Ophir was the magic ring that one had only to rub, ifhe could get hold of it, and work wonders.
But the little girl went on her quiet way. They were finding friends inthe new neighbourhood; yet Daisy Jasper could not be superseded. Everyletter was carefully treasured; and, oh, how many things she found tosay in return.
They kept up the intimacy with the Deans, though Josephine seemed almosta young woman. Mr. Reed enjoyed the pleasant home wonderfully. Charlesspent much of his leisure over music, of which he was passionately fond.He and Jim were not so intimate. Jim was going with a gayer lot of youngfellows, while Charles was seriously considering his life-plans.
A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann Page 13