But the Rev. Mr. Coan rejoiced in the result of the election. Not that he was by any means friendly to the ideas of the Jacobinical party by whose help it had been carried; but because, as he said, it opened a future for the church — for he too had his idea of “The Church.” Meanwhile the true church, invisible to human eyes — one in spirit, though separated by creeds — was praying and looking upward, in the heart of Puritan and Ritualist, in the heart of old Madame Lewis, of the new Church, and of old Mrs. Higgins, whose woul was with the old meeting-house; of all everywhere who with humble purpose and divine aspiration were praying: “Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done.”
That kingdom was coming even then — for its coming is in safer hands than those on either side — and there came a time, years after, when Parson Cushing, looking back on that election and its consequences, could say with another distinguished Connecticut clergyman:
“I suffered more than tongue can tell for the best thing that ever happened to old Connecticut.”
CHAPTER X. DOLLY’S PERPLEXITIES.
DOLLY went to bed that night, her little soul surging and boiling with conjecture. All day scraps of talk about the election had reached her ears; her nerves had been set vibrating by the tones of her father’s prayer, some words of which yet rung in her ear — tones of passionate pleading whose purport she could scarcely comprehend. What was this dreadful thing that had happened or was going to happen? She heard her brother Will emphatically laying off the state of the case to Nabby in the kitchen, and declaring that “the Democrats were going to upset the whole State, for father said so.”
Exactly what this meant, Dolly could not conceive; but, coupled with her mother’s sorrowful face and her father’s prayer, it must mean something dreadful. Something of danger to them all might be at hand, and she said her “pray God to bless my dear father and mother” with unusual fervor.
Revolving the matter on her pillow, she had a great mind, the next time she met General Lewis with his smiling face, to walk boldly up to him and remonstrate, and tell him to let her papa alone and not upset the State!
Dolly had a great store of latent heroism and felt herself quite capable of making a courageous defense of her father — and her heart swelled with a purpose to stand by him to the last gasp, no matter what came.
But sleep soon came down with her downy wings, and the great blue eyes were closed, and Dolly knew not a word more till waked by the jingling of sleigh-bells and the creaking of sleds at early sunrise.
She sprang up, dressed quickly, and ran to the window. Evidently the State had not been upset during the night, for the morning was clear, bright and glorious as heart could desire.
The rosy light of morning filled the air, the dreary snow-wreaths lay sparkling in graceful lines with tender hues of blue and lilac and pink in their shadows, and merry sleigh-bells were ringing and the boys were out snow-balling each other in mere wantonness of boy life, while Spring was barking frantically, evidently resolved to be as frisky a boy as any of them.
The fears and apprehensions of last night were all gone like a cloud, and she hurried down into the kitchen to find Nabby stirring up her buck-wheat batter, and running to the window to see Hiel go by on the stage, kissing his hand to her as he passed.
“I declare! the imperence of that cretur,” said Nabby.
“What, Hiel?” asked Dolly.
“Yes, Hiel Jones! he’s the conceitedest fellow that ever I did see. You can’t look out of a window but he thinks your running to look at him.”
“And wasn’t you running to look at him?” asked Dolly.
“Land o’ Goshen, no! What should I want to look at him for? I jest wanted to see — well, them horses he’s got.”
“Oh,” said Dolly.
Upon reflection she added,
“I thought you liked Hiel, Nabby.”
“You thought I liked Hiel?” said Nabby laughing. “What a young ‘un! Why, I can’t bear the sight of him,” and Nabby greased her griddle with combative energy. “He’s the saassiest fellow I ever see. I can’t bear him!”
Dolly reflected on this statement gravely, while Nabby dropped on the first griddleful of cakes; finally she said,
“If you don’t like Hiel, Nabby, what made you sit up so late with him Christmas night?”
“Who said I did?” said Nabby, beginning to turn griddle-cakes with velocity. “Why, Will and Tom; they both say so. They heard when Hiel went out the kitchen door, and they counted the clock striking twelve just as he went. Will says he kissed you, too, Nabby. Did he?”
“Well, if ever I see such young ‘uns!” said Nabby, flaming carnation color over the fire as she took off the cakes. “That Bill is saassy enough to physic a hornbug. I never see the beat of him!”
“But did Hiel stay so late, Nabby?”
“Well, yes, to be sure he did. I thought I never should have got him out of the house. If I hadn’t let him kiss me I believe in my soul I’d ‘a’ had to set up with him till morning; he said he wouldn’t go without. I’ve been mad at him ever since. I told him never to show his face here again; but I know he’ll come. He does it on purpose to plague me.”
“That is dreadful!” said Dolly, meditatively. “I wouldn’t let him. I’ll tell you what,” she added, with animation, “I’ll talk to him and tell him he mustn’t come here any more. Sha’n’t I, Nabby?”
But Nabby laughed and said, “No, no; little girls mustn’t talk so. Don’t you never say nothin’ to Hiel about it; if you do I won’t tell you no more. Here, carry in this plate o’ cakes, for they’re eatin’ breakfast. I heard your pa askin’ blessin’ just after you came down. You carry these in while I get on the next griddleful.”
Dolly assumed her seat at table, but there again the trouble met her. Her father and mother were talking together with sad, anxious faces.
“It is a most mysterious dispensation why this is allowed,” said her mother.
“Yes, my dear, ‘clouds and darkness are round about Him,’ but we must have faith.”
Here Spring varied the discourse by putting his somber black visage over Dolly’s arm and resting his nose familiarly on the table, whereat she couldn’t help giving him the half of a griddle-cake.
“How many times must I tell you, Dolly, that Spring is never to be fed at the table?” said her mother. “I love dogs,” she added, “but it spoils them to be fed at table.”
“Why, papa does it sometimes,” pleaded Tom.
Mrs. Cushing was obliged to confess to the truth of this, for the doctor when pursuing the deeper mazes of theology was sometimes so abstracted that his soul took no note of what his body was doing, and he had been more than once detected in giving Spring large rations under the table while expounding some profound mysteries of foreknowledge and free will. Tom’s remark was a home-thrust, but his mother said, reprovingly:
“Your father never means to do it; but he has so much to do and think of that he is sometimes absent-minded.”
A conscious twinkle might have been observed playing about the blue eyes of the doctor, and a shrewd observer might have surmised that the offense was not always strictly involuntary, for the doctor, though a most docile and tractable husband, still retained here and there traces of certain wild male instincts and fell at times into singular irregularities. He had been known to upset all Mrs. Cushing’s nicely arranged yarn-baskets and stocking-baskets and patch-baskets, pouring the contents in a heap on the floor, and carrying them off bodily to pick up chestnuts in, when starting off with the children on a nutting expedition. He would still persist at intervals in going to hunt eggs in the barn with Dolly, and putting the fruits of the search in his coat-tail pocket, though he had once been known to sit down on a pocketful at a preparatory lecture, the bell for which rung while he was yet on the hay-mow.
On this occasion, therefore, Spring made an opportune diversion in the mournful turn the conversation was taking. The general tone of remark became slightly admonitory on the part of Mrs. Cushing a
nd playfully defensive on the part of the doctor. In their “heart of heart” the boys believed their father sometimes fed Spring when he did know what he was about, and this belief caused constant occasional lapses from strict statute law on their part.
That morning, in prayers, their father read: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble. Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed; though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;” and at those verses he stopped and said: “There, my dear, there must be our comfort.” And then they sung:
“Oh God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.”
Then in prayer he plead for the Church — the Church of God, the vine of his planting — and said:
“When the enemy cometh in like a flood, may Thy spirit lift up a standard against them;” and again Dolly trembled and wondered. But after prayers Bill suddenly burst back into the house.
“Oh! mamma, there is a bluebird! Spring is come!”
“A bluebird! Impossible so early in March. You must be mistaken.” “No. Come to the door; you can hear him just as plain!”
And, sure enough, on the highest top of the great button-ball tree opposite the house sat the little blue angel singing with all his might — a living sapphire dropped down from the walls of the beautiful city above. A most sanguine and imprudent bluebird certainly he must have been, though the day was so lovely and the great icicles on the eaves of the house were actually commencing to drip. But there undoubtedly he was — herald and harbinger of good days to come.
“It is an omen,” said the doctor, as he put his arms fondly round his wife. “The Lord liveth, and blessed be our rock!”
And the boys and Dolly ran out, shouting wildly,
“There’s been a bluebird. Spring is coming — spring is coming!”
CHAPTER XI. DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT.
YES. Spring was coming; the little blue herald was right, though he must have chilled his beak and frozen his toes as he sat there. But he came from the great Somewhere, where things are always bright; where life and summer and warmth and flowers are forever going on while we are bound down under ice and snow.
There was a thrill in the hearts of all the children that day, with visions of coming violets, hepaticas and anemones, of green grass and long bright sunny rambles by the side of the Poganuc river.
The boys were so premature in hope as to get out their store of fish-hooks, and talk of trouting. The Doctor looked over his box of garden seeds, and read the labels. “Early Lettuce,” “Early Cucumbers,” “Summer Squashes” — all this was inspiring reading, and seemed to help him to have faith that a garden was coming round again, though the snow banks yet lay over the garden-spot deep and high. All day long it thawed and melted; a warm south wind blew and the icicles dripped, so that there was a continual patter.
Two circumstances of importance in Dolly’s horoscope combined on this happy day: Hiel invited Nabby to an evening sleigh-ride after supper, and Mrs. Davenport invited her father and mother to a tea-drinking at the same time.
Notwithstanding her stout words about Hiel, Nabby in the most brazen and decided manner declared her intention to accept his invitation, because (as she remarked) “Hiel had just bought a bran new sleigh, and Almiry Smith had said publicly that she was going to have the first ride in that air sleigh, and she would like to show Almiry that she didn’t know every thing.” Nabby had inherited from her father a fair share of combativeness, which was always bubbling and boiling within her comely person at the very idea of imaginery wrongs; and, as she excitedly wiped her tea-cups, she went on:
“That air Almiry Smith is a stuck-up thing; always turning up her nose at me, and talking about my being a hired gal. What’s the difference? I live out and work, and she stays to home and works. I work for the minister’s folks and get my dollar a week, and she works for her father and don’t git nothin’ but just her board and her keep. So, I don’t see why she need take airs over me — and she sha’n’t do it!”
But there was a tranquilizing influence breathing over Nabby’s soul, and she soon blew off the little stock of spleen and invited Dolly into her bed-room to look at her new Leghorn bonnet, just home from Miss Hinsdale’s milliner-shop, which she declared was too sweet for anything.
Now, Leghorn bonnets were a newly-imported test of station, grandeur and gentility in Poganuc. Up to this period the belles of New England had worn braided straw, abundantly pretty, and often braided by the fair fingers of the wearers themselves, while they studied their lessons or read the last novel or poem.
But this year Miss Hetty Davenport, and Miss Ellen Dennie, and the blooming daughters of the governor, and the fair Maria Gridley had all illuminated their respective pews in the meeting-house with Leghorn flats — large and fine of braid, and tremulous with the delicacy of their fiber. Similar wonders appeared on the heads of the juvenile aristocracy of the Episcopal church; and the effect was immediate.
Straw bonnets were “no where.” To have a Leghorn was the thing; and Miss Hinsdale imported those of many qualities and prices, to suit customers. Nabby’s was not of so fine a braid as that of the governor’s daughters; still it was a real Leghorn hat, and her soul was satisfied. She wanted a female bosom to sympathize with her in this joy, and Dolly was the chosen one.
Proud of this confidence, Dolly looked, ex-claimed, admired, and assisted at the toilette-trial — yet somewhat wondering at the facility with which Nabby forgot all her stringent declarations of the morning before.
“You don’t suppose he would dare to kiss you again, Nabby?” Dolly suggested timidly, while Nabby stood at the glass with her bonnet on, patting her curls, shaking her head, pulling into place here a bow and there a flower.
“Why, Dolly Cushing,” said Nabby, laughing; “what a young ‘un you are to remember things! I never saw such a child!”
“But you said” — cried Dolly, —
“Oh, never mind what I said. Do you suppose I can’t keep that fellow in order? I’d just like to have him try it again — and see what he’d get! There now, what do you think of that?” And Nabby turned round and showed a general twinkle of nodding flowers, fluttering ribbons, bright black eyes, and cheeks with laughing dimples which came and went as she spoke or laughed.
“Nabby, I do declare, you are splendid,” said Dolly. “Hiel said once you was the handsomest girl in Poganuc.” “He did, did he? Well, I’ll let him know a thing or two before I’ve done with him; and Almiry Smith, too, with her milk-and-water face and stringy curls.”
“Did that bonnet cost a great deal?” asked Dolly.
“What do you mean, child?” asked Nabby, turning quickly and looking at her.
“Nothing, only Mrs. Davenport said that hired girls were getting to dress just like ladies.”
Nabby flared up and grew taller, and seemed about to rise from the floor in spontaneous combustion.
“I declare!” she said. “That’s just like these ‘ere stuck-up Town Hill folks. Do they think nobody’s to have silk gowns and Leg’orn bonnets but them? Who’s a better right, I should like to know? Don’t we work for our money, and ain’t it ourn? and ain’t we just as good as they be? I’ll buy just such clothes as I see fit, and if anybody don’t like it why they may lump it, that’s all. I’ve a better right to my bonnet than Hetty Davenport has to hers, for I earned the money to pay for it, and she just lives to do nothing, and be a bill of expense to her folks.”
Dolly cowered under this little hurricane; but, Poganuc being a windy town, Dolly had full experience that the best way to meet a sudden gust is to wait for it to blow itself out, as she did on the present occasion. In a minute Nabby laughed and was herself again; it was impossible to be long uncomfortable with a flower garden on one’s head.
“I shall be lonesome to-night without you, Nabby,” said Dolly; “the boys talk Latin to me and plague me when I want to play with them.”
/> “Oh, I heard Mis’ Cushing say she was going to take you to the tea-party, and that’ll be just as good for you.”
Dolly jumped up and down for joy and ran to her mother only to have the joyful tidings confirmed. “I shall never leave Dolly alone in the house again, with nobody but the boys,” she said, “and I shall take her with us. It will be a lesson in good manners for her.”
It may have been perceived by the intimations of these sketches hitherto that there were in the town of Poganuc two distinct circles of people, who mingled in public affairs as citizens and in church affairs as communicants, but who rarely or never met on the same social plane.
There was the haute noblesse — very affably disposed, and perfectly willing to condescend; and there was the proud democracy, prouder than the noblesse, who wouldn’t be condescended to, and insisted on having their way and their say, on the literal, actual standpoint of the original equality of human beings.
The sons and daughters of farmers and mechanics would willingly exchange labor with each other; the daughters would go to a neighboring household where daughters were few, and help in the family work, and the sons likewise would hire themselves out where there was a deficiency of man-power; but they entered the family as full equals, sharing the same table, the same amusements, the same social freedoms, with the family they served.
It was because the Town Hill families wished to hire servants, according to the Old-World acceptation of the term, that it became a matter of exceeding difficulty to get any of the free democratic citizens or citizenesses to come to them in that capacity.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 438