Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  In the times we speak of, candle-making for a large household was a serious undertaking, and the day devoted to it was one that any child would remember as an unlucky one for childish purposes of enjoyment, seven-fold worse in its way even than washing-day. Mrs. Cushing still retained enough of the habits of her early education to have preferred a quiet day for her Christmas. She would willingly have spent it in letter-writing, reading and meditation, but when Mis’ Persis gave her time and labor it seemed only fair to allow her to choose her own day.

  So, upon this Christmas morning Mis’ Persis appeared on the ground by day-dawn. A great kettle was slung over the kitchen fire, in which cakes of tallow were speedily liquefying; a frame was placed quite across the kitchen to sustain candle-rods, with a train of boards underneath to catch the drippings, and Mis’ Persis, with a brow like one of the Fates, announced: “Now we can’t hev any young’uns in this kitchen to-day;” and Dolly saw that there was no getting any attention in that quarter.

  Mis’ Persis, in a gracious Saturday afternoon mood, sitting in her own tent-door dispensing hospitalities and cookies, was one thing; but Mis’ Persis in her armor, with her loins girded and a hard day’s work to be conquered, was quite another: she was terrible as Minerva with her helmet on.

  Dinner-baskets for all the children were hastily packed, and they were sent off to school with the injunction on no account to show their faces about the premises till night. The Doctor, warned of what was going on, retreated to his study at the top of the house, where, serenely above the lower cares of earth, he sailed off into President Edwards’s treatise on the nature of true virtue, concerning which he was preparing a paper to read at the next Association meeting.

  That candles were a necessity of life he was well convinced, and by faith he dimly accepted the fact that one day in the year the whole house was to be devoted and given up to this manufacture; and his part of the business, as he understood it, was, clearly, to keep himself out of the way till it was over.

  “There won’t be much of a dinner at home, anyway,” said Nabby to Dolly, as she packed her basket with an extra doughnut or two. “I’ve got to go to church to-day, ‘cause I’m one of the singers, and your ma’ll be busy waitin’ on her; so we shall just have a pick-up dinner, and you be sure not to come home till night; by that time it’ll be all over.” Dolly trotted off to school well content with the prospect before her: a nooning, with leave to play with the girls at school, was not an unpleasant idea.

  But the first thing that saluted her on her arrival was that Bessie Lewis — her own dear, particular Bessie — was going to have a Christmas party at her house that afternoon, and was around distributing invitations right and left among the scholars with a generous freedom.

  “We are going to have nuts, and raisins, and cake, and mottoes,” said Bessie, with artless triumph. The news of this bill of fare spread like wildfire through the school.

  Never had a party been heard of which contemplated such a liberal entertainment, for the rising generation of Poganuc were by no means blase with indulgence, and raisins and almonds stood for grandeur with them. But these mottoes, which consisted of bits of confectionery wrapped up in printed couplets of sentimental poetry, were an unheard-of refinement. Bessie assured them that her papa had sent clear to Boston for them, and whoever got one would have his or her fortune told by it.

  The school was a small, select one, comprising the children of all ages from the best families of Poganuc. Both boys and girls, and all with great impartiality, had been invited. Miss Titcome, the teacher, quite readily promised to dismiss at three o’clock that afternoon any scholar who should bring a permission from parents, and the children nothing doubted that such a permission was obtainable.

  Dolly alone saw a cloud in the horizon. She had been sent away with strict injunctions not to return till evening, and children in those days never presumed to make any exceptions in obeying an absolute command of their parents.

  “But, of course, you will go home at noon and ask your mother, and of course she’ll let you; won’t she, girls?” said Bessie.

  “Oh, certainly; of course she will,” said all the older girls, “because you know a party is a thing that don’t happen every day, and your mother would think it strange if you didn’t come and ask her.” So too thought Miss Titcome, a most exemplary, precise and proper young lady, who always moved and spoke and thought as became a schoolmistress, so that, although she was in reality only twenty years old, Dolly considered her as a very advanced and ancient person — if anything, a little older than her father and mother.

  Even she was of opinion that Dolly might properly go home to lay a case of such importance before her mother; and so Dolly rushed home after the morning school was over, running with all her might and increasing in mental excitement as she ran. Her bonnet blew off upon her shoulders, her curls flew behind her in the wind, and she most inconsiderately used up the little stock of breath that she would want to set her cause in order before her mother.

  Just here we must beg any mother and house-keeper to imagine herself in the very midst of the most delicate, perplexing and laborious of household tasks, when interruption is most irksome and perilous, suddenly called to discuss with a child some new and startling proposition to which at the moment she cannot even give a thought.

  Mrs. Cushing was sitting in the kitchen with Mis’ Persis, by the side of a melted caldron of tallow, kept in a fluid state by the heat of a portable furnace on which it stood. A long train of half-dipped candles hung like so many stalactites from the frames on which the rods rested, and the two were patiently dipping set after set and replacing them again on the frame.

  “As sure as I’m alive! if there isn’t Dolly Cushing comin’ back — runnin’ and tearin’ like a wild cretur’,” said Mis’ Persis. “She’ll be in here in a minute and knock everything down!”

  Mrs. Cushing looked, and with a quick movement stepped to the door.

  “Dolly! what are you here for? Didn’t I tell you not to come home this noon?” “Oh, Mamma, there’s going to be a party at General Lewis’s — Bessie’s party — and the girls are all going, and mayn’t I go?”

  “No, you can’t; it’s impossible,” said her mother. “Your best dress isn’t ready to wear, and there’s nobody can spend time to get you ready. Go right back to school.”

  “But, Mamma—”

  “Go!” said her mother, in the decisive tone that mothers used in the old days, when arguing with children was not a possibility.

  “What’s all this about?” asked the Doctor, looking out of the door.

  “Why,” said Mrs. Cushing, “there’s going to be a party at General Lewis’s, and Dolly is wild to go. It’s just impossible for me to attend to her now.”

  “Oh, I don’t want her intimate at Lewis’s; he’s a Democrat and an Episcopalian,” said the Doctor, and immediately he came out behind his wife.

  “There; run away to school, Dolly,” he said. “Don’t trouble your mother; you don’t want to go to parties; why, it’s foolish to think of it. Run away now, and don’t think any more about it — there’s a good girl!”

  Dolly turned and went back to school, the tears freezing on her cheek as she went. As for not thinking any more about it — that was impossible. When three o’clock came, scholar after scholar rose and departed, until at last Dolly was the only one remaining in the school-room.

  Miss Titcome made no comments upon the event, but so long as one scholar was left she conscientiously persisted in her duties towards her. She heard Dolly read and spell, and then occupied herself with writing a letter, while Dolly sewed upon her allotted task. Dolly’s work was a linen sheet, which was to be turned. It was to be sewed up on one side and ripped out on the other — two processes which seemed especially dreary to Dolly, and more particularly so now, when she was sitting in the deserted school-room. Tears fell and fell on the long, uninteresting seam which seemed to stretch on and on hopelessly before her; and she thought
of all the other children playing at “oats, pease, beans and barley grows,” of feasting on almonds and raisins, and having their fortunes told by wonderful mottoes bought in Boston. The world looked cold and dark and dreary to Dolly on this her second Christmas. She never felt herself injured; she never even in thought questioned that her parents were doing exactly right by her — she only felt that just here and now the right thing was very disagreeable and very hard to bear.

  When Dolly came home that night the coast was clear, and the candles were finished and put away to harden in a freezing cold room; the kitchen was once more restored, and Nabby bustled about getting supper as if nothing had happened.

  “I really feel sorry about poor little Dolly,” said Mrs. Cushing to her husband.

  “Do you think she cared much?” asked the Doctor, looking as if a new possibility had struck his mind.

  “Yes, indeed, poor child, she went away crying; but what could I do about it? I couldn’t stop to dress her.”

  “Wife, we must take her somewhere to make up for it,” said the Doctor.

  Just then the stage stopped at the door and a bundle from Boston was handed in. Dolly’s tears were soon wiped and dried, and her mourning was turned into joy when a large jointed London doll emerged from the bundle, the Christmas gift of her grandmother in Boston.

  Dolly’s former darling was old and shabby, but this was of twice the size, and with cheeks exhibiting a state of the most florid health.

  Besides this there was, as usual in Grand-mamma’s Christmas bundle, something for every member of the family; and so the evening went on festive wings.

  Poor little Dolly! only that afternoon she had watered with her tears the dismal long straight seam, which stretched on before her as life sometimes does to us, bare, disagreeable and cheerless. She had come home crying, little dreaming of the joy just approaching; but before bed-time no cricket in the hearth was cheerier or more noisy. She took the new dolly to bed with her, and could hardly sleep, for the excitement of her company.

  Meanwhile, Hiel had brought the Doctor a message to the following effect:

  “I was drivin’ by Tim Hawkins’s, and Mis’ Hawkins she comes out and says they’re goin’ to hev an apple-cuttin’ there to-morrow night, and she would like to hev you and Mis’ Cushin’ and all your folks come — Nabby and all.”

  The Doctor and his lady of course assented.

  “Wal, then, Doctor — ef it’s all one to you,” continued Hiel, “I’d like to take ye over in my new double sleigh. I’ve jest got two new strings o’ bells up from Boston, and I think we’ll sort o’ make the snow fly. S’pose there’d be no objections to takin’ my mother ‘long with ye?”

  “Oh, Hiel, we shall be delighted to go in company with your mother, and we’re ever so much obliged to you,” said Mrs. Cushing.

  “Wal, I’ll be round by six o’clock,” said Hiel.

  “Then, wife,” said the Doctor, “we’ll take Dolly, and make up for the loss of her party.”

  CHAPTER XXII. THE APPLE-BEE.

  PUNCTUALLY at six o’clock Hiel’s two horses, with all their bells jingling, stood at the door of the parsonage, whence Tom and Bill, who had been waiting with caps and mittens on for the last half hour, burst forth with irrepressible shouts of welcome.

  “Take care now, boys; don’t haul them buffalo skins out on t’ the snow,” said Hiel. “Don’t get things in a muss gen’ally; wait for your ma and the Doctor. Got to stow the grown folks in fust; boys kin hang on anywhere.”

  And so first came Mrs. Cushing and the Doctor, and were installed on the back seat, with Dolly in between. Then hot bricks were handed in to keep feet warm, and the buffalo robe was tucked down securely. Then Nabby took her seat by Hiel in front, and the sleigh drove round for old Mrs. Jones. The Doctor insisted on giving up his place to her and tucking her warmly under the buffalo robe, while he took the middle seat and acted as moderator between the boys, who were in a wild state of hilarity. Spring, with explosive barks, raced first on this and then on that side of the sleigh as it flew swiftly over the smooth frozen road.

  The stars blinked white and clear out of a deep blue sky, and the path wound up-hill among cedars and junipers and clumps of mountain laurel, on whose broad green leaves the tufts of snow lay like clusters of white roses. The keen clear air was full of stimulus and vigor; and so Hiel’s proposition to take the longest way met with enthusiastic welcome from all the party. Next to being a bird, and having wings, is the sensation of being borne over the snow by a pair of spirited horses who enjoy the race, apparently, as much as those they carry. Though Hiel contrived to make the ride about eight miles, it yet seemed but a short time before the party drove up to the great red farm-house, whose lighted windows sent streams of radiant welcome far out into the night.

  The fire that illuminated the great kitchen of the farm-house was a splendid sight to behold. It is, alas, with us only a vision and memory of the past; for who in our days can afford to keep up the great fire-place, where the back-logs were cut from the giants of the forest and the fore-stick was as much as a modern man could lift? And then the glowing fire-palace built thereon! That architectural pile of split and seasoned wood, over which the flames leaped and danced and crackled like rejoicing genii — what a glory it was! The hearty, bright, warm hearth in those days stood instead of fine furniture and handsome pictures. The plainest room becomes beautiful and attractive by fire-light, and when men think of a country and home to be fought for and defended they think of the fireside.

  Mr. Timothy Hawkins was a thrifty farmer and prided himself on always having the best, and the fire that was crackling and roaring up the chimney that night was, to use a hackneyed modern expression, a “work of art.” The great oak back-log had required the strength of four men to heave it into its place; and above that lay another log scarcely less in size; while the forestick was no mean bough of the same tree. A bed of bright solid coals lay stretched beneath, and the lighter blaze of the wood above was constantly sending down contributions to this glowing reservoir.

  Of course, on an occasion like this, the “best room” of the house was open, with a bright fire lighting up the tall brass andirons, and revealing the neatly-fitted striped carpet of domestic manufacture, and the braided rugs, immortal monuments of the never-tiring industry of the housewife. Here first the minister and his wife and Dolly were inducted with some ceremony, but all declared their immediate preference of the big kitchen, where the tubs of rosy apples and golden quinces were standing round, and young men, maids, and matrons were taking their places to assist in the apple-bee.

  If the Doctor was a welcome guest in the stately circles of Poganuc Center, he was far more at home in these hearty rural gatherings. There was never the smallest room for jealousy, on the part of his plainer people, that he cared more for certain conventional classes of society than for them, because all instinctively felt that in heart he was one of themselves. Like many of the educated men of New England, he had been a farmer’s boy in early days, and all his pleasantest recollections were connected with that simple, wholesome, healthful, rural life. Like many of the New England clergy, too, he was still to some extent a practical farmer, finding respite from brain labor in wholesome out-door work. His best sermons were often thought out at the plow or in the corn-field, and his illustrations and enforcements of truth were those of a man acquainted with real life and able to interpret the significance of common things. His people felt a property in him as their ideal man — the man who every Sunday expressed for them, better than they could, the thoughts and inquiries and aspirations which rose dimly in their own minds.

  “I could ha’ said all that myself ef I’d only hed the eddication; he puts it so one can see it can’t be no other way,” was the comment once made on a sermon of the Doctor’s by a rough but thoughtful listener; and the Doctor felt more pleased with such applause than even the more cultured approval of Judge Belcher.

  In the wide, busy kitchen there was room enoug
h for all sorts of goings on. The Doctor was soon comfortably seated, knee to knee, in a corner with two or three controversial-looking old farmers, who were attacking some of the conclusions of his last Sunday’s sermon. Of the two results, the Doctor always preferred a somewhat combative resistance to a sleepy assent to his preaching, and nothing delighted him more than a fair and square argumentative tilt, showing that the points he made had been taken.

  But while the Doctor in his corner discussed theology, the young people around the tubs of apples were having the very best of times.

  The apple, from the days of Mother Eve and the times of Paris and Helen, has been a fruit full of suggestion and omen in the meetings of young men and maidens; and it was not less fruitful this evening. Our friend Hiel came to the gathering with a full consciousness of a difficult and delicate part to be sustained. It is easy to carry on four or five distinct flirtations when one is a handsome young stage-driver and the fair objects of attention live at convenient distances along the route. But when Almiry Ann, and Lucindy Jane, and Lucretia, and Nabby are all to be encountered at one time, what is a discreet young man to do?

  Hiel had come to the scene with an armor of proof in the shape of a new patent apple-peeler and corer, warranted to take the skin from an apple with a quickness and completeness hitherto unimaginable. This immediately gave him a central position and drew an admiring throng about him. The process of naming an apple for each girl, and giving her the long ribbon of peel to be thrown over her head and form fateful initial letters on the floor, was one that was soon in vigorous operation, with much shrieking and laughing and opposing of claims among the young men, all of whom were forward to claim their own initials when the peeling was thrown by the girl of their choice. And Hiel was loud in his professions of jealousy when by this mode of divination Almira Smith was claimed to be secretly favoring Seth Parmelee, and Nabby’s apple-peeling thrown over her head formed a cabalistic character which was vigorously contended for both by Jim Sawin and Ike Peters. As the distinction between an I and a J is of a very shadowy nature, the question apparently was likely to remain an open one; and Hiel declared that it was plain that nobody cared for him, and that he was evidently destined to be an old bachelor.