But alas! the next morning our Irish girl came in with a most rueful face: “And is it milking that baste you’d have me be after?” she said; “sure, and she won’t let me come near her.”
“Nonsense, Biddy!” said I, “you frightened her, perhaps; the cow is perfectly gentle;” and with the pail on my arm I sallied forth. The moment madam saw me entering the cow-yard, she greeted me with a very expressive flourish of her horns.
“This won’t do,” said I, and I stopped. The lady evidently was serious in her intentions of resisting any personal approaches. I cut a cudgel, and putting on a bold face, marched towards her, while Biddy followed with her milking-stool. Apparently, the beast saw the necessity of temporizing, for she assumed a demure expression, and Biddy sat down to milk. I stood sentry, and if the lady shook her head, I shook my stick, and thus the milking operation proceeded with tolerable serenity and success.
“There!” said I, with dignity, when the frothing pail was full to the brim. “That will do, Biddy,” and I dropped my stick. Dump! came madam’s heel on the side of the pail, and it flew like a rocket into the air, while the milky flood showered plentifully over me, in a new broadcloth riding-coat that I had assumed for the first time that morning. “Whew!” said I, as soon as I could get my breath from this extraordinary shower-bath; “what’s all this?” My wife came running toward the cow-yard, as I stood with the milk streaming from my hair, filling my eyes, and dropping from the tip of my nose! and she and Biddy performed a recitative lamentation over me in alternate strophes, like the chorus in a Greek tragedy. Such was our first morning’s experience; but as we had announced our bargain with some considerable flourish of trumpets among our neighbours and friends, we concluded to hush the matter up as much as possible.
“These very superior cows are apt to be cross;” said I; “we must bear with it as we do with the eccentricities of genius; besides, when she gets accustomed to us, it will be better.”
Madam was therefore installed into her pretty pasture-lot, and my wife contemplated with pleasure the picturesque effect of her appearance reclining on the green slope of the pasture-lot, or standing ancle-deep in the gurgling brook, or reclining under the deep shadows of the trees-she was, in fact, a handsome cow, which may account, in part, for some of her sins; and this consideration inspired me with some degree of indulgence toward her foibles.
But when I found that Biddy could never succeed in getting near her in the pasture, and that any kind of success in the milking operations required my vigorous personal exertions morning and evening, the matter wore a more serious aspect pect, and I began to feel quite pensive and apprehensive. It is very well to talk of the pleasures of the milkmaid going out in the balmy freshness of the purple dawn; but imagine a poor fellow pulled out of bed on a drizzly, rainy morning, and equipping himself for a scamper through a wet pasture-lot, rope in hand, at the heels of such a termagant as mine! In fact, madam established a regular series of exercises, which had all to be gone through before she would suffer herself to be captured; as, first, she would station herself plump in the middle of a marsh, which lay at the lower part of the lot, and look very innocent and absent-minded, as if reflecting on some sentimental subject. “Suke! Suke! Suke!” I ejaculate cautiously, tottering along the edge of the marsh, and holding out an ear of corn. The lady looks gracious, and comes forward, almost within reach of my hand. I make a plunge to throw the rope over her horns, and away she goes, kicking up mud and water into my face in her flight, while I, losing my balance, tumble forward into the marsh. I pick myself up, and, full of wrath, behold her placidly chewing the cud on the other side, with the meekest air imaginable, as who should say, “I hope you are not hurt, sir.” I dash through swamp and bog furiously, resolving to carry all by coup de main. Then follows a miscellaneous season of dodging, scampering, and bo-peeping among the trees of the grove, interspersed with sundry occasional races across the bog aforesaid. I always wondered how I caught her every day, when I had tied her head to one post and her heels to another, I wiped the sweat from my brow and thought I was paying dear for the eccentricities of genius. A genius she certainly was, for besides her surprising agility, she had other talents equally extraordinary. There was no fence that she could not take down; nowhere that she could not go. She took the pickets off the garden fence at her pleasure, using her horns as handily as I could use a claw hammer. Whatever she has a mind to, whether it were a bite in the cabbage garden, or a run in the corn patch, or a foraging expedition into the flower borders, she made herself equally welcome and at home. Such a scampering and driving, such cries of “Suke here” and “Suke there,” as constantly greeted our ears kept our little establishment in a constant commotion. At last, when she one morning made a plunge at the skirts of a new broadcloth frock coat, and carried off one flap on her horns, my patience gave out, and I determined to sell her.
As, however, I had made a good story of my misfortunes among my friends and neighbours, and amused them with sundry whimsical accounts of my various adventures in the cow-catching line, I found when I came to speak of selling, that there was a general coolness on the subject, and nobody seemed disposed to be the recipient of my responsibilities. In short, I was glad, at last, to get fifteen dollars for her, and comforted myself with thinking that I had at least gained twenty-five dollars’ worth of experience in the transaction, to say nothing of the fine exercise.
I comforted my soul, however, the day after, by purchasing and bringing home to my wife a fine swarm of bees.
“Your bee, now,” says I, “is a really classical insect, and breathes of Virgil and the Augustan age-and then, she is a domestic, tranquil, placid creature! How beautiful the murmuring of a hive near our honeysuckle of a calm summer evening! Then they are tranquilly and peacefully amassing for us their stores of sweetness, while they lull us with their murmurs. What a beautiful image of disinterested benevolence!”
My wife declared that I was quite a poet, and the bee-hive was duly installed near the flowerpots, that the delicate creatures might have the full benefit of the honeysuckle and mignonette. My spirits began to rise. I bought three different treatises on the rearing of bees, and also one or two new patterns of hives, and proposed to rear my bees on the most approved model. I charged all the establishment to let me know when there was any indication of an-emigrating spirit, that I might be ready to receive the new swarm into my patent mansion.
Accordingly, one afternoon, when I was deep in an article that I was preparing for the North American Review, intelligence was brought me that a swarm had risen. I was on the alert at once, and discovered on going out that the provoking creatures had chosen the top of a tree about thirty feet high to settle on. Now, my books had carefully instructed me just how to approach the swarm and cover them with a new hive, but I had never contemplated the possibility of the swarm being, like Haman’s gallows, forty cubits high. I looked despairingly upon the smooth-bark tree, which rose like a column, full twenty feet, without branch or twig. “What is to be done?” said I, appealing to two or three neighbours. At last, at the recommendation of one of them, a ladder was raised against the tree, and, equipped with a shirt outside of my clothes, a green veil over my head, and a pair of leather gloves in my hand, I went up with a saw at my girdle to saw off the branch on which they had settled, and lower it by a rope to a neighbour, similarly equipped, who stood below with the hive.
As a result of this manuvre the fastidious little insects were at length fairly installed at housekeeping in my new patent hive, and, rejoicing in my success, I again sat down to my article.
That evening my wife and I took tea in our honeysuckle arbour, with our little ones and a friend or two, to whom I showed my treasures, and expatiated at large on the comforts and conveniences of the new patent hive.
But alas for the hopes of man! The little ungrateful wretches, what must they do but take advantage of my oversleeping myself the next morning, to clear out for new quarters without so much as leaving me a P. P
. C. Such was the fact; at eight o’clock I found the new patent hive as good as ever; but the bees I have never seen from that day to this!
“The rascally little conservatives!” said I; “I believe that they have never had a new idea from the days of Virgil down, and are entirely unprepared to appreciate improvements.”
Meanwhile the seeds began to germinate in our garden, when we found, to our chagrin, that, between John Bull and Paddy, there had occurred sundry confusions in the several departments. Radishes had been planted broadcast, carrots and beets arranged in hills, and here and there a whole paper of seed appeared to have been planted bodily. My good old uncle, who, somewhat to my confusion, made me a call at this time, was greatly distressed and scandalized by the appearance of our garden. But, by a deal of fussing, transplanting, and replanting, it was got into some shape and order. My uncle was rather troublesome, as careful old people are apt to be-annoying us by perpetual inquiries of what we gave for this, and that, and running up provoking calculations on the final cost of matters, and we began to wish that his visit might be as short as would be convenient.
But when, on taking leave, he promised to send us a fine young cow of his own raising, our hearts rather smote us for our impatience.
“Taint any of your new breeds, nephew,” said the old man, “yet I can say that she’s a gentle, likely young crittur, and better worth forty dollars than many a one that’s cried up for Ayrshire or Durham; and you shall be quite welcome to her.”
We thanked him, as in duty bound, and thought that if he was full of old-fashioned notions, he was no less full of kindness and good will.
And now, with a new cow, with our garden beginning to thrive under the gentle showers of May, with our flower-borders blooming, my wife and I began to think ourselves in Paradise. But alas! the same sun and rain that warmed our fruit and flowers brought up from the earth, like sulky gnomes, a vast array of purple-leaved weeds, that almost in a night seemed to cover the whole surface of the garden beds. Our gardeners both being gone, the weeding was expected to be done by me-one of the anticipated relaxations of my leisure hours.
“Well,” said I, in reply to a gentle intimation from my wife, “when my article is finished, I’ll take a day and weed all up clean.”
Thus days slipped by, till at length the article was dispatched, and I proceeded to my garden. Amazement! who could have possibly foreseen that anything earthly could grow so fast in a few days! There were no bounds, no alleys, no beds, no distinction of beet and carrot, nothing but a flourishing congregation of weeds nodding and bobbing in the morning breeze, as if to say,-”We hope you are well, sir-we’ve got the ground, you see!” I began to explore, and to hoe, and to weed. Ah! did anybody ever try to clean a neglected carrot or beet bed, or bend his back in a hot sun over rows of weedy onions! He is the man to feel for my despair! How I weeded, and sweat, and sighed! till, when high noon came on, as the result of all my toils, only three beds were cleaned! And how disconsolate looked the good seed, thus unexpectedly delivered from its sheltering tares, and laid open to a broiling July sun! Every juvenile beet and carrot lay flat down, wilted and drooping, as if, like me, they had been weeding instead of being weeded.
“This weeding is quite a serious matter,” said I to my wife; “the fact is, I must have help about it!”
“Just what I was myself thinking,” said my wife. “My flower-borders are all in confusion, and my petunia mounds so completely overgrown, that nobody would dream what they were meant for!”
In short it was agreed between us that we could not afford the expense of a full-grown man to keep our place, yet we must reinforce ourselves by the addition of a boy, and a brisk youngster from the vicinity was pitched upon as the happy addition. This youth was a fellow of decidedly quick parts, and in one forenoon made such a clearing in our garden that I was delighted-bed after bed appeared to view, all cleared and dressed out with such celerity that I was quite ashamed of my own slowness, until, on examination, I discovered that he had, with great impartiality, pulled up both weeds and vegetables.
This hopeful beginning was followed up by a succession of proceedings which should be recorded for the instruction of all who seek for help from the race of boys. Such a loser of all tools, great and small-such an invariable leaver-open of all gates, and a letter down of bars-such a personification of all manner of anarchy and ill luck-had never before been seen on the estate. His time, while I was gone to the city, was agreeably diversified with roosting on the fence, swinging on the gates, making poplar whistles for the children, hunting eggs, and eating whatever fruit happened to be in season, in which latter accomplishment he was certainly quite distinguished. After about three weeks of this kind of joint gardening, we concluded to dismiss master Tom from the firm, and employ a man.
“Things must be taken care of,” said I, “and I cannot do it. ’Tis out of the question.” And so the man was secured.
But I am making a long story, and may chance to outrun the sympathies of my readers. Time would fail me to tell of the distresses manifold that fell upon me-of cows dried up by poor milkers, of hens that wouldn’t set at all, and hens that despite all law and reason would set on one egg, of hens that having hatched families straightway led them into all manner of high grass and weeds, by which means numerous young chicks caught premature colds and perished! and how when I, with manifold toil, had driven one of these inconsiderate gadders into a coop, to teach her domestic habits, the rats came down upon her, and slew every chick in one night! how my pigs were always practising gymnastic exercises over the fence of the stye, and marauding in the garden. (I wonder that Fourier never conceived the idea of having his garden-land ploughed by pigs, for certainly they manifest quite a decided elective attraction for turning up the earth.)
When autumn came, I went soberly to market in the neighbouring city, and bought my potatoes and turnips like any other man, for, between all the various systems of gardening pursued, I was obliged to confess that my first horticultural effort was a decided failure. But though all my rural visions had proved illusive, there were some very substantial realities. My bill at the seed store, for seeds, roots, and tools, for example, had run up to an amount that was perfectly unaccountable; then there were various smaller items, such as horse-shoeing, carriage-mending-for he who lives in the country and does business in the city must keep his vehicle and appurtenances. I had always prided myself on being an exact man, and settling every account, great and small, with the going out of the old year, but this season I found myself sorely put to it. In fact, had not I received a timely lift from my good old uncle, I had made a complete break-down. The old gentleman’s troublesome habit of ciphering and calculating, it seems, had led him beforehand to foresee that I was not exactly in the money-making line, nor likely to possess much surplus revenue to meet the note which I had given for my place, and therefore he quietly paid it himself, as I discovered when, after much anxiety and some sleepless nights, I went to the holder to ask for an extension of credit.
“He was right after all,” said I to my wife, “‘to live cheap in the country, a body must know how.’”
CHILDREN.
“A little child shall lead them.”
ONE cold market morning I looked into a milliner’s shop, and there I saw a hale, hearty, well-browned young fellow from the country, with his long cart whip, and lion shag coat, holding up some little matter, and turning it about on his great fist. And what do you suppose it was? A baby’s bonnet! A little, soft, blue satin hood, with a swan’s down border, white as the new fallen snow, with a frill of rich blonde around the edge.
By his side stood a very pretty woman holding, with no small pride, the baby-for evidently it was the baby. Any one could read that fact in every glance, as they looked at each other, and then at the large unconscious eyes, and fat dimpled cheeks of the little one.
It was evident that neither of them had ever seen a baby like that before.
“But really, Mary,” said the y
oung man, “isn’t three dollars very high?”
Mary very, prudently said nothing, but taking the little bonnet, tied it on the little head, and held up the little baby. The man looked, and without another word down went the three dollars; all that the last week’s butter came to; and as they walked out of the shop, it is hard to say which looked the most delighted with the bargain.
“Ah,” thought I, “a little child shall lead them.”
Another day, as I was passing a carriage factory along one of our principal back streets, I saw a young mechanic at work on a wheel. The rough body of a carriage stood beside him, and there, wrapped up snugly, all hooded and cloaked, sat a little dark-eyed girl, about a year old, playing with a great shaggy dog. As I stopped, the man looked up from his work and turned admiringly toward his little companion, as much as to say, “See what I have got here!”
“Yes,” thought I, “and if the little lady ever gets a glance from admiring swains as sincere as that, she will be lucky.”
Ah! these children, little witches, pretty even in all their faults and absurdities. See, for example, yonder little fellow in a haughty fit; he has shaken his long curls over his deep blue eyes; the fair brow is bent in a frown; the rose-leaf lip is pursed up in infinite defiance; and the white shoulder thrust naughtily forward. Can any but a child look so pretty, even in their naughtiness?
Then comes the instant change; flashing smiles and tears, as the good comes back all in a rush, and you are overwhelmed with protestations, promises, and kisses! They are irresistible, too, these little ones. They pull away the scholar’s pen; tumble about his paper; make somersets over his books; and what can he do? They tear up newspapers; litter the carpets; break, pull, and upset, and then jabber unimaginable English in self-defiance, and what can you do for yourself?
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 467