A Little Girl in Old Boston, Amanda Minnie Douglas [black authors fiction .TXT] 📗

be plenty of time to give them the invitation. Mrs. Leverett was sorry she had consented to Betty's going, but it would have made ill friends.

The next day Mrs. Hollis Leverett, the eldest son's wife, came up to spend the day, with her two younger children. Doris was not much used to babies, but she liked the little girl. The husband came up after supper and took them home in a carryall. Doris was tired and sleepy, and couldn't stop to do any sums.

Betty was folding up her work, and Warren yawning over his book, when Mrs. Leverett began in a rather jerky manner:

"Mrs. Morse was in and invited you both to Jane's birthday party next Thursday night."

"Yes, I saw Joe in the street to-day, and he told me," replied Warren.

"I said I'd see about you, Betty. You are quite too young to begin party-going."

"Why, I suppose it's just a girl's frolic," said her father, wincing suddenly. "They can't help having birthdays. Betty will be begging for a party next."

"She won't get it this year," subjoined her mother dryly. "And, by the looks of things, we have no money to throw away."

Betty looked a little startled. She had wanted so to really question Doris, but it did not seem quite the thing to do. And perhaps she was not to go, after all. She would coax her father and Warren, she would do almost anything.

Warren settled it as they were going up to bed. His mother was in the kitchen, mixing pancakes for breakfast, and he caught Betty's hand.

"Of course you are to go," he said. "Mother doesn't believe in dealing out all her good things at once. I wish you had something pretty to wear. It's going to be quite fine."

"Oh, dear," sighed Betty. "Jane has such pretty gowns. But of course I have only been a little school-girl until this year, and somehow it is very hard for the mothers to think their girls are grown-up in any respect except that of work."

Warren sighed as well, and secretly wished he had a regular salary, and could do what he liked with a little money. His father was training him to take charge of his own business later on. He gave him his board and clothing and half a dollar a week for spending money. When he was twenty-one there would be a new basis, of course. There was not much call for money unless one was rich enough to be self-indulgent. One couldn't spend five cents for a trolley ride, even if there was a downpour of rain. And as Mr. Leverett had never smoked, he had routed the first indications of any such indulgence on the part of his son.

The amusements were still rather simple, neighborly affairs. The boys and girls "spent an evening" with each other and had hickory nuts, cider, and crullers that had found their way from Holland to Boston as well as New York. And when winter set in fairly there was sledding and skating and no end of jest and laughter. Many a decorous love affair sprang into shy existence, taking a year or two for the young man to be brave enough to "keep company," if there were no objections on either side. And this often happened to be a walk home from church and an hour's sitting by the family fireside taking part in the general conversation.

To be sure, there was the theater. Since 1798, when the Federal Street Theater had burned down and been rebuilt and opened with a rather celebrated actress of that period, Mrs. Jones, theater-going was quite the stylish amusement of the quality. Mr. Leverett and his wife had gone to the old establishment, as it was beginning to be called, to see the tragedy of "Gustavus Vasa," that had set Boston in a furore. They were never quite settled on the point of the sinfulness of the pleasure. Indeed, Mr. Leverett evinced symptoms of straying away from the old landmarks of faith. He had even gone to the preaching of that reprehensible young man, Mr. Hosea Ballou, who had opened new worlds of thought for his consideration.

"It's a beautiful belief," Mrs. Leverett admitted, "but whether you can quite square it with Bible truth----"

"I'm not so sure you can square the Westminster Catechism either."

"If you must doubt, Foster, do be careful before the children. I'm not sure but the old-fashioned religion is best. It made good men and women."

"Maybe if you had been brought up a Quaker you wouldn't have seen the real goodness of it. Isn't belief largely a matter of habit and education? Mind, I don't say religion. That is really the man's life, his daily endeavor."

"Well, we won't argue." She felt that she could not, and was ashamed that she was not more strongly fortified. "And do be careful before the children."

Her husband was a good, honest, upright man--a steady churchgoer and zealous worker in many ways. The intangible change to liberalness puzzled her. If you gave up one point, would there not be a good reason for giving up another?

Neither could she quite explain why she should feel more anxious about Betty than she had felt about the girlhood of the two elder daughters.

Of course Warren accepted the invitations for himself and his sister. If her new white frock was only done! She had outgrown her last summer's gowns. There was a pretty embroidered India muslin that her sister Electa had given her. If she might put a ruffle around the bottom of the skirt.

Aunt Priscilla came over and had her cup of tea so she could get back before dark. She was still afraid of the damp night air. Aunt Priscilla had a trunk full of pretty things she had worn in her early married life. If she, Betty, could be allowed to "rummage" through it!

Saturday was magnificent with a summer softness in the air, and the doors could be left open. There were sweeping and scrubbing and scouring and baking. Doris was very anxious to help, and was allowed to seed some raisins. It wasn't hard, but "putterin'" work, and took a good deal of time.

But after dinner Uncle Winthrop came in his chaise with his pretty spirited black mare Juno. It was such a nice day, and he had to go up to the North End on some business. There wouldn't be many such days, and Doris might like a ride.

There was a flash of delight in the child's eyes. Betty went to help her get ready.

"You had better put on her coat, for it's cooler riding," said Mrs. Leverett. "And by night it may turn off cold. A fall day like this is hardly to be trusted."

"But it is good while it lasts," said Uncle Win, with his soft half-smile. "Elizabeth, don't pattern after Aunt Priscilla, who can't enjoy to-day because there may be a storm to-morrow."

"I don't know but we are too ready to cross bridges before we come to them," she admitted.

"A beautiful day goes to my inmost heart. I want to enjoy every moment of it."

Doris came in with her eager eyes aglow, and Betty followed her to the chaise, and said:

"Don't run away with her, Uncle Win; I can't spare her."

That made Doris look up and laugh, she was so happy.

They drove around into Hanover Street and then through Wing's Lane. There were some very nice lanes and alleys then that felt quite as dignified as the streets, and were oftentimes prettier. He was going to Dock Square to get a little business errand off his mind.

"You won't be afraid to sit here alone? I will fasten Juno securely."

"Oh, no," she replied, and she amused herself glancing about. People were mostly through with their business Saturday afternoon. It had a strange aspect to her, however--it was so different from the town across the seas. Some of the streets were so narrow she wondered how the horses and wagons made their way, and was amazed that they did not run over the pedestrians, who seemed to choose the middle of the street as well. Many of the houses had a second story overhanging the first, which made the streets look still narrower.

"Now we will go around and see the queer old things," exclaimed Uncle Win, as he jumped into the chaise. "For we have some interesting points of view. A hundred years seems a good while to us new people. And already streets are changing, houses are being torn down. There are some curious things you will like to remember. Did Warren tell you about Paul Revere?"

"Oh, yes. How he hung the lantern out of the church steeple."

"And this was where he started from. More than thirty years ago that was, and I was a young fellow just arrived at man's estate. Still it was a splendid time to live through. We will have some talks about it in the years to come."

"Did you fight, Uncle Win?"

"I am not much of a war hero, though we were used for the defense of Boston. You are too young to understand all the struggle."

Doris studied the old house. It was three stories, the upper windows seeming just under the roof. On the ground floor there was a store, with two large windows, where Paul Revere had carried on his trade of silver-smith and engraver on copper. There was a broken wire netting before one window, and quite an elaborate hallway for the private entrance, as many people lived over their shops.

Long afterward Doris Adams was to be interested in a poet who told the story of Paul Revere's ride in such vivid, thrilling words that he was placed in the list of heroes that the world can never forget. But it had not seemed such a great deed then.

Old North Square had many curious memories. It had been a very desirable place of residence, though it was dropping down even now. There were quaint warehouses and oddly constructed shops, taverns with queer names almost washed out of the signs by the storms of many winters. There were the "Red Lion" and the "King's Arms" and other names that smacked of London and had not been overturned in the Revolution. Here had stood the old Second Church that General Howe had caused to be pulled down for firewood during the siege of Boston, the spot rendered sacred by the sermon of many a celebrated Mather. And here had resided Governor Thomas Hutchinson, who would have been sacrificed to the fury of the mob for his Tory proclivities during the Stamp Act riot but for his brother-in-law, the Rev. Samuel Mather, who faced the mob and told them "he should protect the Governor with his life, even if their sentiments were totally dissimilar." And when he came to open court the next morning he had neither gown nor wig, very important articles in that day. For the wigs had long curling hair, and those who wore them had their hair cropped close, like malefactors.

And here was the still stately Frankland House, whose romance was to interest Doris deeply a few years hence and to be a theme for poet and novelist. But now she was a good deal amused when her uncle told her of a Captain Kemble in the days of Puritan rule who, after a long sea voyage, was hurrying up the Square, when his wife, who had heard the vessel was sighted, started to go to