A Little Girl in Old Salem, Amanda Minnie Douglas [the snowy day read aloud .TXT] 📗

their silk and velvet gowns. And when England passed some sumptuary laws that no one below titled rank should wear silk, the good wives of traders lined theirs with silk and hung them up in grand array to gratify their visitors or themselves.

"You have so many lovely things," said a girl enviously. "I haven't but one silk frock, and that was Mary's until she outgrew it. And mother's so choice of it; she thinks it ought to last and go to Ruth."

"Why, you see, so many things came from India," apologized Cynthia, almost ashamed of having so much. "And there's a boxful upstairs, but I think I like the white muslins best, they look so pretty when they are clean, and you don't have to be so careful."

"Do you ever get scolded when accidents happen?"

"Well, not much. Cousin Eunice is so sweet. Cousin Elizabeth was more particular."

"And Miss Winn?"

"Oh, my dear Rachel loves me too much," the child said laughingly.

There were so many odd and pretty things that they staid up until all the girls had come--not one of them declined. Then they went down to the parlors.

"Cousin Chilian said this back room was to be mine. That lovely desk and the cabinet were my own mother's. And the table is teakwood. The chair father had carved for me, and that big portrait is father. This case has miniatures of them both, but it is too big ever to wear."

"What a pity!"

It was a beautifully engraved gold case, set with jewels.

"Well, you are a lucky girl! And you can have all these yourself. You just don't have to share them with anybody. Is the room truly yours?"

"Why, it is to put my things in, but anybody can come in it, and we can go in the other room. Most of those articles were Cousin Chilian's father's and mother's, and the great clock in the hall came over in 1640. It's funny;" and she laughed. "Old furniture and quilts and things never get cross and queer as folks sometimes do."

"Well, they're not really alive."

"And they last so much longer than folks."

They had not inspected all the things when Miss Winn invited them out to supper. She took the head of the table, and began to talk so that they should not feel embarrassed. The lovely old china was on the table, and two vases of flowers that looked as if they were set with gems. 'Mimy passed the plates of bread and butter and cold meats and cottage cheese, and after a little they all began to talk as if it was recess at school.

Mr. Chilian Leverett passed through the sitting-room and thought it was really an enchanting sight, and that Cynthia was the prettiest girl of them all.

People had not thought up ice cream in those days, but they made lovely custards, baked in cups with handles, and a tiny spoon to eat them with. They were the last of the tea.

Then they went into the front parlor, which was the larger and played fox and geese, and blind-man's buff in a ring. Oh, Elizabeth, it was enough to disturb your rest to have those merry feet twinkle over the beautiful rug, when you scarcely dared walk tiptoe for fear of crushing the soft pile. But they had a grand, good time.

Then Mr. Leverett brought in Cousin Eunice, who had a bit of white at her neck and wrists, and a lavender bow on her cap. She had protested against the bow, but Miss Winn had carried her point.

Mr. Leverett set them to doing some amusing things he had resurrected from his own boyhood. Catches on words, such as "Malaga grapes are very good grapes, but the grapes of Oporto are better." And then, "A hen, a hen, but not a rooster. Can you say _that_?" They were greatly puzzled and looked at Cynthia, who was silently smiling, saying it over in every manner, until at last one girl almost shrieked out, "_That_," and there was a chorus of laughter.

At nine o'clock they were bidden to come home. Some of them were sent for and those who lived near together went in a group. Ben Upham came for his sisters.

"I don't see why they couldn't have had boys," said Ben to Polly. "Ever so many of us would have been glad to come."

"Well, we didn't have any real boys' plays. But the supper was elegant. And 'Mimy waited so nicely. Cynthia's going to have the back parlor for hers, and Mr. Leverett has bought a new spinet. And she has the most beautiful things----"

"Oh, yes, I've seen those;" rather impatiently.

"And Mr. Leverett's just splendid!"

"I always told you so;" somewhat grumpily. "But I'd rather be up in the study with him and Cynthy than to go to half a dozen parties."

"Oh, we weren't in the study at all."

"No, that isn't for girls." So he had scored one, after all.

It was the general verdict when the tea party was talked over that Cynthia Leverett was in a fair way of being spoiled. A man didn't know how to bring up a girl, and, of course, Miss Winn let her have her own way. Miss Eunice had given in to her sister so long that she gave in to every one else.

Friends went to call and found the children had not exaggerated. Now and then a neighbor was asked in to supper, and found Cynthia a nice, modest girl, with no airs of superiority.

They had some journeys about. They went up to the bay of Fundy and cruised around, chatting with fishermen and French settlers in their odd costumes, looked at their funny little huts, and were amazed at the children rolling round in the sand and the sun. Cousin Chilian talked to them, but their language was a sort of patois difficult to understand.

After that Cynthia was much interested in the French and English war. And the whole country was watching the Corsican who had made himself master of half of Europe.

"It is a wonderful world," Cynthia said when they were safe in the study again. "And I wonder if it is narrow and selfish to be glad that you are just you?"

He was amused at the idea. But he couldn't recall that he had ever been anxious to change with any one.

"And that _you_ are just _you_. I couldn't like any one else as well, not even Cousin Giles, and I do like him very much."

Chilian felt a rise of color stealing up his cheek. The preference was sweet, for Cousin Giles was extremely indulgent to her, and he was not a child enthusiast either.

In those days no one supposed parents and friends were put in the world purposely for children's pleasure. They didn't even consider they came for _their_ pleasure. It was right to have them, they were to be the future men and women, workers, legislators, and homemakers. They didn't always have easy times, nor their own way, and they were not thought to be wiser than their parents, even in the choice of professions for life. But there were many fine brave fellows among the boys, and the girls went on, making pretty good wives and mothers. If life did not bring them just what they wished, they accepted it and did the best they could.

Anthony Drayton came to make Cousin Chilian a visit and pass an examination for Harvard. With a little help he had worked his way through the academy. He was one of the brave, resolute boys, and, though it grieved him to go against his father's wishes, he had decided for himself.

"I really could not bury myself on a farm," he confessed. "I want a wider life, I want to mix with men and take an interest in the country. Not that I despise farming, and if one could branch out and do many new things, but to keep on year after year in the old rut, corn and potatoes, wheat and rye--just as grandfather did. What is the use of a man living if he can't strike out some new ways? Maybe I'd been willing to go to the new countries, but father was just as opposed to that."

He was a fresh, fair lad, with eyes of the Leverett blue, a strong, fine face, not delicate as Cousin Chilian's. His hair was not very dark, but his brows well defined, and with the eyelashes much darker than the hair. His voice had such a cheerful uplift.

"You have quite decided then?" Chilian wondered if he could ever have gone against his father's wishes, but in that case father and son had similar tastes.

"Oh, yes; I've nothing farther to look for, and I'm willing to leave my share to the other children. I know I can make my way, and I'm ready to work and wait."

His voice had such a nice wholesome ring that it inspired you with faith in him.

Cousin Eunice took a great fancy to him. They talked over the visit of years ago. It seemed to her as if it had just been the beginning of things.

One sister was grown up and "keeping company," the other a nice handy girl. The next brother would be a great help--he cared nothing for books. Both of the Brent cousins were married, one living on the farm with his mother, the other having struck out for himself. And Miss Eliza Leverett was weakly. Like many women of that period, when all hope of marrying and having a home of her own was past, she sank down into a gentle nonentity and dreamed of Cousin Chilian. Not that she had expected to captivate him, but life with some one like that would set one on the highest pinnacle.

He thought Cousin Cynthia--they were always cousins, to the fourth generation--was the sweetest, daintiest, and most winsome thing he had ever seen--and so she was, for his acquaintance with girls had been limited. They looked over the old treasures in the house and thought it wonderful any one should ever go to India and return without being wrecked. They walked about the lovely garden, and he was amazed at her familiarity with flowers and plants he had never seen.

Then she took him over to the Uphams, for an old friend came in to play checkers with Cousin Chilian. Polly was bright and merry, but somehow Ben seemed rather captious. Anthony listened with surprise at the bright sayings they flung at one another.

The next day he and Cousin Chilian went over topics for examination. His reading had not been extensive but thorough. In mathematics he was excellent. But he found some time to chat with Cynthia, and they both walked down to the warehouse with Cousin Chilian.

What a sight it was! He had read of such things, but to see the hundreds of busy men, the great fleet of vessels, the docks piled with all kinds of wares, the boxes and bales lying round in endless confusion. And the great ocean, lost over beyond in the far-off sky.

When the two had gone up to Boston, Cynthia felt very lonely. She had been sipping the sweets of unspoken admiration. She saw it in the eyes, in the deference, as if he was almost afraid of her, in the sudden flush when she turned her eyes to him. It was a new kind of worship.

She went over to the Uphams.