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

is. There are very religious people in Hartford, too, who begin on Saturday night. But the men insist upon parties and dinners, and they bring their fashions up from New York. Boston is just as gay in some places, and Jane Morse has had a splendid time this winter going to dances. The gentlemen who come to Mr. King's are so polite, some of them elegant. I envy 'Lecty. It's just the kind of world to live in."

"And I want to hear about your pink silk."

"I left it at 'Lecty's. It was too gay to bring home. It would have frightened everybody. And 'Lecty thinks of going to New York next winter, and if she does she will send for me. I should have had to rumple it all up bringing it home, and I don't believe I'd had a chance to wear it. I have the other two, and Mat thought the blue and white one very pretty. Mat laughs at what he calls Puritanism, and says the world is growing broader and more generous. He is a splendid man too, and though he is making a good deal of money he doesn't think all the time of saving, as Mary and her husband do. He is good to the poor, and generous and kind, and wants everyone to be happy. Of course they go to church, but there is a curious difference. I sometimes wonder who is right and if it _is_ a sin to be happy."

Doris' mind had no especial theological bent, and her conscience had not been trained to keep on the alert.

"It was very nice in him to give it to you. And you must have looked lovely in it."

"Oh, the frock," Betty laughed. "Yes, I did. And when you know you look nice you stop feeling anxious about it. It was just so at Jane's party. But I should have been mortified in my gray woolen gown. Well--the mortification may be good, but it isn't pleasant. I wore the pink silk to the weddings and to some dinners. Dinners are quite grand things there, but they last so long I should call them suppers. And sometimes there is a grand march afterward, which is a kind of stately dancing. It has been just delightful. I don't know how I will settle down and wash and iron and scrub. But I would a great deal rather be in 'Lecty's place than in Mary's, and saving up money to buy farms isn't everything to life. I think the Mannings worship their farms and stock a good deal more than 'Lecty and Mat do their fine house and their money and all."

Her admirers and her conquests she confided to Janie Morse. There was one very charming young man that she liked a great deal, but her sister said she was too young to keep company, and there might be next winter in New York.

It spoke volumes for the wholesome, sensible nature of Betty Leverett that she could take her olden place in the household, assist her mother, and entertain her father with the many interesting events of her gay and happy winter.


CHAPTER XIV

IN THE SPRING

The matter had settled itself so easily that Doris could not find much opportunity for sorrow, nor misgivings for her joy. She could not see the struggle there had been in Uncle Leverett's mind, and the sturdy common sense that had come to his assistance. He could recall habits of second-cousin Charles that were like a woman's for daintiness, and Winthrop Adams had the same touch of refinement and delicacy. It was in the Adams blood, doubtless. Aunt Priscilla had not a large share, but he had noted some of it in Elizabeth. It pervaded every atom of Doris' slender body and every cell of her brain. She never would take to the rougher, coarser things of life; indeed, why should she when there was no need? He had wandered so far from the orthodox faith that he began to question useless discipline.

Winthrop could understand and care for her better. She would grow up in his house to the kind of girl nature had meant her to be. Here the useful, that might never come in use, would be mingled and confused with what was necessary. He had watched her trying to achieve the stocking that all little girls could knit at her age. It was as bad as Penelope's web. Aunt Elizabeth pulled it out after she had gone to bed, and knit two or three "rounds," so as not to utterly discourage her inapt pupil. But Doris had set up some lace on a "cushion," after Madam Sheafe's direction, and it grew a web of beauty under her dainty fingers.

It was not as if Doris would be quite lost to them. They would see her every day or two. And when it was decided that Aunt Priscilla would come he was really glad. Aunt Priscilla's captious talk did not always proceed from an unkindly heart.

Betty made a violent protest at first.

"After all, it will not be quite so bad as I thought," she admitted presently. "I shall go to Uncle Win's twice as often, and I have always been so fond of him. And things _are_ prettier there, somehow. There is a great difference in the way people live, and I mean to change some things. It isn't because one is ashamed to be old-fashioned; some of the old ways are lovely. It is only when you tack hardness and commonness on them and think ugliness has a real virtue in it. We will have both sides to talk about. But if you were going back to England, it would break my heart, Doris."

Doris winked some tears out of her eyes.

She thought her room at Uncle Win's was like a picture. The wall was whitewashed: people thought then it was much healthier for sleeping chambers. The floor was painted a rather palish yellow. There was only one window, but the door was opposite, and a door that opened into the room of Miss Recompense. The window had white curtains with ruffled edges, made of rather coarse muslin, but it was clear, and looked very tidy. Miss Recompense had found a small bedstead among the stored-away articles. It had high posts and curtains and valance of pale-blue flowered chintz. There was a big bureau, a dressing table covered with white, and a looking glass prettily draped. At the top of this, surmounted by a gilt eagle, was a marvelous picture of a man with a blue coat and yellow smallclothes handing into a boat a lady who wore a skirt of purple and an overdress of scarlet, very much betrimmed, holding a green parasol over her head with one hand and placing a slippered foot on the edge of the boat. After a long while Doris thought she should be much relieved to have them sail off somewhere.

There were two quaint rush-bottomed chairs and a yellow stool, such as we tie with ribbons and call a milking stool. A nice warm rug lay at the side of the bed, and a smaller one at the washing stand. These were woven like rag carpet, but made of woolen rags with plenty of ends standing up all over, like the surface of a Moquette carpet. They were considered quite handsome then, as they were more trouble than braided rugs, and so soft to the foot. Some strenuous housekeepers declared them terrible dust catchers.

Doris' delight in the room amply repaid Miss Recompense. She had learned her way about, and could come down alone, now that the weather had grown pleasanter, and she was full of joy over everything. Occasionally Uncle Winthrop would be out, then she and Miss Recompense would have what they called a "nice talk."

Miss Recompense Gardiner was quite sure she had never seen just such a child. Indeed at five-and-forty she was rather set in her ways, disliked noise and bustle, and could not bear to have a house "torn up," as she phrased it. Twelve years before she had come here to "housekeep," as the old phrase went. She had not lacked admirers, but she had been very particular. Her sisters said she was a born old maid. There was in her soul a great love of refinement and order.

Mr. Winthrop Adams just suited her. He was quiet, neat, made no trouble, and did not smoke. That was a wretched habit in her estimation. Cousin Charles used to come over, and different branches of the family were invited in now and then to tea. Cary was a rather proper, well-ordered boy, trained by his mother's sister, who had married and gone away just before the advent of Miss Gardiner. There had been some talk that Mr. Winthrop might espouse Miss Harriet Cary in the course of time, but as there were no signs, and Miss Cary had an excellent offer of marriage, she accepted it.

Cary went to the Latin School and then to Harvard. He was a fair average boy, a good student, and ready for his share of fun at any time. His father had marked out his course, which was to be law, and Cary was indifferent as to what he took up.

So they had gone on year after year. It promised a pleasant break to have the little girl.

The greatest trouble, Miss Recompense thought, would be making Solomon feel at home. Doris brought his cushion, and the box he slept in at night was sent. Warren brought him over in a bag and they put him in the closet for the night. He uttered some pathetic wails, and Doris talked to him until he quieted down. He was a good deal frightened the next morning, but he clung to Doris, who carried him about in her arms and introduced him to every place. He was afraid of Mr. Adams and Cato, his acquaintance with men having been rather limited. After several days he began to feel quite at home, and took cordially to his cushion in the corner.

"He doesn't offer to run away," announced Doris to Aunt Priscilla. "He likes Miss Recompense. Uncle Winthrop thinks him the handsomest cat he has ever seen."

"Poor old Polly! She set a great deal of store by Solomon. I never did care much for a cat, but I do think Solomon was most as wise as folks. I don't know what I should have done last winter when I was so miserable if it had not been for him. He seemed to take such comfort that it was almost as good as a sermon. And sometimes when he purred it was like the sound of a hymn with the up and down and the long notes. I don't believe he would have stayed with anyone else though. Child, what is there about you that just goes to the heart of even a dumb beast?"

Doris looked amazed, then thoughtful. "I suppose it is because I love them," she said simply.

There was a great stir everywhere, it seemed. The slow spring had really come at last. The streets were being cleared up, the gardens put in order, some of the houses had a fresh coat of paint; the stores put out their best array, the trees were misty-looking with tiny green shoots, and the maples Doris thought wonderful. There were four in the row on Common Street; one was full of soft dull-red blooms, one had little pale-green hoods on the end of every twig, another looked as if it held a tiny scarlet parasol over each baby bud, and the fourth dropped clusters of brownish-green fringe.

"Oh,