A Little Girl in Old Salem by Amanda Minnie Douglas (well read books TXT) 📕

real service?

He finished his talk with Miss Winn. Cynthia was hopping over some coils of cable, and he watched her agile, graceful movements, half smiling.

"Come and tell me good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "I am going in to Boston."

"In a vessel?"

"No; though I suppose that would be possible. I am late for the stage, and must go on horseback."

"Where is Boston?"

"Oh, some eighteen miles--rather southerly. It is a big city, and the capital."

"When are you coming back?" with a daintily anxious air.

"Oh, by supper-time."

"Well;" nodding.

"What shall I bring you?"

"Nothing at all. We have twice too much now, Rachel says. Only--be sure to come back."

"If I did not, what then?"

"If you did not come back, I should go to India with Captain Corwin. I like Miss Eunice a little, but your other lady doesn't want me," she replied with a frankness that was amusing, it was so free from malice.

"Good-bye until to-night, then."

She put her hand in his. Then she reached up tiptoe. "Kiss me," she said. "Father always did and he said, 'Be a good girl.'"

"Be a good girl." Chilian kissed the soft red lips and then went his way. There was not much caressing in the restrained New England nature of that day, especially among those who had grown up with few family ties. His mother had died while he was yet quite a boy.

"Let us go back now," said Rachel presently. "I believe I have found all our goods. Miss Leverett will be appalled."

The child repeated the word. "What does it mean?" she asked.

"Astonished, surprised."

"Why, _they_ have a houseful of things;" in protest.

"Then there is the less room for ours."

"But there is ever so much room in the garret."

"I almost wish we were going to live by ourselves in a little house, like some we saw yesterday."

"Who would cook the dinner and wash the dishes?"

"Oh, I could;" laughing.

"Only us two? It would be lonesome."

"We are not likely to."

"Don't go straight home. Let us find the market again. I didn't half see it last night."

"It wasn't night exactly. Yes--we must learn to find our way about, for we cannot stay in all the time. This is Essex Street. Let us turn here."

The market was in its glory this morning. The stalls were ornamented with branches of evergreens, the floors sifted over with sawdust. There were vegetables and meats, but no great variety. There was no sunny south, no swift train to send in delicious luxuries. The cold storage of that day was being buried in pits and being brought out to light as occasion required.

There were other stalls, with various household stores. Iron-holders, tin kettles, whiskbrooms, pins (which were quite a luxury), crockery ware even. Wagons had come in from country places and customers were thronging about them.

The people interested Miss Winn, and the chaffering, the beating down in prices, was quite amusing. Here a woman was measuring some cotton goods from her chin to the ends of her fingers; here sat a cobbler doing odd jobs while some one waited. Altogether it was very entertaining, and it was dinner-time when they reached home.

"Mr. Leverett has gone to Boston," announced Miss Leverett. "We must have our dinner without him."

"Yes, he was down on the ship," said Miss Winn. "Do you often go to Boston?"

"I am much too busy to be gadding about," returned Elizabeth sharply; "though we have connections there, and I once spent several years in the city."

"I don't suppose it is at all like London. Eastern cities are so different--and dirty," she added.

"Boston is very nice, quite a superior place, but we do not consider it much above Salem," Miss Elizabeth said, with an air. "We have nearly all of the East India trade. To be sure, there is Harvard at Cambridge, and that calls students and professors. Cousin Chilian is a graduate. He could have been an accepted professor if he had chosen."

Then the conversation languished. They were hardly through dinner when the next relay of goods arrived.

"Cynthia's desk must go upstairs, I suppose. Her father had it made for her birthday. Will Silas unpack again? There is a small cabinet of teakwood that is beautifully carved. If you could find room in the parlor for that. There were many other fine pieces that will no doubt be sold, and it seems a great pity."

Elizabeth acquiesced rather frigidly, adding, "It is fortunate the house is large, but one seems to accumulate a good deal through generations."

Cynthia went up in the garret with Miss Winn and was full of interest over the old Leverett treasures. Here was the cradle in which Leverett babies had been rocked, an old bit of mahogany nearly black with age.

"How funny!" cried Cynthia, springing into it, and making a clatter on the floor.

"Don't, dear! Miss Elizabeth may not like it," said Miss Winn.

"As if I should hurt it!" indignantly.

"It is not ours."

"But we sit on their chairs, and sleep in their beds, and eat at their table," returned the child. "Do you suppose they do not want us?"

"Our coming is Mr. Leverett's affair, and he is your guardian, so whatever home he provides is right."

"Well, we can have a home of our own when father comes?"

"Oh, yes; when he comes."

"Well, then I shall not mind;" decisively.

Still she peered about among the old things. There were some iron fire-dogs, a much-tarnished frame, with a cracked glass that cut her face in a grotesque fashion, old dishes and kitchen furniture past using, or that had been supplanted by a newer and better kind.

"Oh, dear! this is an undertaking!" declared Miss Winn, with a sigh. "I do not believe you will ever use half these things; there are stuffs enough to dress a queen."

It was beginning to grow dusky before she was through, though the sky was overcast, and there would be no fine sunset. Indeed, the wind blew up stormily. Cynthia had been viewing the place from the windows in the four gables, though she had to stand on a box. There were South River and the Neck and the shipping--the men, hurrying to and fro, looking so much smaller that it puzzled Cynthia. And there was North River winding about, and over beyond the great ocean she had crossed. There was old St. Peter's Church, the new one was not built until long afterward, and smaller places of worship. There was the small beginning of things to be famous later on.

The wind began to whistle about and it grew cool, so they were glad to go down to the cheerful sitting-room, where a fire was blazing on the hearth.

"We shall have a storm to-night," said Miss Eunice, "our three days' storm that usually makes its appearance about this time. Didn't you 'most perish upstairs? And what did you find to interest you?"

Cynthia had brought a stool and sat close to Miss Eunice, leaning one arm on her knee.

"Oh, so many queer things. You don't mind if I call them queer, do you?"

"Oh, no; they _are_ queer. And when we are dead and gone some one will call ours queer, no doubt. But we haven't many. When father died we were on a farm just out of Marblehead. Things were mostly sold at a vendue, for the two boys were going in the army. That was back in '78. Mother and we two girls went to her mother's at Danvers. Elizabeth took up sewing, but there were hard times, for the war stretched out so long, and it did seem as if the Colonies would never gain their cause. But they did. Brother Linus was killed, and later on I had a dear friend lost at sea. Mother died, and we were sort of scattered about till we came here. Cousin Chilian was very good to us. So you see we haven't much to leave, but then we haven't any descendant;" and she gave a soft little laugh. "Elizabeth has mother's gold comb, set with amethysts, and a brooch, and I have the string of gold beads and some rings. A cousin in London sent them to grandmother."

"Eunice, you might set the table," said Elizabeth, rather sharply. "I'm making some fritters. They will taste good this cold night."

"Couldn't I help?" asked Rachel.

"Oh, you must be tired enough without doing any more. It's a good thing you have all your belongings housed. The garret doesn't leak."

"Yes, I am thankful. I really did not think there was so much."

There was a savory fragrance in the sitting-room. Chilian came in, looking weary with his long ride.

"It is almost wintry cold," he said, holding his hands to the fire. "Have you had a nice day, little girl?"

"Yes;" glancing up with a smile.

They did justice to Bessy's nice supper. Chilian had seen Cousin Giles, who sent remembrances to them all, and was coming up some day to see Letty Orne's little girl. Chilian found there was a good deal of business to do. For a while his days of leisure and ease would be over.

Then he brought out a Boston paper and read them some of the news. Miss Eunice went on with her fringe. Elizabeth was knitting a sock for Chilian out of fine linen yarn, spun by herself, and she put pretty open-work stitches all up the instep. For imported articles were still dear, and there was a pride in the women to do all for themselves that they could. Cynthia leaned her head on Rachel's lap and went asleep.

"Do hear that rain! The storm has begun in good earnest."

It was rushing like a tramp of soldiers, flinging great sheets against the closed shutters, and the wind roared in the chimney like some prisoned spirit.

"Wake up, Cynthia, and say good-night."

Elizabeth watched the child. Her theory was that children should be put to bed early and not allowed to lie around on any one's lap. There was always a tussle of wills when you roused them. She drew herself up with a kind of severe mental bracing and awaited the result, glad Chilian was there.

Rachel toyed with the hair, patted the soft flushed cheek, and took the hands in hers.

"Cynthia," she said gently, "Cynthia, dear, wake up."

The child roused, opened her eyes. "I'm so tired," she murmured. "Will we never be done crossing the wide, wide ocean? And where is Salem?"

"We are there, dear, safe and housed from the storm. You have been asleep on my knee. Come to bed now. Say good-night."

She stood the little girl up on her feet and put one arm around her.

It was against Elizabeth Leverett's theories that any child should go off peaceably, with no snarling protest. Chilian raised his book a little, hoping in the depths of his soul there would be no scene.

"Say good-night."

No child of Puritan training, with the fear of the rod before her eyes, could have done better. She said good-night in a very sleepy tone, and slipped her arm about Rachel's waist as they left the room together.

No one made any comment at first. Then Eunice said, in what she made a casual tone: