FIVE POUNDS OF CINNAMON.
hey don’t name girls “Roxy,” and “Polly,” and “Patty,” and “Sally,” nowadays; but when the little miss who is my heroine was a lady, those short, funny old names were not at all old-fashioned. “Roxy,” especially, was considered a very sweet name indeed. All these new names, “Eva,” and “Ada,” and “Sadie,” and “Lillie,” and the rest of the fanciful “ies” were not in vogue. Then, if a romantic, highflown young mamma wished to give her tiny girl-baby an unusually fine name, she selected such as “Sophronia,” “Matilda,” “Lucretia,” or “Ophelia.” In extreme cases, the baby could be called “Victoria Adelaide.”
In this instance baby’s mother was a plain, quiet 049woman; and she thought baby’s grandmother’s name was quite fine enough for baby; and so baby was called “Roxy,” and, when she was ten years old, you would have thought little Roxy fully as old-fashioned as her name.
I think it is her clothes that makes her image look so funny as she rises up before me. She herself had brown hair and eyes, and a good country complexion of milk and roses—such a nice complexion, girls! You see she had plenty of bread and milk to eat; and a big chamber, big as the sitting-room down stairs, to sleep in—all windows—and her bed stood, neat and cool, in the middle of the floor; and she had to walk ever so far to get anywhere—it was a respectable little run even out to the barn for the hens’ eggs; and it was half a mile to her cousin Hannah’s, and it was three quarters to school, and just a mile to the very nearest stick of candy or cluster of raisins. Nuts were a little nearer; for Roxy’s father had a noble butternut orchard, and it was as much a part of the regular farm-work in the fall to gather the “but’nuts” as it was to gather the apples.
Don’t you see, now, why she had such a nice complexion? But if you think it don’t quite account for such plump, rosy cheeks, why, then, she had to chase ever so many ways for the strawberries. Not a strawberry 050was raised in common folks’ gardens in those days. They grew mostly in farmers’ meadows; and very angry those farmers used to be at such girls as Roxy in “strawberry time”—“strawberry time” comes before “mowing,” you know—for how they did wallow and trample the grass! Besides, the raspberries and blackberries, instead of being Doolittle Blackcaps, and Kittatinnies, and tied up to nice stakes in civilized little plantations, grew away off upon steep hill-sides, and in the edges of woods, by old logs, and around stumps; and it took at least three girls, and half a day, and a lunch-basket, and torn dresses, and such clambering, and such fun, to get them! Of course Roxy had red cheeks, and a sweet breath, and plump, firm white flesh—so white wherever it wasn’t browned by the sunshine.
But otherwise she certainly was old-fashioned, almost quaint. Her hair was braided tight in two long braids, crossed on her neck, and tied with a bit of black thread; there was a pair of precious little blue ribbons in the drawer for Sundays and high days. Roxy’s mother would have been awfully shocked at the wavy, flowing hair of you Wide Awake girls, I assure you!
And Roxy’s dress. You never saw a “tow and linen” dress, I dare say. Roxy’s dresses were all 051“home-made”—not merely cut and sewed at home; but Roxy’s father raised the flax in the field north of the house, and Roxy’s mother spun the flax and tow into thread upon funny little wheels. Then she colored the thread, part of it indigo blue, and part of “copperas color,” and after that wove it into cloth—not just enough for a dress, but enough for two dresses for Roxy, two for herself, and some for the men folks’ shirts, besides yards and yards of dreadfully coarse cloth for “trousers;” and perhaps there was a fine white piece for sheets and pillowcases. Bless me! how the farmers’ wives did work eighty years ago!
And how that “blue and copperas check” did wear, and how it did shine when it was freshly washed and ironed! Only it was made up so ungracefully—just a plain, full skirt, plain, straight waist, and plain straight sleeves. You never saw a dress made so, because children’s clothes have been cut pretty and cunning for a great many years. Roxy’s dresses were short, and she wore straight, full “pantalets,” that came down to the tops of her shoes; for Mrs. Thomas Gildersleeve would have thought it dreadful to allow her daughter to show the shape of her round little legs, as all children do nowadays.
To finish up, Roxy wore a “tie-apron.” This was 052simply a straight breadth of “store calico,” gathered upon a band with long ends, and tied round her waist. Very important a little girl felt when allowed to leave off the high apron and don the “tie-apron.”
The first day she came to school with it on, her mates would stand one side and look at her. “O, dear! you feel big—don’t you?” they would say to her. Maybe she would be obliged to “associate by herself” for a day or so, until they became accustomed to the sight of the “tie-apron,” or until her own good nature got the better of their envy.
A “slat sun-bonnet,” made of calico and pasteboard, completed Roxy’s costume on the summer morning of an eventful day in her life. It was drawn just as far on as could be. It hid her face completely. She was pacing along slowly, head bent down, to school. It was only eight o’clock. Why was Roxy so early?
Well, this morning she preferred to be away from her mother. She was “mad” at both her father and mother. “Stingy things!” she said, with a great, angry sob.
About that time of every year, June, the children were forbidden to go indiscriminately any more to the “maple sugar tub.” The sweet store would begin to lessen alarmingly by that time, and the indulgent mother would begin to economize.053
Every day since they “made sugar,” Roxy had had the felicity of carrying a great, brown, irregular, tempting chunk of maple sugar to school. She had always divided with the girls generously. Her father did not often give her pennies to buy cinnamon, candy, raisins, and cloves with; so she used to “treat” with maple sugar in the summer, and with “but’nut meats” in the winter, in return for the “store goodies” other girls had.
For a week now she had been prohibited the sugar-tub. This morning she had asked her father for sixpence, to buy cinnamon. She had been refused. “Stingy things!” she sobbed. “They think a little girl can live without money just as well as not. O, I am so ashamed! I’d like to see how mother would like to be invited to tea by the neighbors, and never ask any of them to her house. I guess she’d feel mean! But they think because I am a little girl, there’s no need of my being polite and free-hearted! Polly Stedman has given me cinnamon three times, and I know the girls think I’m stingy! I’m so ashamed!” And Roxy’s red cheeks and shining brown eyes brimmed up and overflowed with tears.
Poor little Roxy! she herself had such a big sweet tooth! It was absolutely impossible for her to refuse a piece of stick cinnamon or a peppermint drop. 054Yesterday she had told the girls she should certainly bring maple sugar to-day. She meant to, too, even if she “took” it. But there her mother had stood at the broad shelf all the morning, making pies and ginger snaps, and the sugar-tub set under the broad shelf. There was no chance. She finally had asked her mother.
“No, Roxy; the sugar will be gone in less than a month. You children eat more sugar every year than I use in cooking. It’s a wonder you have any stomachs left.”
“I promised the girls some,” pleaded Roxy.
“Promised the girls! You’ve fed these girls ever since the sugar was made. Off with you! What do you suppose your father’d say?”
Roxy wouldn’t have dared tell her father. He was a stirring, hard-working man, that gave his family all the luxuries and comforts that could be “raised” on the farm; but bought few, and growled over what he did buy, and made no “store debts.” It was high time, in fact, that Roxy’s indulgent mother should begin to husband the sugar.
Roxy saw there would be no chance to “take” the sugar; so she had mournfully started off. Is it strange that so generous a girl would have stolen, if she could? Why, children, I have seen many a man 055do mean, wrong, dishonest deeds, in order to be thought generous, and a “royal good fellow,” by his own particular friends; and Roxy would a thousand times rather have “stolen” than to have faced her mates empty-handed this morning. She walked on in sorrowful meditation. She thought once of going back, to see if there were eggs at the barn—she might take them down to the store, and get candy. But she remembered they were all brought in last night, and it was too early for the hens to have laid this morning.
As she pondered ways and means in her little brain, a daring thought struck her. That thought took away her breath. She turned white and cold. Then she turned burning red all over. Her little feet shook under her. But, my! What riches! What a supply to go to! How they would envy her!
“I don’t care—so. They needn’t be so stingy with me! And Mrs. Reub uses so much such things I don’t believe it will ever be noticed in the ‘account’—and, any way, it’ll be six months before he settles up. Nobody will know it till then, and maybe—maybe I shall be dead by that time, or the world will burn up!”
With these comforting reflections, Roxy straightened up her little sun-bonneted head, doubled her 056little brown fists, and ran as hard as she could—and Roxy could outrun most of the boys. On she ran, past the school-house—it was not yet unlocked—right on down to the village. She slacked up as she struck the sidewalks. She walked slower and slower, to cool her bounding pulses and burning skin.
Still her cheeks were like two blood-red roses as she walked into the cool, dark, old stone store; but for some reason, mental, moral, or physical, while her cheeks remained red, her little legs and arms grew stone cold and stiff, and spots like blood came before her eyes, and a great ringing filled her ears, as Mr. Hampshire, the merchant himself, instead of his clerk, came to wait upon her. “And what will you have, Miss Roxy—some peppermints?”
“No, sir. If you please, Mrs. Reuben Markham wants two pounds of raisins, and five pounds of cinnamon, and you are to charge it to Mr. Markham.”
It was strange, but her voice never faltered after she got well begun. However, for all that, Mr. Hampshire stared at her. “Five pounds of cinnamon, did you say, sis?”
“Yes, sir, if you please,” answered Roxy, quietly, “and two pounds of raisins.”
So Mr. Hampshire went back, and weighed out the cinnamon and raisins, and gave them to her. She 057was a little startled at the mighty bundle five pounds of stick cinnamon made; but she took them and went out, and Mr. Hampshire went back and charged the things to Mr. Reuben Markham.
Miss Roxy went speeding back to the school-house with her aromatic bundle. Her face was fairly radiant. She had no idea five pounds of cinnamon were so much. O, such a lot! She had made up her mind what to do with it. She couldn’t, of course, carry it home. She had no trunk that would lock, or any place safe from her mother’s eyes. But in the grove, back of the school-house, there was a tree with a hollow in it. By hard running she got there before any of the scholars came. She put her fragrant packages in, first filling her pocket, and then stopped the remaining space with a couple of innocent-looking stones.
Such a happy day as it was! She found herself a perfect princess among her mates. She “treated” them royally, I assure you. Everybody was so obliging to her all day, and it was so nice to be able to make everybody pleased and grateful! Both the day of judgment and the dying day were put afar off—at least six months off.
Meantime, during the forenoon, Mr. Hampshire kept referring to the idea that any one could want five pounds of cinnamon at one time. Still, little Roxy
059was Mrs. Reub Markham’s next neighbor, and it was perfectly probable that she should send by her.
Some time in the afternoon Mr. Reuben Markham came down to the store. He was a wealthy man, jolly, but quick-tempered. Mr. Hampshire and he were on excellent terms. “How are you, Markham? and what’s your wife baking to-day?”
“My wife baking?”
“Yes. I concluded you were going to have something extra spicy. Five pounds of cinnamon look rather suspicious. Miss Janet’s not going to step off—is she.”
“I’m not in that young person’s confidence. I should say not, however. But what do you mean by your five pounds of cinnamon?”
“Why, Mrs. Gildersleeve’s little girl was in here this morning, and said Mrs. Markham sent for five pounds of cinnamon and two of raisins.”
“Mrs. Gildersleeve’s girl? I know Mrs. Markham never sent for no such things. She knew I was coming down myself this afternoon.”
He followed Mr. Hampshire down the store to the desk. There it was in the day-book:—
| “Reub Markham, Dr., per Roxy Gildersleeve. | ||||
| To | 5 | pounds | cinnamon, 40c., | $2 00 |
| “ | 2 | “ | raisins (layer), 20c., | 40 |
That Mr. Reub Markham swore, must also be set down against him. He drove home in a red rage. Through the open school-house door, little Roxy Gildersleeve saw him pass; but her merry young heart boded no ill. Her mouth was tingling pungently with the fine cinnamon, and in her pocket yet were eight moist, fat, sugary raisins, to be slipped in her mouth one by one, four during the geography lesson, four during the spelling lesson.
As it happened, Mr. Gildersleeve was cultivating corn in a field that fronted the highway. He and his wealthier neighbor were not on the best of terms. A line fence and an unruly ox had made trouble. Mr. Gildersleeve had sued Mr. Markham, and beat him; and Mr. Gildersleeve didn’t take any pains now to look up as he saw who was coming.
But Mr. Markham drew up his horses.
“Hello, Gildersleeve!”
“Hello yourself, Mr. Markham!”
“I say, what you sending your young uns down to the store after things, and charging them to me for? Mighty creditable that, Tom Gildersleeve!”
“Getting things and charging them to you!” Gildersleeve stopped his horse. “What do you mean, Markham?”
“You better go down and ask Hampshire. If you 061don’t, you may get it explained in a way you won’t fancy!”
He whipped up his horses and drove off, leaving Mr. Gildersleeve standing there, gazing after him as if he had lost his senses. After a moment he unhitched his horse from the cultivator, mounted him, and rode off toward the village.
School was out. Roxy had reached home. She was setting the table, and whistling like a blackbird. Things had gone so happily at school! Everything was so neat, and pleasant, and cosy at home! She saw her father ride into the yard, and go to the barn. She whistled on.
She sat in the big rocking-chair, stoning cherries, and smelling the roses by the window, when he came into the kitchen.
“Where’s Roxy?” she heard him ask.
“In the other room, I guess,” said mother.
He came in where she was. She looked up; and her little stained hands fell back into the pan. She knew the day of judgment had come. O, she wished it was that other day, the day of death, instead! Her mouth dropped open, the room turned dark.
Mr. Gildersleeve sank down on a chair. His child’s face was too much for him. He groaned aloud. “That one of my children should ever be 062talked about as a thief! What possessed you, Roxy?”
Roxy sat before him, trembling. Not at the prospect of punishment. But she saw her father’s eyes filling up with tears. “Don’t, father,” she said, hurriedly, trying not to cry. “I’ve only eaten a little, and I will carry it all back. If you will pay for what is gone, I’ll sell berries or something, and pay you back the money. Mr. Hampshire is a good man; he won’t tell, father, if you ask him not.”
“You poor, ignorant child!”
He got up and went out, shutting the door after him. Not one word of punishment; but he left Roxy trembling with a strange terror. She shook with a presentiment of some unendurable public disgrace. Setting down the pan of cherries, she crept to the door. She heard her father’s voice, her mother’s sharp exclamations. Then her father said, “To think our girl should sin in such a high-handed way! Mother, I’d rather laid her in her grave any day! That hot-headed Markham will not rest until he’s published it from Dan to Beersheba. She’s only a child, but this thing will stick to her as long as she lives.”
Her mother sobbed. “Our poor Roxy! Tom, if the school children get hold of it, she will never go another day. The child is so sensitive! I don’t know 063how to punish her as I ought. I can only think how to save her from what is before her.”
O, how Roxy, standing at the key-hole, trembled to see her mother lean her head on her father’s shoulder and sob, and to see tears on her father’s cheeks! O, what a wicked, wicked girl! It was thieving; in some way it was even worse than that; as if she had committed a—a forgery, maybe, Roxy thought. She was conscious she had done something unusually daring and dreadful.
She stole off up stairs, shut herself in, and cried as hard as she could cry. Afterward her little brain began to busy itself in many directions. She tried to fancy herself shamed and pointed at, afraid to go to school, afraid to go down to the store, ashamed to go to the table, with no right to laugh, and play, and stay around near her mother, never again to dare ask her father to ride when he was going off with the horses.
So lonely and gloomy, she tried to think what it was possible to do. At last, as in the morning, a daring thought occurred to her suddenly. She made up her mind in just one minute to do it.
When her mother called, she went down to supper at once. The boys were gone. Nobody but she and father and mother; and the three had very red eyes, and said nothing, but passed things to each other 064in a kind, quiet way, that seemed to Roxy like folks after a funeral—perhaps it did to the rest of them. Roxy was fanciful enough to think to herself, “Yes, it is my funeral. We have just buried my good name.”
Silently, one with a white face, the other with a red one, Roxy and her mother did up the work. Then Roxy went up to her room again. She took a sheet of foolscap, and made it into four sheets of note paper. She wrote and printed something on each sheet, and folded all the sheets into letters. Then she went down stairs. Two of the little letters she handed to her mother. Then, bonnet in hand, she stole out the front door. At the gate she looked down the road toward the village, up the road toward Mr. Markham’s. She started toward Mr. Markham’s. She got over the road marvelously; for the child was wild to get the thing over with. She was going up the path to the house when she saw Mr. Markham hoeing in the garden. She went to him, thrust a note into his hand, and was off like a dart.
It was a long, hard, lonely run down to the village. How lonely in the grove at the hollow tree! How like a thief, with the bundles openly on her arm! No little girl’s pocket would hold them, nothing but a great Judas-bag. She went straight to the stone store. 065It was just sunset. How thankful she was to find nobody in the store but Mr. Hampshire himself, reading the evening paper. He looked up, and recognized the red little face. He glanced at the bundles as she threw them, with a letter, down on the counter, and whisked out through the door. He called after her, “Here, here, Roxy; here, my dear! Come back. I have some figs for you!”
But no Roxy came back. He heard her little heels clattering down the sidewalk fast as they could go. So he got up and read the letter, for it was directed to himself.
Here are the four notes Roxy wrote:—
“Dear Father: I Will paye you every Cent if I Live. I shall always be a Good Girl, and never hanker after Only what I have Got. Please forgive Me, and Not Talk It Over with Mother. It will make her Sick. Roxy.”
“Dear Mother: Please love me until I am Bad once More. If I ever, Ever, should be Bad again, then you may give me Up. Don’t get Sick. Roxy.”
“Mr. MarkHam: I have been Very Wicked. I have made father and Mother wretched. I am sorry.
066Please don’t be Hard on Me, and Set every body against me, because My Mother would settle right down and be very Sick. I am only a Little girl, and a Big Man might let me go. I have taken the Things back to the Store. Also father has Paid for them. You may Want something some day, and do Wrong to get it, and Then you will know How good it is. R. Gildersleeve.”
“Mr. HamPshire: Please Not tell the folks that come into the Store what I did. I want a Chance to be good. If you Ever hear of my stealing again, Then you can tell, of course. R. Gildersleeve.”
And here is what they said:—
Mr. Gildersleeve (crying). “Here, mother, put this away. Never speak of it to her. Poor child, I did mean to whip her!”
Mrs. Gildersleeve (crying). “Bless her heart, Tom, this is true repentance! Our child will not soon forget this lesson. Let us be very good to her.”
Mr. Markham (laughing). “Young saucebox! But there’s true grit for you! Well, I don’t think I shall stoop to injure a child. Let it go. I’m quits with Tom now, and we’ll begin again even.”
Mr. Hampshire (laughing). “She’s a nice little 067dot, after all. I don’t see what possessed her. I’d like to show this to Maria; guess I won’t, though, for it is partly my business to keep the little name white.”
And none of them ever told. When Roxy was an old woman, she related to me the story herself. The name was kept white through life. Such a scrupulous, kindly, charitable old lady! The only strange thing about her was, that she never could eat anything flavored with cinnamon, or which had raisins in it.
