Ofttimes, in bitter winter weather, they passed little bare-foot children on their way to school, carrying their shoes in their cold hands, to put on, in a very elegant manner, at the school-house door; to walk in them would have been wilful extravagance, though their toes were blue with cold! If, by chance, they found a cow lying down, chewing on her morning cud, they would disturb her rudely and make her get up, that they might put their bare feet on the spot she had so nicely warmed for her own comfort.
But better and more prosperous times were coming, and it was not long before shoes were looked upon as a necessity for children, not an extravagance, though they were ever evil-smelling things—the leather being home-tanned and home-cured and needing much greasing at night to keep it soft enough to make the shoes wearable. They made an unseemly clumping on the floor, and were very ugly, but their aim being use, not beauty, this was no drawback.
Sometimes kind and gentle Mistress Hannah Wing rode the Morgan to a quilting bee, or meeting, or to such entertainments as ladies saw fit to attend. She was good to him and made his visits to their barn most pleasant. In the mornings she would come tripping out, her arms full of dew-wet clover or grass, just cut, or she would have a dish of goodies from the kitchen—some carrots or turnips. ’Twas no wonder the horse loved her and called to her, as she drew near, with his affectionate little neigh. He always hoped David might buy him from Hawkins; he loved the Wings and they returned his friendship. And a horse never knows when he may change owners. He can only hope his next one may be the one of his choosing, which does sometimes happen.
The minds of the Vermonters in those days dwelt on higher things than fashions, especially with the men, and the wearing of beavers was not common, unless perhaps the hat was inherited. Hats were so much better made then, and so expensive, that a beaver lasted from thirty to forty years, and was passed on from father to son. In this way it had come to be looked on as frivolous and extravagant to be seen in a new one; if any man had the courage to buy such, he left it out in the weather a few nights to “take that new look off” before he wore it in public.
At this time David Wing was town-clerk, and one day on his return from a trip to Boston, by stage, he brought home something in what was unmistakably a hatbox.
Gossip concerning so important a man soon flew about, and the box became town-talk before the day was over. Women folks came, on one pretext or another, to call on Mistress Wing. Some asked her rule for wheaten cake, others how she made her cheeses, and so on. But it did not take their clever hostess long to find out the true aim of their calls, and being right proud of the hat herself, she took it out of the box and showed it to them all. ’Twas very tall and glossy, and shaped liked the rain barrel; the brim was so low in front it would hide its wearer’s nose completely; suddenly it curved sharply at the sides in the manner of a drawn bow; and, all told, it was an elegant bit of the latest Boston fashion.
’Twas to be worn, Mistress Wing informed her callers, for the first time at meeting the next Sabbath.
Many were the exclamations of “Land sakes!” and “Do tells!” that the sight of the hat provoked, and much pleased was Mistress Hannah to be able to awaken so much admiration for her husband’s taste.
Unfortunately David did not wait until the Sabbath to wear his new hat; had he done so history, in all likelihood, would never have recorded the fact that he had owned a beaver.