Sometimes food was hung down the well, country fashion, to keep cool. It was a sad day when the leg of mutton dropped in, since herculean efforts were required to bring it up. It was naturally mutton which made this unlucky descent, for at that time the local butcher kept little else. Sometimes my father had beef sent down by freight from Boston—only to have it seized by the agents of Kinsley’s express and carried to their office. This delayed the meat in transit and obliged us to pay express charges without express benefit. For this company did not deliver goods at Lawton’s Valley, nor did we desire to have them do so. Hence much friction between Kinsley’s express and my father.
Rhode Island mutton and lamb are, or were, very good. One day an old friend of my mother’s drove out from Newport and was invited to stay to midday dinner.
The feelings of the hostess can be imagined when the guest oracularly observed, “My grandfather Gray could never eat lamb, and I never can!”
Fortunately there was a little chicken to help out the situation. The words of Grandfather Gray became a byword in our family. Our house was not in the valley itself but stood half-way down the slope of a hill, being thus protected from the wind that blows constantly over the island. Mr. C——, who sold the place to my father, was the victim of the drink habit. Finding him lying prostrate on the ground, much the worse for liquor, father poured away the contents of the jug standing near, and led away the man’s horse, so that he would be obliged to sober up before starting to get a fresh supply of rum.
Some Lowestoft ware marked with the family initials and some good old furniture, which we bought, showed that the family had seen better days.
The inhabitants of the island, with some notable exceptions have suffered from an insular habit of intermarriage. This has, we will hope, lessened with the invasion of Rhode Island by outlanders, bringing prosperity with them. Not long ago, however, when a man or woman married “off the island,” it was mentioned with a certain regret, as being not quite the thing to do. The methods of cultivating the soil were surprisingly primitive. It was very much run down, the principal fertilizer being deceased fish. Car-loads of menhaden were scattered broadcast over the fields, and left there to rot. Oh, how they smelled to heaven! We did not cultivate our land after this fashion, but, alas! our neighbors did! Fortunately, menhaden became valuable for other purposes and their use as a fertilizer was abandoned.
As Rhode Island was founded by excellent but visionary people, refugees from the stern, logical rule of the Puritans, its laws are peculiar. On a Fourth of July in the ’Sixties, I inquired for brandy at an apothecary shop in Newport.
“I’m sorry I can’t let you have any, but the laws of the state forbid the sale of liquor to females,” said the salesman. My mortification may be imagined! On my explaining that the brandy was wanted, not for “reveling,” but for covering preserves, he kindly sold me some alcohol, declaring it to be “just as good” for my purpose.
Shortly afterward, my purse disappeared, and by the advice of friends I had the loss proclaimed by the town crier—a quaint old figure with his long beard and prehistoric hat. He alternately rang an immense bell and “cried” the lost article. His fee was a modest one, but I never recovered the purse. Was he recommended to me as a joke?
Summers at Lawton’s Valley were always delightful, but we especially enjoyed them when Aunt Louisa Crawford brought her children to stay at a neighboring farm-house. Marion Crawford, the novelist, was about two years old when they first came. With his three elder sisters, Annie, Jennie, and Mimoli, we had many merry times. Wading in the valley brook was a favorite pastime. As the stones were very slippery, we frequently fell down, and then appeared at the valley home a dripping crowd of little girls. As the farm where the Crawfords lived was some little distance away, our mother felt it to be her duty to provide raiment for her nieces as well as for her own children. She found these double drafts upon our wardrobe rather trying. Annie, the eldest daughter, was full of talent. We were inseparable companions and had a studio where we painted dolls and sets of jewelry—all on paper.