The latter of which interrogatories George answered by pointing to her name carved at full length at one end, his own initials, in very small characters, appearing beneath.
“It is an Eolian harp,” he said, “it is played upon by the winds, and is a little conjuror—if you should happen to have an acquaintance at sea”—here he looked full in her blushing face with an expression of much feeling, his voice slightly trembling—“and should care to know any thing how he fared, put the harp in the window, and the winds will waft the intelligence across the ocean, and as the strains are in harmony or in discord you may judge of his welfare.”
She replied—“Oh, how much I thank you for it. But I am sure I should not forget you without it—oh, I am sure I should not,” she added, in a lower tone.
He then seized her scissors, which hung at her side by its silver chain, and looking into her face for permission, separated a silken ringlet from her head, and, folding it carefully, placed it in his bosom, then, the evening being somewhat advanced, he took his leave.
When the point of George’s going to sea was first settled, his mother’s lamentations were loud and deep; but at length, when the voyage was engaged, and the time drew near for his departure, as was usual with her when an evil was unavoidable, she bore it as well as any one could, and busied herself with alacrity in his equipments. She made great complaints that he could be allowed but one sea-chest; in which, however, she managed to find room for two plum-puddings, half a dozen minced pies, and a roast-turkey, that he might at least keep Thanksgiving, which was near at hand, if not Christmas, on board the vessel.
On the day before he was to sail, a new idea seemed to strike her. She called Mrs. Wendell, who was present and assisting, as usual, when any thing extraordinary was going on in her aunt’s family; and they both went again to the chest. It had been packed and repacked six times already; but with Amy’s assistance, a closely-folded pile of sea-clothes was once more taken out, and by still closer packing, and a different arrangement, room was made for an oblong pasteboard box. She then went to the high chest of drawers of black mahogany, which stood in frowning majesty in her chamber, and was taking out an article laid with great care in one of the drawers, when her husband, who had thought all was finished, entered to see what more she had found to do.
“High! high! what are you doing with my best cravat with the Brussels lace?” he cried.
“La, Mr. Fayerweather, my dear, you know you never wear it only on great occasions—such as a wedding or so; and there is nobody to be married now, before George comes home. I am going to let him have it, for there’s no time to send to Boston for any; and if any thing should happen, you shall have my best set of lace, which is handsomer than this.”
“I don’t know that; but what upon earth can George do with a Brussels’ laced cravat at sea?”
“Oh, my dear, when he’s in London, you know, he may be invited to dine with the king; and I should want to have him dressed suitably.”