The carriage soon drew up within the shadow of those beautiful trees which Rupert had already pointed out to his fair young bride, and in a few moments Anna found herself within the walls of her new home, and clasped to the heart of her happy husband, as he fondly impressed upon her brow the kiss of welcome.
Like a bird, from room to room flitted the gay young wife, so happy that tears of tenderness and joy trembled on her beautiful eyelids. True, here were no costly mirrors to throw back the form of beauty—no rich couches of velvet inviting repose—the foot pressed no luxurious carpet, nor did hangings of silken damask enshroud the windows; yet the cool India matting, the little sofa covered with snowy dimity, the light pretty chairs, and thin muslin curtains looped gracefully over windows looking out upon a charming shrubbery, were all infinitely more agreeable to Anna. No doubt, accustomed as she had ever been to all the elegancies of life, the very novelty of simplicity exerted a pleasing influence—still affection must claim its due share in her gratification. When at length every nook and corner had felt her light footstep, and echoed with her cheerful tones, they returned to the little sitting-room, and while the soft evening wind stole through the honeysuckles, and twilight deepened into darkness, the happy pair traced many golden-hued visions, stretching far into the dim future.
Professional duties summoned Rupert from home early the following morning, and Anna was left to her own disposition of time. While the dew-drops yet quivered on the fresh, green grass, she had tripped through the orchard, the meadow, and garden, inhaling the pure morning air, and listening with unspeakable delight to the music of the birds. To her uninitiated view the scene was perfectly Arcadian, where all her visions of rural felicity were to be more than realized. Anna was, perhaps, “born to love pigs and chickens,” for each in turn received a share of attention worthy even the heroine of Willis, and neither did the faithful dog, or more wheedling grimalkin escape her notice.
Somewhat tired at length with her rambles, she returned to the house, and now, for the first time, faint shadows of reality rested upon love’s romance. She was surprised to find the rooms in the same disorder she had left them—her trunks were yet unpacked, and the chamber strewed with all the litter of traveling. She wondered if the maid would never come to arrange things—it was certainly very shocking to have no place to sit down, properly in order. She looked for a bell—she might as well have looked for a fairy wand to summon the delinquent housemaid. That she could do any thing toward a more agreeable at-home-ness was a fact which did not occur to her; so she threw herself upon the sofa, resolving to wait patiently the appearance of the servant. In the pages of a new novel she had already lost her chagrin, when the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and a tall, strapping girl—how unlike the Hebe of her imagination!—putting her head into the room, exclaimed, —
“Well, aint you coming to get up dinner, I should like to know; the pot biles, and he’ll be here in a minute, for it’s e’en a’most noon!”
“Who are you speaking to?” said Anna.
“You must be smart, Miss Forbes, to ask that! Why, I guess, I’m speaking to you; I don’t see nobody else. Maybe you don’t know it’s washing-day; and I aint used to cooking and doing every thing on such days, I can tell you!”
Anna had good sense enough to know that the girl did not mean to be impertinent, so she answered mildly, “Very well, I will come.” And putting down her book, she followed her into the kitchen.
Kitty immediately resumed her station at the wash-tub, leaving her young mistress to solve alone the mysteries of that glowing fire-place, and heedless of her presence, struck up a song, pitching her voice to its highest key, and in the energy of her independence, splashing and swashing the glittering suds far above her head.
Poor Anna looked around despairingly. What was she to do—what could she do! There was the pot boiling, fast enough, to be sure; so fast that the brown heads of the potatoes came bobbing up spitefully against the lid, as if determined to break through every obstacle in the way of their rising ambition. There, too, was a piece of meat, raw and unseemly, stretched out upon a certain machine, ycleped a gridiron, by old housekeepers, yet of whose use or properties Anna was sadly at fault. To extricate herself from her embarrassment she knew she must first crave light, so feeling as if about to address some pythoness of those mysterious realms, she humbly demanded, —