Blanch turned her small, white face toward me, gave me a reproachful glance out of her pale-blue eyes, then drew her shawl closer about her throat, and resumed her gaze in the face of out-doors.
I waited a moment, then pursued, "Rain in town and rain in the country are two reigns, as the histories say. Lilies shrugging up their white shoulders, and roses shaking their pink faces to get rid of the drops; trees lucent green jewels in every leaf; birds laughing and scolding at the same time, casting bright little jokes from leafy covert to covert; brooks foaming through their channels like champagne out of bottles—"
"Never compare a greater thing to a less," interrupted Blanch, severe and rhetorical.
"So you think rain-water is better than champagne?" I asked.
"No matter. Go on with your poetics."
"At this time the apple-trees are pink clouds of incense, and the cherry-trees are white clouds of incense, the maples are on fire; there are fresh light-green sprouts on the dark-green spruces; the flaky boughs of the cedars have put forth pale, spicy buds; and the silver birches glimmer under hovering mists of green. Deer are stealing out of the woods to browse in the openings, and gray rabbits hop across the long, still road, (there is but one road.) The May-flowers are about gone; but dandelions, "spring's largess," are everywhere. Here and there is a clearing, over which the surrounding wildness has thrown a gentle savagery, like lichen over rocks. The people (there are two) live in a log house. They never get a newspaper till it is weeks old, perhaps not so soon, and they know nothing of fashion. If we should appear to them now with our skirts slinking in at the ankles, and puffing out at the waist, with chignons on our heads and hats on our noses, they would run into the house and button the doors. Every thing there is peaceful. Rumors of oppression, fraud, and war reach them not. I should not be surprised if that were one of the places where they still vote for General Jackson. Their most frequent visitors are bears, and wolves, and snappish little yellow foxes. In short, you have no idea how delightful the place is."
"I am not like the Queen of Sheba," says Blanch. "Though the half had not been told me, my imagination would have out-built and out-hung and out-shone Solomon in all his glory. Who are these people?"
"Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Sally Smith. Sally lived with my mother as help when I was a little girl. On my tenth birthday, she gave me my first smelling-bottle, purple glass with a silver-washed screw-top. The season was July, and the day very warm. After holding my precious present in my hand awhile, I opened it, and, in the innocence of my heart, took a deliberate snuff. The result beggars description. When I became capable of thought, I believed that the top of my head had been blown off. You remember in the Arabian Nights the bottle out of which, when it was unstopped, a demon escaped? Well, that was the same bottle. Sally used to boil molasses candy for me; and she has braided my hair and boxed my ears many a time. But mother didn't allow her to box my ears. Thomas lived in our town, and tried to support himself and make a fortune by keeping a market, but with slight success. He was always behindhand, and never got the dinner home till the cook was at the point of distraction. They called him the late Mr. Smith. By and by he and Sally got married, after a courtship something like that of Barkis and Pegotty, and went into the woods to live. My mother made and gave Sally her wedding-cake, one large loaf and four smaller ones. The large one would have been larger if my brother Dick and I hadn't got at it before it was baked and ate ever so much. Did you ever eat raw cake? It is real good. I paid Sally a visit long ago, and she made me promise to come again."
"I dare say it is all moon-shine," said Blanch, rising. "But, here goes."
"Where to?" I exclaimed.