Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.
Opposite Neighbours.—Frontispiece.
"And so, Letty, you are really going to be married?"
OPPOSITE NEIGHBOURS;
OR,
The Two Lives, and their End.
[BY]
[LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY.]
——————————————
PHILADELPHIA:
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
NO. 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.
——————————————
NEW YORK: 599 BROADWAY.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by the
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
CONTENTS.
—————
[CHAPTER I. GOING TO BE MARRIED]
[CHAPTER IV. AUNT EUNICE'S VISIT]
[CHAPTER XII. THE WILL [Part II]
[CHAPTER XIII. MISCHIEF-MAKING]
[CHAPTER XVI. MRS. VAN HORN AGAIN]
[CHAPTER XVIII. A LAST GLIMPSE]
OPPOSITE NEIGHBOURS.
—————
[CHAPTER I.]
GOING TO BE MARRIED.
"AND so, Letty, you are really going to be married?"
Nobody could have mistaken Mrs. Trescott for any thing but a lady, though she was dressed in a very ancient calico wrapper and a gingham apron, and though her sleeves were turned up to her elbows, and her hands stained with the fruit she was paring. Mrs. Trescott was, in housekeeping phrase, "getting ready to do up her quinces," and had chosen that opportunity to hold a little confidential and friendly chat with her chambermaid, Letty Bright, about her future prospects. Letty had lived a long time with Mrs. Trescott, and had won her great regard.
"And so you are really going to be married?"
Letty hung down her head, blushed and smiled, and said she supposed there was no use in denying it.
"No use, indeed!" said Mrs. Trescott. "You silly child, don't you suppose I have had my eyes open for the last six months and more, while John Caswell has been coming and going about the house? No, indeed. And if I had not known John to be a good, steady young man, in every way worthy of you, do you think I would have allowed matters to go so far without at least trying to keep you from throwing yourself away?"
Mrs. Trescott paused a moment, and then continued, in a graver tone:—
"You see, Letty, you have been with me now a long time; and I should naturally take an interest in you, if only for that reason; but that is not all. You have been a very good girl. You have stayed with and helped me in some very trying times, and I have always found you a comfort and a support. It will be hard for me to part with you, Letty; and I should not be at all reconciled to doing so, if I did not think that you were going to settle in life with as reasonable prospects of happiness as fall to the lot of most people. Now, you needn't cry," added Mrs. Trescott,—while her own eyes were full,—"but tell me when this great event is to take place. Next month, I suppose?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," replied Letty, eagerly. "Not before next spring. You see, we want to have a house of our own to go into, and so begin as we mean to keep on."
"A very good plan," said Mrs. Trescott. "Have you any house in view?"
"Why, yes, ma'am; at least, John has,—for I have not seen the place yet. It is on Myrtle Street."
"Myrtle Street? That runs out through the Bronson property, I believe. Rather a new street, isn't it?"
"Rather new," replied Letty; "though there are some pretty places on it already, John can get a double lot there at a very reasonable price, by paying down one-third of the purchase-money. The house is very nice,—or will be when it is finished; and so we shall go at once into a home of our own."
"Do you know any thing of your neighbours?" asked Mrs. Trescott.
"Our opposite neighbour will be my cousin Agnes," said Letty. "She is going to be married very soon, and they have bought Number ten,—directly opposite. Our house is Number nine. I don't know any thing about our next door neighbours, except that John says they have a beautiful garden. He tells me that he never saw so many plants and flowers crowded into such a small space."
"That is a good sign," said Mrs. Trescott. "I like to see people fond of flowers."
"Another reason why I was willing to wait till next spring," continued Letty, "was that I thought I should like to have a little money beforehand,—at least enough to lay in a little stock of sheets and towels and such things, besides my own clothes. You know I haven't been able to save a great deal, so far."
Mrs. Trescott assented. Letty had almost entirely supported a helpless little sister for several years. It had cost her no small degree of self-denial; but she always said the time would come when it would be made up to her: she was not afraid of losing by it. So she went on for several years, buying none but the cheapest bonnets and dresses, and keeping them in wear so long that her cousin, Agnes Train, said she was really ashamed to be seen in the street with her. But little Sally was dead at last, released from a life short indeed in years, but long in suffering; and Letty had the comfort of thinking, as she followed her sister's remains to the grave, that the poor child had never wanted any thing which care and affection could provide to lighten her burden.
"How much have you beforehand?" asked Mrs. Trescott.
"Only ten dollars, ma'am; but with what you owe me I will have fifteen."
"Well," said Mrs. Trescott, "even fifteen dollars will go a good way, when properly managed; and I have a plan in my head which, if you approve, will enable you to earn more."
Letty looked a little alarmed. "I should not like to think of going to another place, Mrs. Trescott, as long as you are suited with me."
Mrs. Trescott smiled. "I am not so unselfish as that, Letty," said she. "But what I was thinking of is this. You know Mrs. Davis is going away next week. We are only two in the family, now that Mr. Trescott is gone; and I have been thinking that we might manage with one girl. Do you think you could undertake the work?"
Letty did not know. She thought she might.
"Of course I shall not expect you to sew," continued Mrs. Trescott, "and I shall help you a good deal myself. You shall have your evenings to yourself; and I will pay you two dollars a week. That will enable you to lay up a nice little sum against the spring; or you can be buying and making up your household linen as you go along. Moreover, you will be learning to cook, and so be better prepared for housekeeping."
Letty considered a little. The work would not be so very hard, after all, and the house was extremely convenient. She would not have so much time to go out; but she did not care about that, so long as she had the evenings to herself. She made a little calculation in her own mind. Two dollars for twenty-five weeks would be fifty dollars. She need be at no present expense for her clothes, since she had bought plain, respectable mourning when Sally died, which she meant to wear all winter. Fifty dollars, with the fifteen already in hand, would do a good deal towards buying the respectable "setting-out" on which she had set her heart. Moreover, as Mrs. Prescott said, she would all the time be acquiring knowledge which would be useful to her as the mistress of a family.
Letty did not look forward to keeping a girl. She knew she should have her own work to do; and she very sensibly thought that the more she knew about housekeeping beforehand, the easier it would be to take the whole responsibility. So she accepted the proposal, with the stipulation that she should be allowed to go to church on Sunday, and to Bible-class, as usual,—to which Mrs. Trescott very readily agreed; and it was understood that she should enter upon her duties the next Monday.
When Letty mentioned this new arrangement at her aunt Train's, whither she usually went to tea every other Sunday afternoon, there was a great outcry. The Trains thought it rather derogatory to their dignity that a niece of theirs should "live out" at all; and they had made many attempts, both direct and indirect, to induce Letty to leave her place and learn a trade, or at least work in the shop, as Agnes did.
But Letty knew when she was well off. She had a comfortable home at Mrs. Trescott's,—far more comfortable, to her mind, than her aunt's house; where, except in the one front room kept for company, nothing ever seemed to be in its place from one year's end to another. She was sure of her wages the year round; whereas Agnes was often out of work for weeks at a time. Moreover, she had a feeling that the company with which Agnes was associated in the rooms where she worked would not please her at all. Mrs. Train said to herself that Letty was a strange girl,—a very obstinate girl, with very little self-respect and many queer notions,—and saved the family dignity by always speaking of her niece as Mrs. Trescott's seamstress. And now here she was actually turning herself into a maid-of-all-work! It was too bad!
"Letty Bright, a'n't you ashamed of yourself?" she exclaimed. "Why, you will be neither more nor less than a kitchen-girl,—a regular drudge! You had better go out to washing, and have done with it!"
"There is no use in talking to Letty, mother," said Agnes. "She will have her own way, you know. But I must say, this is too bad; and all for such a paltry sum, when you might make three times that by working in the shop. Why, I earned six dollars only last week."
"Out of which you had to pay for your board," said Letty,—"to say nothing of streetcar tickets, which use up money very fast. Take out your expenses, and how much are you better off than I am, after all?"
"Nonsense!" said Agnes. "I hate such close calculations. At least I have the pleasure of spending it, and a home of my own."
"So have I," replied Letty,—"and a good home, too."
"Yes,—in a kitchen," sneered her aunt.
"As to that," said Letty, "you and Agnes always sit in the kitchen; don't you? I never remember finding you anywhere else, except when you had company."
"And washing, too!" continued Mrs. Train, not finding it convenient to notice Letty's remark.
"How finely you will feel when John Caswell comes in some morning and finds you up to your elbows in the wash-tub!"
"John never comes in the morning: he is always busy in the shop," said Letty, laughing; "and, besides, he will have to get used to seeing me with my arms in the suds, sooner or later, you know. I don't expect to hire my washing done out of the house: do you, Agnes?"
"John won't care," said Agnes. "He is just such another humdrum body as Letty herself. I don't believe he ever took a holiday, or went to the theatre or circus, in all his life. Only think, mother! He told Joe that he was willing to consent to Letty's notion of putting off their marriage till next spring, because he did not mean to put an article of furniture in his house that was not paid for; and he wished to use what money he had by him in making his payments on the place. There is a romantic lover for you!"
Letty only laughed. She knew very well where John's romance lay; but she did not care to speak about these affairs to her aunt and cousin; and they, seeing that she was not to be moved, began to talk of something else. The new topic, however, was not more fortunate than the other.
"Have you begun to think about winter clothes yet, Letty?" asked Agnes. "I suppose you will wear black, as you don't mean to be married till spring. What bonnet do you mean to have? I saw one which would just suit you, at Smith's,—made of black mode, with beautiful black-and-white flowers, all for five dollars. Wasn't it cheap?"
"Yes, I dare say, if one wanted it," said Letty; "but I don't mean to buy any thing new this fall. I bought two nice new dresses when I put on black; and the black-and-white checked shawl I bought new last winter is perfectly suitable for mourning."
"Well, if ever! And so you mean to wear that black alpaca dress and blanket shawl to church, and everywhere else, all winter!"
"I have a merino, too, you know," said Letty; "and I think the shawl is very nice. It is just like Miss Catherine Trescott's. Mrs. Trescott said she thought it as suitable as any thing I could have."
"Miss Trescott? Yes; but you don't find her wearing hers to church."
"Yes, she does, very often,—in damp and cool weather. And, besides that, Agnes, there would be no sense or propriety in my trying to dress like Miss Trescott. It would not be at all suitable."
"I don't see why. You are as good as she is, any day in the week."
"I am not so sure of that," replied Letty smiling; "but, even if I were, I could not afford it. Miss Catherine's father gives her three hundred dollars a year just for her dress and spending money."
"Does he?" said Agnes. "I never should have guessed that. I am sure that I could dress better than she does, for that money. She is always as plain as a Quaker, when in church. I hardly ever saw her wear any thing but a black silk or a merino."
"Miss Catherine has some beautiful dresses," said Letty; "but both she and her mother always dress plainly in church, because they think it right. I have heard Mrs. Trescott say that she did not like to wear a new dress or bonnet to church, if she could help it. But Miss Catherine does not spend nearly all her money in dress. She buys a good many books and pictures, and spends money on her painting,—besides what she gives away. She made each of her girls in Sunday-school a new cape and hood last winter, all alike, and of new stuff. You don't know how nicely the little things look. But, as I was saying, there would be no sense in my trying to dress like Miss Trescott; and it would be wrong, besides."
"Wrong!" repeated Agnes. "Do you think it any more wrong to wear a pretty dress than an ugly one?"
"No; certainly not. But I think it is always wrong for people to spend so much in dress as to have nothing to spare for any other use. Besides, Agnes, that is not a fair way of putting it. We need not wear ugly or unbecoming things because our dresses are cheap. Pretty calicoes and delaines cost no more than ugly ones."
"But what use have you for money except for dress?" asked her aunt. "You often boast that you have no other expenses."
"Why, you know, while Sally lived I had to care for her—"
"I am not talking about Sally," interrupted Mrs. Train, rather peevishly. "She is dead and gone, poor thing!—all the better for her and for every one else. Moreover, there was never any need of that, either. You might have got her into the Home, or the Hospital, as well as not. It was not as if she had been your own sister. She was no relation to you at all,—only your step-mother's child."
"She was the child of the only mother I ever knew," returned Letty, warmly, "and of one who never let me miss a mother's care so long as she lived; and I would not have left her to be dependent on the charity of strangers,—no, not if I had gone in rags all my life, and worked my fingers to the bone besides. I wish you would not talk about Sally in that way, Aunt Susan. And, now that she is gone, I like to have something for those who are poorer than I am, if it is only for her sake."
"Well, for my part," said Mrs. Train, "I think charity begins at home."
"So do I," replied Letty; "but it need not end there."
"But your bonnet, Letty!" urged Agnes. "Surely you do not mean to wear that black straw, trimmed with bombazine, to church all winter? Do have a new one of some sort."
"I cannot afford it, Agnes; and that is all about it," said Letty, decidedly. "Don't let us talk about such things any more. I do not think it is a very good way of spending Sunday evening. Did you go to church this morning? Dr. Burton preached for us. How did you like him?"
Mrs. Train had not been to church. Agnes had been; but she did not know whether she liked the preacher or not,—though she noticed that he wore a seal-ring, which seemed odd for a minister. She thought the service very long, and the singing not so good as usual. She believed that Mrs. Sampson had on a new India shawl. She thought it looked very odd and affected for Miss Patterson to sit with her Sunday-scholars every Sunday, just as if she wanted every one to see how good she was. The Brown girls had all got new dresses alike,—real Irish poplins, she verily believed. Pretty well, that, for girls who got their living by keeping school. Were their mantles of the same, or of corded silk? She supposed Letty must know, as she sat just behind them.
But Letty did not know. She had been thinking of something besides the Miss Browns. She felt vexed and uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken in spite of her remonstrance, and thought she never would come to her aunt's on Sunday evening again. But they were her only surviving relations, except an old grand-aunt who lived in the country; and she did not like to quarrel with them, though they had so little in common.
Presently John Caswell came in, to go to church with Letty. She had not seen him since she had made the new arrangement; and she had, therefore, told him nothing about it. Mrs. Train, however, pounced upon him at once.
"Well, John, Letty has been promoted. I expect she will soon be too grand to speak to any of us. You did not think you were going to make such a great match as to marry a kitchen-girl, did you?"
John looked somewhat surprised, and turned to Letty for an explanation.
"You have not left your place, have you, Letty? I thought you liked Mrs. Trescott too well to leave her for any one,—"
"Except me," he mentally added.
"I have not left her, and do not intend to leave her at present," said Letty, quietly. "I will tell you all about it, presently. It is time for us to go, isn't it? You know we have a long walk."
John thought it was; and Letty went up-stairs to put on her bonnet. When she came down, she heard her aunt talking very earnestly, and she caught the words "strange, foolish notions," and "drive them out of her," which showed her that her own peculiarities were still the theme of discourse.
"What's the matter, Letty?" said John, as they walked away through the quiet, shady streets. "Your aunt seems to be quite excited on the subject of your misdoings, and declares that you will bring disgrace on the family by your notions. What have you been doing?"
Letty laughed. "Nothing very bad, John. Aunt Train is offended because I have undertaken to do all Mrs. Trescott's work, instead of part of it, as heretofore. She seems to think there is a certain disgrace attached to working in the kitchen, and especially to washing; and she asked me how I thought you would feel to come in, of a morning, and find me with my arms in the wash-tub."
John did not seem to think it would be an unbearable calamity to see Letty at any time of day. He could not perceive that any more disgrace attached to washing than to ironing; and as to cooking, he seemed to consider that a desirable accomplishment. "But what about your dress?" he asked. "Mrs. Train says you do not dress fit to be seen."
"What do you think about it, John?" asked Letty, turning upon him with a grave face, but the least little bit of a laugh in her eye.
John's answer is not recorded; but it may be presumed that Letty was satisfied with it.
Then the two fell into a discourse about their future prospects. Letty often thought how happy it was that she and John were like-minded upon the most important of all subjects. They were sure to draw together there; and, that being the case, she could not fear that they would ever be in danger of serious disagreements.
Indeed, their acquaintance had begun at Mrs. Willson's Bible-class, two years before. They had gone together from Mrs. Willson's Bible-class to the doctor's class, had joined themselves to the people of God at the same time, and still went to church together every Sunday; though John had taken a Sunday-school class, which Letty could not conveniently do. Letty looked forward with pleasure to setting up her household in the fear and love of God,—to daily morning and evening prayers, and Sunday readings of good books, and grace said at a table neatly set for two persons. By the time they reached the church-door, the unpleasant impressions left by her aunt's remarks had passed away, and she felt fully in tune for the sacred services.
Agnes did not go to church; Joseph was not much of a church-goer. Indeed, it may be doubted whether he had been within the walls of any place of worship a dozen times in six years, till he was engaged to Agnes,—when he went sometimes, to please her. Agnes had been a Sunday-scholar as well as Letty, and at one time Mrs. Willson thought her very hopeful; but of late she had grown giddy and careless. She became very irregular in her attendance at Bible-class; and more than once Mrs. Willson had seen such behaviour in church as gave her great pain. At last she spoke to Agnes about the matter,—very gently, indeed, but plainly, as was her duty.
Agnes first denied the charge, and then grew angry; declared she would not be watched and made to give an account of herself like a baby, and at last left the Bible-class altogether. Mrs. Willson was very sorry; but there seemed no more to be done; and she waited and prayed, hoping that Agnes would see the impropriety of her conduct and return to her duty.
In reality, Agnes meant no particular harm; but she was giddy and easily influenced. She was rather unfortunate in being thrown among such a set of girls as those with whom she worked at the shop. There were two or three who took the lead in every thing; and they were extravagant, showy girls, caring for nothing but dress and company, and vying with each other as to who could get the greatest amount of finery out of their limited earnings, and make the gayest appearance in the street. They affected, too, a great deal of independence,—discussed all sorts of subjects with the greatest freedom, not to say flippancy, and had books circulating among them which were any thing but desirable reading.
Agnes used to be shocked, at first, by many things which she saw and heard; but she soon grew accustomed to them, learned to join in the laugh, even when the joke was by no means a delicate one, and to read books in her own room which she was very careful to hide from her mother. She would have liked to go out in the evenings with her companions, running about from store to store and flirting with the shop-boys, or joining in frolics of a still more questionable nature; but this her mother would not permit.
Mrs. Train was not a very wise woman, but she had sense enough to know that it is a great deal easier for a young girl to get a stain upon her reputation than to wash it off again, and that simple imprudence and giddiness may lead her to do things which she will bitterly repent all her life afterwards. So she looked sharply after Agnes's associates, and, in general, kept her pretty well under her own eyes. It was this very care of her mother's, at which Agnes often grumbled and repined, which won the girl her husband, after all.
Joseph Emerson worked in another department of the same factory where Agnes was employed. He was struck at first by her rather quiet manners; and then he began to observe that he never saw her running about in the evenings with the other girls, and discovered that she went to church with tolerable regularity. Joseph was not always perfectly steady himself, and he made no pretence to religion; but, like many other such men, he admired piety in women, and he thought, too, that it was a very good thing for them to stay at home evenings, instead of running about the streets. So he began to pay Agnes various little attentions; and in process of time they were engaged to be married.
Joseph had a good trade; he was a skilful hand, and earned large wages; but he had never laid by a dollar in his life. He was as fond of dress, in his way, as Agnes was in hers. He liked to smoke, and to drive horses, and a visit to the theatre now and then; and thus, without any thing which could properly be called dissipation, his money melted away about as fast as it came, sometimes, indeed, a little faster. He said to himself that he had now a motive for saving, and he meant to be very careful. He really did economize so far as to be able to make a small payment upon his house, and he hoped before spring to be able to furnish it comfortably. He meant that they should board through the winter and go to housekeeping in the spring. So they were to be married the next month; and Agnes was already buying her wedding-dresses.
[CHAPTER II.]
PREPARATIONS.
A FEW days after this Sunday visit, Agnes came round to see Letty, and informed her that the day was set for the wedding.
"I was going to ask you to be bridesmaid, Letty; but mother thought you wouldn't like it, on account of your being in mourning, and all that."
"I understand," said Letty, quietly, as Agnes made rather an awkward pause. "Aunt was quite right. I have no nice dress but a black one,—which would not be at all suitable for a bridesmaid, you know."
"To be sure," said Agnes, briskly, as though relieved from some embarrassment. "That was what we thought. So I have asked Martha Allen. When will you come up and see my dresses, Letty? They are all done,—wedding-dress and all. Mother has been really liberal, I can tell you. She says she is determined that I shall be as nice-looking as a bride the doctor has married this year; and my wedding-dress is lovely,—light blue silk, with short sleeves and a low neck,—blue is so becoming to me, you know,—and a veil, and white flowers for my hair. Won't it be splendid?"
"Very pretty," replied Letty; "but, after all, Agnes, I should rather have bought something which would be useful afterwards. What can you do with such a dress as that?"
"Why, you know, it will do nicely for an evening dress, for a long time; and then it can be coloured. One must have evening dresses, you know."
Letty did not answer. She did not see the necessity of evening dresses for any person in Agnes's position.
"Then I have a black watered-silk, and a plaid silk, and a merino, and a travelling-dress—"
"Travelling-dress!" repeated Letty. "Are you going to travel?"
"Yes; to be sure, child. We are going down East, to see Joseph's friends. When we come back, we are going to the 'Oak House,' to board for the winter. Two weeks from to-day, and then good-by to the old shop forever! But tell me: when will you come up and see my dresses?"
"Saturday afternoon or evening, perhaps," replied Letty. She continued her sewing, thoughtfully, while Agnes chattered on about all sorts of things,—principally about her dresses, and the furniture for their two rooms at the "Oak House," which Joseph had already purchased, and the fine times she expected to have,—boarding, with nothing to do but to amuse herself all day long. Presently she noticed Letty's work.
"What a pile of new muslin!" said she. "Some one has a good piece of work cut out, to make up all this. What very nice cloth it is! I wonder how much Mrs. Trescott gave for it?"
"Fourteen cents a yard," answered Letty. "She bought it for me a few days ago."
"For you!" repeated Agnes, in surprise. "Does Mrs. Trescott do your shopping for you?"
"Sometimes, when I ask her," replied Letty. "She is a better judge than I am, and purchases so much that she gets things to advantage. So, when I need any thing of this kind, I generally ask her to buy it for me. I think this is very nice indeed."
"What is it for?" asked Agnes.
"Pillow-cases," replied Letty, colouring a very little.
"Well, I declare, you are prudent, Letty," said Agnes, laughing. "You mean to begin in good time. I have not bought an article of that kind, yet. I shall have plenty of time when we are boarding to make up such things. How nice and pleasant your kitchen looks! You will make a real good housekeeper,—that's a fact."
"It will not be for the want of good training if I don't," said Letty. "Mrs. Trescott has taken a great deal of pains to teach me; and she is the nicest housekeeper I ever saw."
"I have heard that she was close," remarked Agnes.
"She is economical, but not stingy," said Letty. "She makes the most of things, and will not allow a bit of waste; but she always buys the best, and plenty of it."
"Well, come up on Saturday and see my things," said Agnes.
Letty promised,—and went accordingly. She found her cousin in a bad humour.
"Only think, Letty!" said Agnes. "Martha Allen has gone and bought a blue silk, just the colour of mine, and a great deal handsomer! Hers is corded, and cost two dollars a yard; while mine is only plain silk. She will put me out entirely. Every one will think she is the bride. Isn't it vexatious? I declare, I have a great mind not to be married at all."
"I am glad Joseph does not hear you," said Letty.
"It must have taken all her wages, so that she won't have any thing else decent to wear all winter: that is one comfort," said Agnes, spitefully. "But isn't it vexatious? Now, wouldn't you be vexed, if you were me?"
"I think I should," said Letty; "not for fear of being outshone, but because it does not show a very kind spirit in Martha, after you have been intimate so long. But I am sure, Agnes, your dress is pretty enough for any thing, only so very delicate."
"It is delicate," said Mrs. Train, with something like a sigh. "I was rather unwilling to buy it; but Agnes had set her heart upon it; and, after all, girls don't often get married but once, and I want her to look pretty. You would have looked out for something more useful, I dare say."
Letty thought she should, but said that people must be their own judges in such matters.
"Here is something which will please you better:—this plaid silk," continued Mrs. Train. "Try it on, Agnes, and let Letty see how nicely it fits."
But Agnes would not try it on. Martha's corded silk had put her out of humour with all her own things. She declared that the plaid silk was poor, thin stuff, and looked more like domestic gingham than any thing else; the black silk was only fit for an old woman; and as for the blue, she hated the very sight of it. She wished she had never seen it. She wished she had laid out her money for useful things, like Letty. Where was the use of trying to dress, when some one else was perfectly sure to go beyond you?
"Where, indeed?" said Letty. "But, Agnes, some one is always sure to go beyond you, dress as much as you will. I know I thought Mrs. Trescott's cashmere shawl the very handsomest thing I ever saw till old Mrs. Trescott came; and hers was so much better that it made her daughter's look positively ordinary. I had the curiosity one day to ask Miss Catherine how much it cost; and she said she supposed about 'a thousand dollars.'"
"A thousand dollars!" echoed Mrs. Train and Agnes, in tones of amazement; and Mrs. Train added, "I wish I had half as much as that in the bank, for these children to begin the world upon."
"Yes, indeed: it would be a nice little fortune for one of us," continued Letty. "You know I went to Saratoga once with Mrs. Trescott and Miss Catherine, when Miss Emily was alive. Miss Catherine was anxious—as any young girl would be—to have pretty things to wear; but Mrs. Trescott only laughed, and said, 'You will see so much more dress than you could possibly put on, Kitty, that you will care nothing at all about your own.' And so it proved. Some of the ladies must have spent their whole time in dressing, I think; for they never wore the same dress twice. I heard one lady's maid say that her mistress had brought forty different dresses."
"Only think!" said Agnes. "I always envied you that time."
"You needn't," said Letty, sighing; "for it was a very sad time. We all hoped the water and the pure air would do Emily so much good;—and for a few days she did seem to revive; but she soon was down again, and there was the last hope gone. One could not care much for fine dress and display, with such a sufferer all the time before one's eyes. It used to seem cruel to me, sometimes, to see the people so gay, and hear the band playing, when that dear child was lying almost senseless for hours, or only reviving to fall into another convulsion.
"Some of them were very kind, too. That very lady who had the forty dresses, and who you would think, to see her, cared for nothing else, came to ask Mrs. Trescott if there was any thing she could do to help her; and she cried over Emily as if her heart would break. She told Mrs. Trescott that she had lost two little girls, about Emily's age, three or four years before."
"But do you think, Letty, that people who dress so much really think more about it than others?"
"Yes," replied Letty. "I know they must, unless they are very rich indeed. It takes all their time and thoughts. We had two young ladies staying at our house last winter, who went out a great deal. They were not rich, and made their own dresses; and I never saw them busy with any thing else as long as they stayed. It was a pair of undersleeves to be trimmed, or a flounce to alter, or a thin jacket to be made up,—from morning till night. I know they kept me busy doing up and ironing out, till I wished they were gone. Mrs. Trescott used to try to get them to read, and to be interested about poor people, and so on; but no: they never had any time! Mr. Trescott said, once, it was a pity they had not been apprenticed to a milliner, so as to turn their love of finery to some good account."
Agnes had recovered from her ill humour by this time. She now insisted on trying on all her dresses,—for Letty to see. Letty tried to enter into the spirit of the occasion,—admired and criticized, was laughed at for her ignorance of the fashions, and laughed in her turn.
She finally left Agnes in high spirits, well pleased with every thing, and, apparently, fully convinced that marriage was going to be a cure for "all the ills that flesh is heir to," and looking forward to nothing but sunshine for the rest of her life. No thought of responsibility, no consideration of the sacredness of the engagement into which she had entered, seemed able to divert her attention for a moment. She especially exulted in the idea that she—the youngest of her set—was to be married first of all. "It will be a long time before Martha Allen will get such a good-looking husband, for all her corded silk," were her last words to her cousin.
Letty walked homeward, feeling rather sadly. She had seen too much of fine dresses to be dazzled by Agnes's preparations. She was sorry to see her spending money so foolishly; and she had a feeling that such an expensive wedding was not a very good beginning for two young people who had nothing in the world beforehand. She was sure all this must straiten her aunt very much, with her small income. She was oppressed, too, with Agnes's giddiness. It seemed to her that if ever a girl ought to think seriously, to review her own faults and deficiencies, to feel the need of divine guidance and support, it should be in the week before her wedding-day. She had tried to say something of this kind to her cousin; but Agnes cut her short with a laugh.
"Come, now, Letty; don't preach! You are as bad as Mrs. Willson herself; and I dare say you will look just like her when you are as old,—spectacles and all. One would think I was going to be buried, instead of married."
"I think one is nearly as serious a matter as the other, for my part," said Letty.
"Well, I really believe you do. I wouldn't be so solemn for any thing. I should have no comfort in life if I were always looking at every thing on the shady side. That is always the way with you religious people. You don't take any comfort yourselves, and you don't mean any one else should take any, if you can help it. For my part, I mean to enjoy life all I can, while I have a chance. Trouble comes soon enough, without making it for oneself."
This seemed rather absurd, coming from one who a few minutes before had wished she was not going to be married at all, because Martha Allen had a more expensive dress than her own. Letty saw, however, that it was of no use to try to make any impression upon her cousin at present, and so abandoned the attempt.
"It isn't worth while to talk to her, Letty," said Mrs. Train. "Girls will be girls. She will get sobered fast enough when she comes to know a little of the real cares of life."
The wedding took place at the time appointed, and was a gay affair. Letty wondered, as she looked round upon the dresses of Agnes's companions, how much money they could have left for necessaries. Agnes looked very pretty, and was wonderfully serious for her,—which Letty was very glad to see.
She hoped her cousin realized at last what she was about to do. But Agnes's seriousness proceeded from a very different feeling. She was annoyed and mortified past all endurance. In fact, she was the victim of a conspiracy as spiteful as it was silly. She had boasted a good deal of her wedding preparations; and half a dozen of her companions had determined to revenge themselves by playing her a trick and outdressing her even on her wedding-day.
Martha Allen's corded silk was the beginning of her troubles. But there was Julia Jones in white silk, and Amelia Riley in a beautiful silk-tissue robe with flounces to the waist, and Jane Wilkins in moiré antique (it was not absolutely genuine, perhaps, but looked just as well by candle-light), and half a dozen others, all better dressed than the bride! After all her pains and all her talk!—that was the worst of it. Agnes was quite eclipsed, and that at her own wedding!
To every one but Agnes, the evening seemed to pass off very nicely. The supper was abundant and handsome,—far too much so, Letty thought, as she remembered how her aunt would have to pinch her already spare housekeeping to pay for all these nice things.
Joseph appeared remarkably well. He was good-looking and well dressed, and had very good, though rather stiff, manners; and Letty was especially pleased with his politeness and kindness to his mother-in-law.
Mrs. Train looked tired and sad, as though she found it hard at last to give away her only child; but when any one spoke to her on the subject she expressed herself perfectly satisfied—not to say delighted—with the match.
Letty felt herself, in her plain black dress and crape collar and sleeves, almost out of place in the midst of all this gayety, and was tempted to wish she had not come, especially as she knew very few of the guests. She determined, however, not to be a damper on any one, and exerted herself to talk and be agreeable; in which she succeeded so well that a good many people asked Agnes who that pretty girl in black could be, with such pleasing manners.
Martha Allen took pains to whisper to a number of her friends that Letty was only a servant-girl at Mrs. Trescott's; but this information did not prevent her from receiving a great deal more attention and admiration than she cared for,—especially as she saw that John was looking glum and uncomfortable. Mrs. Train begged her to stay as long as possible; and she could not well refuse.
But as all things come to an end at last, so did this evening; and Letty and John set out for a quiet walk homeward through the moonlight. John was rather silent; and Letty, after two or three attempts to talk, became silent too. At last John roused himself, and asked Letty how she had enjoyed the evening.
"Not very well," said Letty. "I was glad when it was over."
"Were you?" said John. "I thought you seemed to be having a very lively time."
"Of course I felt obliged to exert myself to entertain aunt's company," said Letty. "What else could I do?"
"It seemed to come uncommonly easy, I thought," returned John. "I never saw you so lively. I hardly knew you."
"I don't think you did," said Letty, dryly. "What would you have me do?"
John was not prepared with an answer.
"John," said Letty, "we have never had a quarrel,—have we?"
"No."
"Then do you think it best to begin?"
"I am a fool, Letty! That is the long and short of the matter. But tell me: do you like such a fuss about a wedding?"
"No, indeed!" replied Letty, with emphasis. "I think the more quietly such an affair is managed, the better. I should never wish to have company on my hands at such a time. I should want all my thoughts about me. But people have their own ideas about such things; and, so long as there is nothing really wrong in it, one likes to help them enjoy themselves in their own way. For my part, I should like to go to church and be married in the morning, go straight to my own house, take off my wedding-dress, and begin getting dinner."
The picture conjured up by Letty's words entirely dissipated the remains of John's ill humour. He amused himself with imagining all sorts of difficulties and disasters to Letty's first dinner, until she cut him short by reminding him that she was serving an apprenticeship under an excellent teacher, and might therefore be considered as fully prepared to set up for herself as soon as she should be out of her time.
They parted as good friends as ever; and John went home congratulating himself on his good fortune, and wondering what he had ever done to deserve such a girl as Letty for his wife.
Mr. and Mrs. Emerson departed on their bridal tour, and were gone a week. On their return they went to their lodgings at the "Oak House," where Letty went to see her cousin. She found Agnes in a room in the third story, which looked over a back-yard, and had a little dark bedroom adjoining it. The room was well furnished with a haircloth-covered sofa, and chairs, a showy centre-table, and a dressing-bureau,— whose presence in the parlour Agnes explained by saying that there was no room for it in the bedroom.
Agnes was in high spirits, and expatiated on the delights of boarding, where she had no cares, and nothing to do from morning till night, except to please herself.
"It must seem odd to have so much time upon your hands," said Letty. "You will certainly be able to accomplish a great deal of sewing."
"Not I!" said Agnes, laughing. "I have done sewing enough lately to last me all my life. Joe was talking about some new shirts yesterday; but I begged him, for goodness' sake, not to begin about them yet. I hate the very sight of a needle!"
"Do you read, then? Surely you don't sit here all day and do nothing?"
"Yes, I read a good deal, of one thing and another. Mrs. Smith has lent me 'The Black Robber;' and she is going to let me have the 'Red Bandit,' when she has finished it."
Letty laughed. "Then I suppose you will have the 'Blue Corsair;' and what next? The 'Pink Shoplifter,' or the 'Straw-coloured Pickpocket'?"
Agnes laughed too. But she seemed somewhat annoyed when her cousin added, more soberly,—
"But really, now, Agnes, do you think it a good plan to spend one's time in reading such books?"
"You don't mean to say you think it wicked to read stories: do you?"
"No," replied Letty. "Of course not. That would be entirely too sweeping. But there is as much difference in stories as in people; and, seriously, I do think that a great many of these trashy novels, especially those translated from the French, are hardly fit to light the fire with. They mix up right and wrong, good and evil, till one cannot tell which is which, and make heroes out of men who, in real life, one would wish to have sent to the State prison or the workhouse as quickly as possible. Moreover, a great many of them are positively shameful and indecent."
"Oh, Letty! You are so precise! I do believe you never do the least thing without stopping to consider whether it is right or wrong. What is the comfort of living in that way?"
"What is the comfort of living in any other way?" asked Letty. "Even if this world were all, I believe it would be the best plan; but when one reflects that it is only the preparation for another—"
"Now, Letty, you know I won't stand preaching. I have had enough of that from Mrs. Willson. Do you know, she and the doctor came to see me, and gave me such a lecture on my duties as scared me half out of my wits? One would have thought, to hear them, that I had taken more responsibilities upon myself than if I had been made President of the United States. I am sure I never should have dared to be married, if I had thought of all he said beforehand. I was glad to see them, too; and the doctor made me a beautiful present,—that Bible there on the stand; but they made me so low-spirited that I almost wished they had stayed away."
"But, Agnes, did you never think of these things before you were married?"
"No, indeed; and I don't mean to do it now. Time enough for trouble when it comes, I always say; and so does Joseph. He says he intends to live his life as he goes along. The world owes him a good time, he says; and he means to have it."
Letty sighed, and took her leave, not very well satisfied with the result of her visit. Agnes seemed more giddy than ever; and Letty thought the idle life she was now leading a poor preparation for the cares of a family.
She saw little of Agnes through the winter; but she heard from Mrs. Train of her being out a good deal, though she seldom found time to visit her mother.
Mrs. Train looked thin and worn; and Letty feared she was working too hard, and living too sparingly, trying to save the cost of the wedding-party.
Her own winter passed very quietly. She was kept pretty busy, between her work for Mrs. Trescott and her own sewing, and went out but little. John, too, was very closely employed. Business was flourishing, and he often worked over-hours: so that he had not as many evenings to spend with Letty as formerly. But Letty knew these busy evenings were all for her sake; and she was not inclined to complain.
One afternoon early in spring, Agnes came in to see Letty, and found her busy ironing.
"How pleasant this room is!" was her first remark. "I never saw any one keep a kitchen as nicely as you do. I have seen many a parlour not half so comfortable."
Agnes was right. Many a splendidly furnished drawing-room is not half as inviting as Letty's kitchen was. A bright fire was burning in the stove, the doors of which were open. Letty's plants in the window were in a state of bloom and verdure which seemed something wonderful as contrasted with the wintry landscape outside. Not an article was soiled or out of place; not a speck showed itself upon the painted floor. A superb tortoiseshell cat sat dozing before the fire.
Letty herself, in her lilac calico and white apron, neat from top to toe, looked just fit to be the presiding genius of this temple of peace and good will. She welcomed her cousin warmly, and displaced Mrs. Trescott's Skye terrier to give her a comfortable seat.
"What a washing you have!" said Agnes, looking at the well-filled baskets, and then at the neatly folded towels and sheets on the bars. "Washing on Friday, too!"
"Our people are away; and I thought it would be a good time to wash and do up my own things."
"You don't mean to say that all these things are your own!" said Agnes, in surprise. "All these sheets and things! How many are there?"
"Six pairs of sheets, and as many pillow-cases, besides the towels and my own underclothes," replied Letty, with some pride. "See what nice sheeting."
"It is nice," said Agnes, examining the quality. "These sheets will last a lifetime. Mrs. Trescott must be very generous to give you such a setting-out."
"She has been very generous," replied Letty; "but she did not give me these things. They were all bought and paid for out of my own pocket."
"Why, Letty Bright!" exclaimed Agnes, in amazement. "Where in the world did you get the money?"
"I earned it," replied Letty, smiling. "There was not so very much, after all; only it makes a good deal of show, laid out in such things. That whole pile of sheets did not cost as much as your blue silk dress."
"My dress cost only seventeen dollars," said Agnes.
"Well, those sheets cost nine dollars, and the pillow-cases four;—that is thirteen dollars. That piece of huckaback cost two dollars, and the crash one:—sixteen dollars in all." *
* These were current prices at the time of our story.
"But these fine towels, Letty; I am sure you never got them for any such sum!"
"Oh, those were a present," said Letty. "I should never think of buying such for myself. You see they are not quite new. A very old lady, an aunt of Mrs. Trescott's, was here in the winter. I used to wash and starch her caps (she was very particular about her caps), and do a good many other things for her; and, hearing that I was going to be married, she sent me these towels and two nice table-cloths. See what beautiful old-fashioned damask they are,—all marked with her maiden-name in cross-stitch."
"I see," said Agnes. "But you must have laid out your money to good advantage, Letty, to get so much out of it. John won't have to buy any thing of the kind."
"I felt as though that was my part."
"Well, I suppose it is a good plan. But has not Mrs. Trescott given you any thing?"
"Oh, yes. She gave me a nice broché shawl, which was Miss Maria's, and two of her dresses,—a black silk and a French calico,—besides some handkerchiefs, and things of that sort. Miss Catherine gave me a beautiful all-wool delaine, with the things to make it; and I am to have it made up at her dressmaker's. Mrs. Trescott says she means to give me my wedding-dress; and I suppose she will bring it from the city with her. They have gone down to meet Mr. Trescott. She has given me a nice set of white china tea-things, too,—nice enough for any one,—which she says I am to consider as a legacy from Miss Emily. Let me show them to you."
Agnes looked on and admired, perhaps envied a little, as Letty displayed her treasures, which were indeed very handsome. She was especially delighted with the shawl.
"It is a perfect beauty,—almost as handsome as a cashmere, and as good as new. I should not think it had been worn at all. But, I must say, I wonder at her giving away Miss Maria's things, even to you. I should think Miss Trescott would have them."
"You know I was here all the time Miss Maria was sick, and helped take care of her," said Letty; "and Miss Emily was almost like my own."
"How much trouble they have had!" remarked Agnes. "After all, riches don't save people from sorrow: do they?"
"No, indeed; but the Trescotts have had something better than money to comfort them. Nobody could see Miss Maria for two hours and not know that she was fitter for heaven than earth. And when she came to die, she had no more fear than if she were just going from one room into another. I think they feel about her more as if she were gone on a journey, than as if she were dead. Their religion is more real to them than that of any one I ever saw, except Aunt Eunice. I shall always feel thankful that I was directed to such a family. If I ever come to any good, it will have been through their means."
"You have lived here a long time," remarked Agnes. "How many years?"
"Eight years this spring."
"That is a long time for a girl to live in one place, now-a-days; but every girl does not get such an easy one."
"I don't think it would be called an easy place by most people," said Letty. "We have always had a great deal of sickness and a great deal of company; and Mrs. Trescott is very particular. She will have every thing done just exactly right. Many a time I have had to wash the windows over after I thought I had done them to perfection; and many a shirt and tablecloth she has put back into the wash because it was a little wrinkled or had a speck ironed into it. It was very vexatious at first, I must say; but I fell into her ways after a while, and found it just as easy to do my work well as to slight it."
"A great many girls would not have borne it," remarked Agnes. "They would have got mad and gone home."
"Perhaps I should, if I had had any home to go to," replied Letty; "but, then, there was Sally. What would have become of her if I had left my work for every trifle? So I stayed on, and I had my reward. I have learned to do every thing about the house in the very best way. And, then, I am like one of the family. No own father could be kinder than Mr. Trescott. I am so glad he is coming home in time!"
"Well," said Agnes, with a sigh, "I am sure I hope you will be happy; but, I can tell you, you will have trials. Marriage is not a state of perfect blessedness, by any means."
"I never supposed it was," said Letty. "There is no such thing as perfect blessedness in this world. But I should think you had gone on so far with as few trials as fall to the lot of most people."
"I never knew what trouble was when I was at home," replied Agnes, with another deep sigh.
"I fancy you don't know a great deal about it now."
"Only think! Here is Joseph insisting on our going to housekeeping next month!" continued Agnes, disregarding the interruption. "He says that he wants a home of his own, and that boarding as we do costs too much. And we cannot afford even to keep a little girl: so I shall have every bit of the work to do myself. I might as well be a kitchen-girl at once."
"But, Agnes, what did you expect, when you married a poor man, but to do your own work?" asked Letty, surprised. "I never looked forward to any thing else."
"Well, I did. Just look at Grace Lennox! She keeps a girl all the time; and her husband gets no better wages than Joseph or John."
"Grace has property of her own," said Letty. "Her grandfather gave her a thousand dollars and the place they live in. That makes a great difference. With only his wages to depend upon, I don't wonder that Joseph does not feel like hiring anybody. I should think you would like the idea of having a house and managing every thing in your own way. I am sure I do. When I sit here alone in the evening, I imagine myself in my own house, washing up the breakfast things after John has gone to his work, and then putting on my bonnet and running up to market, till I grow quite excited about it."
"You were brought up to work," said Agnes, peevishly. "That makes all the difference in the world."
"And weren't you?"
"Not to that kind of work. Mother always did every thing about the house. I want her to break up housekeeping and come and live with us; but she won't. She talks over some nonsense about young folks being best by themselves; but I know that is not the reason. She thinks Joe doesn't want her; and that is true, too."
Letty thought it possible that Mrs. Train might decline upon other grounds,—as, that she knew very well that if she lived with Agnes, she would have all the work of the house to do; but she did not say so. She applied herself, instead, to the task of inducing Agnes to look on the bright side of her lot; but she did not succeed very well.
Agnes had another grievance. She had made Joseph a set of new shirts, and Joseph declared that they did not fit at all. Only that morning he had thrown one down and declared that nobody could wear it. Agnes thought he would never have done so if he had had any regard for her feelings, and avowed her suspicions that he did not love her, after all.
Letty could hardly keep from laughing.
"You should have made one first, to try the pattern," said she. "Men are always desperately particular about their shirts. Even Mr. Trescott frets about his, sometimes;—but he never scolds at any thing. Cannot you alter them?"
Agnes did not know how she could improve them. She had no courage to try. Where was the use, when one was found fault with?
Letty asked her if she remembered how she had found fault with her wedding-dresses, after her mother had taken so much pains with them.
Agnes thought that was different. She would not be comforted,—and at last departed with red eyelids and a martyr face, to meet her husband after his work.
And Letty returned to her ironing, feeling thankful that she had been so brought up as not to consider the prospect of having her own work to do a hardship.
[CHAPTER III.]
NUMBER NINE.
LATE in April, Letty was married. Her house was all in order beforehand: so that, as she said, she had nothing to do but to begin living directly. John had bought good and substantial furniture for kitchen and bedrooms. Mr. Trescott gave Letty, for her parlour, a carpet, some cane chairs, a chintz-covered sofa or couch, and—better than all—a neat little book-case, half filled with books, all of a kind to bear reading once and again.
Mrs. Trescott and Catherine went over, the evening before the wedding, to see that every thing was in order, and to make some little additions of sweetmeats and other good things to Letty's larder; while Catherine deposited in the little private drawer which John had contrived in the pantry, half a dozen silver teaspoons. There was no risk in leaving them there; for John was to sleep in the house, and Agnes promised to have an eye to it next day. Agnes had been housekeeping in Number Ten since the middle of March, and already considered herself a person of experience.
Letty had all along intended to go to church and be married, and from the church straight to her own home; but there had been a little change in the programme. Aunt Eunice, who lived on a farm in the country, sent Letty word that she expected her to come out and spend the day with her. She had always been kind to Letty; and, now that she was left alone in old age and infirmity, both Letty and John felt disposed to afford her every satisfaction in their power. She promised to send in for them, and bring them back at night. So it was settled that they should be married at nine in the morning, and set out from the church-door.
Letty had no bridesmaid but little Alice Trescott,—a pretty child seven years old,—who was delighted with the honour, and went through her duties with a dignity and gravity truly edifying.
Letty's dress was a brown checked India silk, with a bonnet and mantle of the same. Agnes laughed when she heard of it; and Mrs. Train said she really thought Mrs. Trescott might have done more than that, considering how rich she was. But they were obliged to admit that Letty looked perfectly like a lady, in her simple attire; and Agnes thought with something like disgust of her light blue silk dress, which was already too stained and shabby for evening, while it was not fit for any thing else.
Letty was pale and somewhat agitated, and John made two or three little mistakes; but, on the whole, the ceremony went off very nicely.
Mrs. Train lingered at the church-door, to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Trescott.
"I feel as though I wanted to thank you for all your kindness to Letty," she said. "You have, as she says, done every thing for her."
"I assure you, Mrs. Train, the obligation has been mutual," said Mrs. Trescott, kindly. "Letty has been my faithful friend for eight years. She has made my interest her own, and my sorrows as well." Mrs. Trescott's voice faltered, and she paused a little. "I feel as though I could easily be very selfish, when I think of losing her; but I am sure she is going to do well. Mr. Trescott has kept his eye on John Caswell ever since we first began to suspect how matters were going; and he is quite sure that there is not a better young man in town."
"His principles are excellent, and his practice is equally so," added Mr. Trescott. "He has been a member of our church for four years; and one more useful or more consistent it would be hard to find. He has been very economical, too: so that they have a nice little sum on hand with which to begin housekeeping. I assure you, Mrs. Train, that Letty's best friends could wish her no brighter prospects than she has before her. Of course, we do not know what calamities Heaven may see fit to send; but, after all, there is every thing in beginning well."
Mrs. Train sighed as she turned away. She began to fear that her own daughter had not begun in the best way. Agnes had expensive notions; so had Joseph; and she believed they had spent more than they could afford, all the time they were boarding. How would it be now that they were keeping house?
Agnes really knew very little about housekeeping. She had been kept in school till she was sixteen, and she had worked in the shop ever since. Mrs. Train herself had done every thing about the house, from cooking and marketing to sweeping and dusting, because, she said, Agnes must keep her hands nice for her work,—but really because it was less trouble to do things herself than to teach her daughter. She was afraid they would not be able to save much, if indeed they could avoid running into debt; and she did not see how she could help them, either. Her own income was very small, and barely sufficed for her daily wants, even when eked out by the profits of her sewing; and she had anticipated it for the expenses of Agnes's wedding outfit and party: so that, save as she would, she must be behind-hand for at least a year.
Mrs. Train sighed again, and passed the butcher's without going in, as she had intended, to buy a beefsteak,—but went home and made her solitary dinner on potatoes and a bit of cold pork, with a cup of tea without milk by way of dessert.
When our young friends arrived at the farm, they found Aunt Eunice standing at the door to receive them, dressed in her very best brown India satin, her crape kerchief and cap, and clear muslin apron. Aunt Eunice had been brought up among Friends, and, though she had married "out of meeting," she still adhered to her plain dress and habit of speech. She welcomed her guests with affectionate warmth.
"I hesitated," she said, "about asking thee to spend thy wedding-day with me; but, after all, I am growing an old woman. I have passed my fourscore years, and am living as it were upon borrowed time, which may be recalled at any hour. So I thought I would use the day while it was my own."
"I think you are looking very well, Aunt Eunice," said Letty. "Don't you feel as strong as usual?"
"Yes, my dear; I am very well for fourscore and two. Nevertheless, in the course of nature, I cannot continue much longer; and it is borne in upon my mind that my death may be sudden. But we won't talk of that now. Come into my room and take off thy bonnet. How nicely thou art dressed, my child!" she continued, when they were alone together. "So exactly in thy dear mother's taste. I could almost wish she were here to see thee."
"I have felt all day as though she did see me, Aunt Eunice," said Letty, in a low tone.
"It may be so, my dear, for all we know. I suppose thou dost not remember her?"
"Sometimes I think I do," said Letty; "but it may be only because mother Esther used to tell me so much about her. Am I like her?"
"Very much," replied Aunt Eunice. "Thou hast just her complexion and eyes,—though thy hair is not so dark,—and very much her expression. I hope thou mayest be like her in other things. She possessed, in greater perfection than any one I ever saw, the 'ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.' From the time that she was ten years old, I hardly ever heard an impatient word pass her lips; and, though she had many things to try her at home, nothing ever seemed to ruffle the sweet inward peace of her spirit. She appeared as one who walked, like Enoch, with God. She was always ready to promote and sympathize with the innocent merriment of others; but it was in the presence of sickness and sorrow that she shone pre-eminent. I used to think she was well called 'Comfort.'"
"I am afraid I am not much like her in meekness," said Letty. "Mother Esther used to call me a little tinder-box, sometimes."
"That comes from thy father," said Aunt Eunice, "and may perhaps be accounted for in other ways. Esther, though I verily believe meaning to be a true Christian, was something of a tinder-box herself. She had not the knack of going smoothly through the world. She was like an unshorn sheep in a brier-patch: every thorn gave her a pull. But she was always kind to thee, in her way; and I am glad thou hast been able to return her kindness, in some measure, by thy care of her orphan child. It must be pleasant for thee to think on, now that thou art setting up in life for thyself."
"Yes, indeed!" said Letty, warmly. "Aunt Train used sometimes to scold about my keeping myself so poor for Sally's sake; but I always told her I should never miss it."
"If I had been situated then as I am now, I should have offered to take the care of her off thy hands, at least so far as to give her a home. But thou knowest I have had my hands more than full till very lately. I must not keep thee here any longer, however, or John will be jealous. Let us go and see what he is about."
The day passed off very pleasantly. Aunt Eunice was a woman of a good deal of reading and experience, and her conversation was as agreeable and lively as it was instructive. She entertained the young people greatly by giving them an account of the way in which weddings were managed down on the Hudson among the Dutch colonists, where she had passed the first years of her married life.
Then John and Letty rambled all over the farm, looked at the cows and sheep, admired the early chickens and ducks (for which Aunt Eunice was quite famous), petted the new kittens, and searched the grove for early hepaticas.
Just before it was time to go home, Aunt Eunice called Letty into her bedroom.
"I have laid by a few things for thee, such as I think thou wilt prize," said she. "Thy grandmother and I had each a large stock of home-spun linen to begin housekeeping with. Thy grandmother's was mostly worn out and scattered in the second marriage; but I have always been careful of mine, and I have the best of it now, besides my own spinning. I have laid out for thee three pairs of my linen sheets, and the same of pillow-cases, and half a dozen napkins, all spun by my own hands,—and—now, thou needn't laugh—a bundle of old linen, both coarse and fine."
"Indeed, I don't laugh, Aunt Eunice. I know how useful old linen is, and how hard is to get it, too; for almost every one cotton now-a-days. But I am afraid you will rob yourself, Aunt Eunice."
"I have plenty more," said Aunt Eunice smiling. "I fell heir to all my husband's mother's spinning; but I thought thou wouldst prefer the work of my own hands."
"Yes, indeed," said Letty. "I never aspired to have linen sheets,—though I have plenty of cotton ones, which I bought myself. I shall keep these for grand occasions, I assure you."
"That is what I would advise. It is always a good plan to have a reserve put away to fall back upon in case of emergency. Linen sheets are much more grateful than cotton to a sick person in a fever. Indeed, I have never brought myself to using any other though I know cotton is considered wholesome. Well, to go back to thy bundle. Here are a couple of table-cloths which thy great-grandmother spun. Thou must take great care of them, and leave them to thy eldest daughter. Here is something else,—a bag of holders for thee. I dare say thou hast never thought of providing that."
"Indeed I have not," said Letty. "I wonder at it, too; for I always use them at home,—I mean at Mrs. Trescott's."
"Then it is well I thought of them. Now thou wilt not burn thy hands with thy new teakettle. Finally, I have knitted thee three or four dish-cloths of linen twine which thou wilt find far superior to the common sort. I want to trouble thee with a little bundle for Agnes. I have put up for her the same number of sheets and pillow-cases as for thee. I thought at first I would not give them to her unless she came for them; but, after all, she is my sister's grandchild; and, though she is rather giddy at present, I hope she will mend. And now, children, I must bid you farewell. I have not troubled you with much advice. I have never found it do so very much good. People must mostly find out for themselves as they go along. I hope, John, that thou intendest to set up thy household in the fear of God?"
"I mean to do so, Aunt Eunice. It is the way in which I was brought up myself; and I hope to train up my children, if God them to me, in the same course."
"That is right. I have lived a longer life than is allotted to most people, and, though I do not mean to complain, I have had my share of this world's sorrows and troubles; but, now that I look back, as it were, from the opening of another world on the road I have been over, I can see much more sunshine than shadow upon it. Try, children, to live close to God, and he will be close to you. You must expect now and then to find some roots of bitterness springing up to trouble you, even between yourselves; though I dare say you think that is impossible. Keep it to yourselves, and it will die the quicker.