A Little Country Girl

  CHAPTER III.

  A WALK ON THE CLIFFS.

  IT is always an odd, unhomelike moment when one wakes up for the firsttime in a new place. Sleep is a separation between us and all that hasgone before it. It takes a little while to recollect where we are andhow we came there, and to get used to the strangeness which had partlyworn away, but has come on again while we dreamed and forgot all aboutit.

  Candace experienced this when she woke in the little blue room themorning after her arrival in Newport. She had gone to bed, by Mrs.Gray's advice, when their long talk about manners and customs was ended,and without going downstairs again.

  "You are very tired, I can see," said Cousin Kate. "A long night's sleepwill freshen you, and the world will look differently and a great dealpleasanter to-morrow."

  Candace was glad to follow this counsel. She _was_ tired, and she feltshy of Mr. Gray and the girls, and would rather put off meeting themagain, she thought, till the morning. Ten hours of unbroken sleep restedher thoroughly, but she woke with a feeling of puzzled surprise at hersurroundings, and for a few moments could not gather up her thoughts orquite recollect where she was. Then it all came back to her, and she wasagain conscious of the uncomfortable sensations of the night before.

  She lay a little while thinking about it, and half wishing that she neednot get up at all but just burrow under the blanket and hide herself,like a mouse or rabbit in his downy hole, till everybody had forgottenher blunders, and till she herself could forget them. But she said toherself bravely: "I won't be foolish. Cousin Kate is just lovely; she'spromised to help me, and I'm sure she will. I will try not to mind theothers; but, oh dear! I wish I were not so afraid of the girls."

  She jumped out of bed resolutely and began to dress, taking her timeabout it, and stealing many glances out of the open window; for she knewit must be early, and as yet there were no sounds of life about thehouse. After her hair was curled, she stood for some time at the door ofthe closet, debating what dress she should put on.

  The choice was limited. There were only a brown plaided gingham, a bluecalico, and a thick white cambric to choose from. The latter seemed toher almost too nice to be worn in the morning. It was the first whitedress she had ever been allowed to have, and Aunt Myra had said a gooddeal about the difficulty of getting it done up; so it seemed to Candacerather a sacred garment, which should be reserved for special stateoccasions.

  After hesitating awhile she put on the brown gingham. It had a littleruffle basted round the neck. Candace tried the effect of a large bluebow, and then of a muslin one, very broad, with worked ends; butneither pleased her exactly. She recollected that Georgie and Gertrudehad worn simple little ruches the night before, with no bows; and atlast she wisely decided to fasten her ruffle with the little bar ofsilver which was her sole possession by way of ornament, for hermother's few trinkets had all been sold during her father's longillness. This pin had been a present from the worldly-minded Mrs. Buell,who so often furnished a text to Aunt Myra's homilies. She had one dayheard Cannie say, when asked by one of the Buell daughters if she hadany jewelry, "Are napkin-rings jewelry? I've got a napkin-ring." Mrs.Buell had laughed at the droll little speech, and repeated it as a goodjoke; but the next time she went to Hartford she bought the silver pinfor Cannie, who was delighted, and held it as her choicest possession.

  Her dressing finished, Candace went softly downstairs. She paused at thestaircase window to look out. Cousin Kate's storm had not come afterall. The day was brilliantly fair. Long fingers of sunshine were feelingtheir way through the tree-branches, seeking out shady corners andgiving caressing touches to all growing things. A book lay on thewindow-bench. It was "A York and a Lancaster Rose," which little Marianhad been reading the night before. It looked interesting, and, seeing bya glance at the tall clock in the hall below that it was but a littleafter seven, Candace settled herself for a long, comfortable readingbefore breakfast.

  Mrs. Gray was the first of the family to appear. She swept rapidlydownstairs in her pretty morning wrapper of pale pink, with a smallmuslin cap trimmed with ribbons of the same shade on her glossy blackhair, and paused to give Cannie a rapid little kiss; but she lookedpreoccupied, and paid no further attention to her, beyond a kind word ortwo, till breakfast was over, the orders for the day given, half a dozennotes answered, and half a dozen persons seen on business. The girlsseemed equally busy. Each had her own special little task to do. Georgielooked over the book-tables and writing-tables; sorted, tidied, put awaythe old newspapers; made sure that there was ink in the inkstands andpens and paper in plenty. After this was done, she set to work to waterthe plant boxes and stands in the hall and on the piazza. Gertrude fellupon a large box of freshly cut flowers, and began to arrange them invarious bowls and vases. Little Marian had three cages of birds toattend to, which, as she was very particular about their baths andbehavior, took a long time. Candace alone had nothing to do, and sat by,feeling idle and left out among the rest.

  "I think I shall put you in charge of the piazza boxes," said Mrs. Gray,noticing her forlorn look as she came back from her interview with thefishmonger. "See, Cannie, the watering-pot is kept _here_, and thefaucet of cold water is just there in the pantry. Would you like to takethem as a little bit of daily regular work? They must be sprinkledevery morning; and if the earth is dry they must be thoroughly watered,and all the seed-pods and yellow leaves and dead flowers must be pickedoff. Do you feel as if you could do it?"

  "Oh, I should like to," said Cannie, brightening.

  "Very well. Georgie has plenty to attend to without them, I imagine. Shewill be glad to be helped. Georgie, Cannie has agreed to take the careof all the outside flower-boxes in future. You needn't have them on yourmind any more."

  "That's nice," said Georgie, good-naturedly. "Then I will look after theplants on your balcony, mamma. Elizabeth doesn't half see to them."

  "Oh, mightn't I do those too?" urged Cannie. "I wish you would let me."

  "Well, you can if you like. They are all watered for to-day, though. Youneedn't begin till to-morrow."

  "That is just as well," said Mrs. Gray; "for now that I am through withthe orders and the tradesmen, I want Cannie to come up to themorning-room for a consultation. Georgie, you may come too. It's aboutyour hair, Cannie. Those thick curls are very pretty, but they look atrifle old-fashioned, and I should think must be rather hot, like alittle warm shawl always on your shoulders all summer long." She strokedthe curls with her soft hand, as she spoke. "Should you dislike to havethem knotted up, Cannie? You are quite old enough, I think."

  "No, I shouldn't dislike it, but I don't know how to do my hair in anyother way. I have always worn it like this."

  "We'll teach you," cried Georgie and Gertrude, who had joined them whileher mother was speaking. "Let us have a 'Council of Three' in themorning-room, and see what is most becoming to her."

  So upstairs they went, and the girls pounced on Cannie, and put a towelover her shoulders, and brushed out her curls, and tried this way andthat, while Mrs. Gray sat by and laughed. She would notinterfere,--though Cannie at times resisted, and declared that theywere pulling her hair and hurting her dreadfully,--for she was anxiousthat the cousins should grow intimate and familiar with each other. Infact, Cannie's shyness was quite shaken out of her for the moment; andbefore the experiments were ended, and it was decided that a little bangon the forehead, and what Marian called a "curly knot" behind, suitedher best, she felt almost at home with Georgie and Gertrude.

  "There," said Georgie, sticking in a last hair-pin, "come and seeyourself; and if you don't confess that you are improved, you're a veryungrateful young person, and that is all I have to say."

  Candace scarcely knew her own face when she was led up to thelooking-glass. The light rings of hair lay very prettily on theforehead, the "curly knot" showed the shape of the small head; it alllooked easy and natural, and as if it was meant to be so. She smiledinvoluntarily. The girl in the glass smiled back.

  "Why, I look exactly lik
e somebody else and not a bit like myself," shecried. "What _would_ Aunt Myra say to me?"

  "I am going out to do some errands," said Mrs. Gray; "will you comealong, Cannie, and have a little drive?"

  Mrs. Gray's errands seemed to be principally on behalf of her youngcompanion. First they stopped at Seabury's, and after Mrs. Gray hadselected a pair of "Newport ties" for herself, she ordered a similarpair for Candace. Then she said that while Cannie's shoe was off shemight as well try on some boots, and Cannie found herself being fittedwith a slender, shapely pair of black kid, which were not only prettierbut more comfortable than the country-made ones which had made her footlook so clumsy. After that they stopped at a carpet and curtain place,where Cannie was much diverted at hearing the proprietor recommendtassels instead of plated rings on certain Holland shades, for thereason that "a tossel had more poetry about it somehow." Then, after abrief pause to order strawberries and fresh lettuce, the carriage wasordered to a milliner's.

  "I want to get you a little hat of some sort," said Cousin Kate. "Theone you wore yesterday is rather old for a girl of your age. I willretrim it some day, and it will do for picnics and sails, but you needmore hats than one in this climate, which is fatal to ribbons andfeathers, and takes the stiffness out of everything."

  So a big, shady hat of dark red straw, with just a scarf of the samecolor twisted round the crown and a knowing little wing in front, waschosen; and then Mrs. Gray spied a smaller one of fine yellowish strawwith a wreath of brown-centred daisies, and having popped it on Cannie'shead for one moment, liked the effect, and ordered that too. Two newhats! It seemed to Cannie's modest ideas like the wildest extravagance;and after they returned to the coupe she found courage to say,--

  "Cousin Kate, please, you mustn't buy me too many things."

  "No, dear, I won't. I'll be careful," replied Mrs. Gray, smiling. Then,seeing that Cannie was in earnest, she added, more seriously: "My child,I've no wish to make you fine. I don't like finery for young girls; butone needs a good many things in a place like this, and I want to haveyou properly dressed in a simple way. It was agreed upon between AuntMyra and myself that I should see to your summer wardrobe after you gothere, because Newport is a better shopping-place than North Tolland; andwhile we are about it, we may as well get pretty things as ugly ones. Itdoesn't cost any more and is no more trouble, and I am sure you likethem better, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes, indeed," replied Cannie, quite relieved by this explanation."I like pretty things ever so much--only--I thought--I was afraid--" Shedid not know how to finish her sentence.

  THE OLD STONE MILL.

  It was a roofless circular tower, supported on round arches.--PAGE 73.]

  "You were afraid I was ruining myself," asked her cousin, lookingamused. "No, Cannie, I won't do that, I promise you; and in return,you will please let me just settle about a few little necessary thingsfor you, just as I should for Georgie and Gertrude, and say no moreabout it. Ah! there is the old Mill; you will like to see that. Stop amoment, John."

  The coupe stopped accordingly by a small open square, planted with grassand a few trees, and intersected with paths. There was a music-stand inthe centre, a statue on a pedestal; and close by them, rising from thegreensward, appeared a small, curious structure of stone. It was aroofless circular tower, supported on round arches, which made a seriesof openings about its base. Cannie had never heard of the Stone Millbefore, and she listened eagerly while Mrs. Gray explained that it hadstood there since the earliest days of the Colony; that no one knewexactly how old it was, who built it, or for what purpose it was built;and that antiquarians were at variance upon these points, and had madeall sorts of guesses about its origin. Some insisted that it waserected by the Norsemen, who were the first to discover the New Englandshores, long before the days of Columbus; others supposed it to be afragment of an ancient church. Others again--and Mrs. Gray supposed thatthese last were probably nearest the truth--insisted that it was justwhat it seemed to be, a mill for grinding corn; and pointed out the factthat mills of very much the same shape still exist in old countryneighborhoods in England. She also told Cannie that the mill used to bethickly overhung with ivies and Virginia creepers, and that it had neverbeen so pretty and picturesque since the town authorities, under amistaken apprehension that the roots of the vines were injuring themasonry, had torn them all away and left the ruin bare and unornamented,as she now saw it.

  "Did you never read Longfellow's 'Skeleton in Armor'?" she asked; andwhen Cannie said no, she repeated part of the poem, and promised to findthe rest for Cannie to read when they got home. Then they drove on; andCannie's head was so full of "Lief the son of Arnulf," the "fearfulguest," and the maiden whose heart under her loosened vest flutteredlike doves "in their nest frighted," that she could hardly bring herselfback to real life, even when Cousin Kate stopped at a famousdress-furnisher's in the Casino Block, and caused her to be measured fortwo dresses. One was of white woollen stuff, like those which Georgieand Gertrude had worn the night before; the other, a darker one, ofcream-and-brown foulard, which Mrs. Gray explained would be nice forchurch and for driving and for cool days, of which there were alwaysplenty in the Newport summer. She also bought a little brown parasol forCannie, and a tightly fitting brown jacket to match the foulard; andaltogether it was a most exciting and adventurous morning. Cannie, asshe took off her hat at home and fluffed the newly constructed "bang"into shape with gentle finger-touches, asked herself if it could bereally only a day and a half since she said good-by to Aunt Myra inNorth Tolland; and if in fact it were really herself, little CandaceArden, to whom these wonderful things belonged, or was it some one else?Perhaps it was all a dream, and she should presently wake up. "If it beI, as I believe it be," was the tenor of her thought, as of the oldwoman in the nursery rhyme; only Cannie had no little dog at hand tohelp her to a realization of her own identity.

  Into Candace's bare little cradle in the hill country had been droppedone precious endowment. From both her father and her mother sheinherited the love of reading. If old tales were true, and thegift-conferring fairies really came to stand round a baby's bed, eachwith a present in her hand, I think out of all that they could bestow Ishould choose for any child in whom I was interested, these twothings,--a quick sense of humor and a love for books. There is nothingso lasting or so satisfying. Riches may take wing, beauty fade, gracevanish into fat, a sweet voice become harsh, rheumatism may cripple thefingers which played or painted so deftly,--with each and all of thesedelightful things time may play sad tricks; but to life's end the powerto see the droll side of events is an unfailing cheer, and so long aseyes and ears last, books furnish a world of interest and escape whosedoors stand always open. Winds may blow and skies may rain, fortune mayprove unkind, days may be lonely and evenings dull; but for the truelover of reading there is always at hand this great company ofcompanions and friends,--the wisest, the gentlest, the best,--never tootired or too busy to talk with him, ready at all moments to give theirthought, their teaching, to help, instruct, and entertain. They neverdisappoint, they have no moods or tempers, they are always at home,--inall of which respects they differ from the rest of our acquaintance. Ifthe man who invented sleep is to be blessed, thrice blessed be the manwho invented printing!

  There were not many books in the old yellow farm-house at North Tolland;but all that there were Cannie had read over and over again. Shakspeareshe knew by heart, and "Paradise Lost," and Young's "Night Thoughts,"and Pollock's "Course of Time." She had dipped into her dead father'stheological library, and managed to extract some food for herimagination, even from such dry bones as "Paley's Evidences" and"Edwards on the Will and the Affections." Any book was better than nobook to her. Aunt Myra, who discouraged the practice of reading forgirls as unfitting them for any sort of useful work, used to declarethat the very sight of a book made Cannie deaf and blind and dumb.

  "You might as well be Laura what's-her-name and have done with it," shewould tell her; "only I don't know where to look for a Dr.
Howe or a Dr.anybody, who will come along and teach you to develop your faculties. Ideclare, I believe you'd rather read a dictionary any day than not readat all."

  "I don't know but I would," said Cannie; but she said it to herself. Shewas rather afraid of Aunt Myra.

  With this strong love of reading, the girl's delight may be imaginedwhen Mrs. Gray, true to her promise, put into her hands a greatillustrated volume of Longfellow, and left her free to dip and selectand read as long as she chose. She curled herself up on the staircasebench, and was soon so deep in "The Skeleton in Armor" as to be quiteoblivious to all that went on below. She did not hear the bell ring, shedid not see various ladies shown into the drawing-room, or notice thehum of conversation that followed. She never lifted her eyes whenGeorgie Gray and a friend, who was no other than the identical Miss Joyof the "Eolus," stood at the staircase foot for some moments and held awhispered conversation; nor was she conscious of the side glances whichthe visitor now and then cast up toward the brown gingham skirt visibleabove. It was not till

  "_Skoal!_ to the Northland! _skoal!_"

  ended the poem, that her dream ended, and she roused herself to find thecallers gone and luncheon on the table.

  Mrs. Gray was wont to say that they always had a meal at noon and a mealat night; and when her husband was at home, the first was called lunchand the second dinner, and when he was away the first was called dinnerand the second supper; and that the principal difference between themwas that at one there was soup and at the other there was not. Candacedid not particularly care what the meal was called. Under any name shewas glad of it, for sea-air and a morning drive had made her veryhungry; and this time she was on her guard, watched carefully whatothers did, and made no serious blunders.

  "What are you girls going to do this afternoon?" asked Mrs. Gray.

  "Berry Joy has asked me to drive with her," replied Georgie; "she wantsto take her friend over to the Fort to hear the band play. You have noobjection, have you, mamma?"

  "No; none at all. And you, Gertrude?"

  "I haven't made any particular plan."

  "Then suppose you and Candace take a walk on the Cliffs. I have to takeMarian to the dentist; but Cannie has not seen the sea yet, except at adistance, and you both ought to have a good exercise in the fresh air,for I am almost sure it will rain by to-morrow. You might take her tothe beach, Gertrude, and come home by Marine Avenue."

  "Very well, mamma; I will, certainly," said Gertrude. But there was alack of heartiness in her tone. Like most very young girls she had astrong sense of the observant eyes of Mrs. Grundy, and she did not atall approve of the brown gingham. "I wonder why mamma can't wait tillshe has made Cannie look like other people," she was saying to herself.

  There was no help for it, however. None of Mrs. Gray's children everthought of disputing her arrangements for a moment; so the two girls setforth, Cannie in the despised gingham, and Gertrude in a closely fittingsuit of blue serge, with a large hat of the same blue, which stood outlike a frame round the delicate oval of her face, and set off thefeathery light hair to perfection.

  Their way for a little distance was down a sort of country lane, whichwas the short cut to the Cliffs. It ended in a smooth greensward at thetop of a wall of broken rocks; and, standing on the edge, Cannie calledout, "Oh!" with a sense of sudden surprise and freedom.

  Before her was a bay of the softest blue, with here and there a line ofwhite surf, where long rollers were sweeping in toward the distantbeach. Opposite, stretched a point of land rising into a low hill, whichshone in the yellow afternoon sun; and from its end the unbroken seastretched away into a lovely distance, whose color was like that of anopal, and which had no boundary but a mysterious dim line of faintlytinted sky. Sails shone against the moving water; gulls were dipping anddiving; a flock of wild-ducks with glossy black heads swam a little awayout from the shore. Beyond the point which made the other arm of thelittle bay rose an island, ramparted by rocks, over which the surfcould be seen to break with an occasional toss of spray. There was adelicious smell of soft salty freshness, and something besides,--a kindof perfume which Candace could not understand or name.

  "Oh, what is it; what can it be?" she said.

  "What?"

  "The smell. It is like flowers. Oh, there it is again!"

  "Mamma makes believe that it is the Spice Islands," answered Gertrude,indifferently, "or else Madeira. You know there is nothing between usand the coast of Africa except islands."

  "Really and truly? How wonderful!"

  "Well, I don't see how it is so very wonderful. It just happens so. Isuppose there are plenty of sea-side places where they can say the samething."

  "Perhaps,--but I never saw any sea-coast but this. It is all new to me."

  "I suppose so," responded Gertrude, with a little yawn. She looked toright and to left, fearing that some acquaintance might be coming tosee her in company with this rather shabby little companion. "Would youlike to walk up the Cliffs a little way, or shall we go down to thebeach?" she asked.

  "Oh, let us just go as far as that point," said Candace, indicatingwhere, to the right, past a turnstile, a smooth gravel path wound itsway between the beautifully kept borders of grass. The path ran on thevery edge of the Cliff, and the outer turf dipped at a steep incline towhere the sharp rock ran down perpendicularly, but to the very verge itwas as fine and as perfectly cut as anywhere else. Candace wondered whoheld the gardeners and kept them safe while they shaved the grass sosmoothly in this dangerous spot, but she did not like to ask. Gertrude'sindifferent manner drove her in upon herself and made her shy.

  A hundred feet and more below them the sea was washing into innumerablerocky fissures with a hollow booming sound. The cliff-line was brokeninto all sorts of bold forms,--buttresses and parapets and sharpinclines, with here and there a shallow cave or a bit of shingly beach.Every moment the color of the water seemed to change, and the soft dunsand purples of the horizon line to grow more intense. Candace had noeyes but for the sea. She scarcely noticed the handsome houses on herright hand, each standing in its wide lawn, with shrubberies and beds ofdazzling flowers. Gertrude, on the contrary, scarcely looked at the sea.It was an old story to her; and she was much more interested in tryingto make out people she knew at the windows of the houses they passed, oron their piazzas, and in speculating about the carriages which could beseen moving on the distant road.

  "How good it is of the people who own the places to let everybody gothrough them!" exclaimed Candace, when it was explained to her that theCliff walk was a public one.

  "Oh, they can't help themselves. There is a right of way all round theIsland, and nobody would be allowed to close it. Some owners grumbleand don't like it a bit; but mamma says it is one of the best things inNewport, and that it would be a great injury to the place to have ittaken away. The Cliff walk is very celebrated, you know. Lots of peoplehave written things about it."

  "Oh, I should think they would. It is the most beautiful place I eversaw."

  "You haven't seen many places, have you?" observed Gertrude, ratherimpolitely.

  "Oh no, I never saw anything but North Tolland till I came to Newport."

  "Then you can't judge."

  They had now turned, and were walking eastward toward the beach. Itsline of breaking surf could be distinctly seen now. Carriages and peopleon horseback were driving or riding along the sands, and groups of blackdots were discernible, which were other people on foot.

  "There is Pulpit Rock," said Gertrude, stopping where a shelving pathslanted down toward a great square mass of stone, which was surroundedon three sides by water. "Would you like to go down and sit on top fora little while? I am rather tired."

  "Oh, I should like to so much."

  Down they scrambled accordingly, and in another moment were on top ofthe big rock. It was almost as good as being at sea; for when theyturned their backs to the shore nothing could be seen but water andsails and flying birds, and nothing heard but the incessant plash andda
sh of the waves below.

  "Oh, how perfectly splendid!" cried Cannie. "I should think you wouldcome here every day, Gertrude."

  "Yes, that's what people always say when they first come," said theexperienced Gertrude. "But I assure you we don't come every day, and wedon't want to. Why, sometimes last summer I didn't see the Cliffs forweeks and weeks together. It's nice enough now when there are not manypeople here; but after the season begins and the crowd, it isn't nice atall. You see all sorts of people that you don't know, and--and--well--itisn't pleasant."

  "I can't think what you mean," declared Cannie, opening her eyes withamazement. "I'd just as soon there were twenty people on this rock, if Ineedn't look at them and they didn't talk to me. The sea would be justthe same."

  "You'll feel differently when you've been in Newport awhile. It's not atall the fashion to walk on the Cliffs now except on Sunday, and not atthis end of them even then. A great many people won't bathe,either,--they say it has grown so common. Why, it used to be the thingto walk down here,--all the nicest people did it; and now you never seeanybody below Narragansett Avenue except ladies'-maids and butlers, andpeople who are boarding at the hotels and don't know any better."

  "How funny it seems!" remarked Candace, half to herself, with her eyeson the distance, which was rapidly closing in with mist.

  "What is funny?"

  "Oh, I was--I was only thinking how funny it is that there should be afashion about coming down to such a beautiful place as this."

  "I don't see how it is funny."

  "Yes," persisted Candace, who, for all her shyness, had ideas andopinions of her own; "because the Cliffs are so old and have always beenhere, and I suppose some of the people who make it the fashion not towalk upon them have only just come to Newport."

  "I really think you are the queerest girl I ever saw," said Gertrude.

  A long silence ensued. Each of the two girls was thinking her ownthoughts. The thickening on the horizon meanwhile was increasing. Thinfilms of vapor began to blow across the sky. The wind stirred and grewchill; the surf on the beach broke with a low roar which had a menacingsound. Suddenly a wall of mist rose and rolled rapidly inland, blottingout all the blue and the smile of sky and sea.

  "Gracious! here's the fog," cried Gertrude, "and I do believe it's goingto rain. We must hurry home. I rather think mamma's storm is coming,after all."