Not Quite Eighteen

  UNCLE AND AUNT.

  Uncle and Aunt were a very dear and rather queer old couple, who livedin one of the small villages which dot the long indented coast of LongIsland Sound. It was four miles to the railway, so the village had notwaked up from its colonial sleep on the building of the line, as hadother villages nearer to its course, but remained the same shady, quietplace, with never a steam-whistle nor a manufactory bell to break itsrepose.

  Sparlings-Neck was the name of the place. No hotel had ever been builtthere, so no summer visitors came to give it a fictitious air of lifefor a few weeks of the year. The century-old elms waved above thegambrel roofs of the white, green-blinded houses, and saw the same nameson doorplates and knockers that had been there when the century began:"Benjamin," "Wilson," "Kirkland," "Benson," "Reinike,"--there they allwere, with here and there the prefix of a distinguishing initial, as "J.L. Benson," "Eleazar Wilson," or "Paul Reinike." Paul Reinike, fourth ofthe name who had dwelt in that house, was the "Uncle" of this story.

  Uncle was tall and gaunt and gray, of the traditional New England type.He had a shrewd, dry face, with wise little wrinkles about the cornersof the eyes, and just a twinkle of fun and a quiet kindliness in thelines of the mouth. People said the squire was a master-hand at abargain. And so he was; but if he got the uttermost penny out of alllegitimate business transactions, he was always ready to give thatpenny, and many more, whenever deserving want knocked at his door, or agood work to be done showed itself distinctly as needing help.

  Aunt, too, was a New Englander, but of a slightly different type. Shewas the squire's cousin before she became his wife; and she had thefamily traits, but with a difference. She was spare, but she was alsovery small, and had a distinct air of authority which made her like afairy godmother. She was very quiet and comfortable in her ways, but shewas full of "faculty,"--that invaluable endowment which covers such amultitude of capacities. Nobody's bread or pies were equal to Aunt's.Her preserves never fermented; her cranberry always jellied; hersponge-cake rose to heights unattained by her neighbors', and stayedthere, instead of ignominiously "flopping" when removed from the oven,like the sponge-cake of inferior housekeepers. Everything in the oldhome moved like clock-work. Meals were ready to a minute; the mahoganyfurniture glittered like dark-red glass; the tall clock in the entrywas never a tick out of the way; and yet Aunt never appeared to beparticularly busy. To one not conversant with her methods, she gave theimpression of being generally at leisure, sitting in her rocking-chairin the "keeping-room," hemming cap-strings, and reading Emerson, forAunt liked to keep up with the thought of the day.

  Hesse declared that either she sat up and did things after the rest ofthe family had gone to bed, or else that she kept a Brownie to work forher; but Hesse was a saucy child, and Aunt only smiled indulgently atthese sarcasms.

  Hesse was the only young thing in the shabby old home; for, though itheld many handsome things, it was shabby. Even the cat was a sobermatron. The old white mare had seen almost half as many years as hermaster. The very rats and mice looked gray and bearded when you caught aglimpse of them. But Hesse was youth incarnate, and as refreshing inthe midst of the elderly stillness which surrounded her as a frolicsomepuff of wind, or a dancing ray of sunshine. She had come to live withUncle and Aunt when she was ten years old; she was now nearly eighteen,and she loved the quaint house and its quainter occupants with her wholeheart.

  Hesse's odd name, which had been her mother's, her grandmother's, andher great-grandmother's before her, was originally borrowed from that ofthe old German town whence the first Reinike had emigrated to America.She had not spent quite all of the time at Sparlings-Neck since hermother died. There had been two years at boarding-school, broken by longvacations, and once she had made a visit in New York to her mother'scousin, Mrs. De Lancey, who considered herself a sort of joint guardianover Hesse, and was apt to send a frock or a hat, now and then, as thefashions changed; that "the child might not look exactly like Noah, andMrs. Noah, and the rest of the people in the ark," she told herdaughter. This visit to New York had taken place when Hesse was aboutfifteen; now she was to make another. And, just as this story opens, sheand Aunt were talking over her wardrobe for the occasion.

  "I shall give you this China-crape shawl," said Aunt, decisively.

  Hesse looked admiringly, but a little doubtfully, at the soft, clingingfabric, rich with masses of yellow-white embroidery.

  "I am afraid girls don't wear shawls now," she ventured to say.

  "My dear," said Aunt, "a handsome thing is always handsome; never mindif it is not the last novelty, put it on, all the same. The Reinikes canwear what they like, I hope! They certainly know better what is properthan these oil-and-shoddy people in New York that we read about in thenewspapers. Now, here is my India shawl,"--unpinning a towel, andshaking out a quantity of dried rose-leaves. "I _lend_ you this; notgive it, you understand."

  "I shall give you this China-crape shawl," said aunt,decisively.--PAGE 88.]

  "Thank you, Aunt, dear." Hesse was secretly wondering what Cousin Juliaand the girls would say to the India shawl.

  "You must have a pelisse, of some sort," continued her aunt; "butperhaps your Cousin De Lancey can see to that. Though I _might_ haveMiss Lewis for a day, and cut over that handsome camlet of mine. It'sbeen lying there in camphor for fifteen years, of no use to anybody."

  "Oh, but that would be a pity!" cried Hesse, with innocent wiliness."The girls are all wearing little short jackets now, trimmed with fur,or something like that; it would be a pity to cut up that great cloak tomake a little bit of a wrap for me."

  "Fur?" said her aunt, catching at the word; "the very thing! How willthis do?" dragging out of the camphor-chest an enormous cape, whichseemed made of tortoise-shell cats, so yellow and brown and mottled wasit. "Won't this do for a trimming, or would you rather have it as itis?"

  "I shall have to ask Cousin Julia," replied Hesse. "Oh, Aunt, dear,don't give me any more! You really mustn't! You are robbing yourself ofeverything!" For Aunt was pulling out yards of yellow lace, lengths ofsash ribbon of faded colors and wonderful thickness, strange,old-fashioned trinkets.

  "And here's your grandmother's wedding-gown--and mine!" she said; "youhad better take them both. I have little occasion for dress here, and Ilike you to have them, Hesse. Say no more about it, my dear."

  There was never any gainsaying Aunt, so Hesse departed for New York withher trunk full of antiquated finery, sage-green and "pale-colored" silksthat would almost stand alone; Mechlin lace, the color of a springbuttercup; hair rings set with pearls, and brooches such as no one sees,nowadays, outside of a curiosity shop. Great was the amusement which theunpacking caused in Madison Avenue.

  "Yet the things are really handsome," said Mrs. De Lancey, surveying thefur cape critically. "This fur is queer and old-timey, but it will makequite an effective trimming. As for this crape shawl, I have an idea:you shall have an overdress made of it, Hesse. It will be lovely with asilk slip. You may laugh, Pauline, but you will wish you had one like itwhen you see Hesse in hers. It only needs a little taste in adapting,and fortunately these quaint old things are just coming into fashion."

  Pauline, a pretty girl,--modern to her fingertips--held up a squarebrooch, on which, under pink glass, shone a complication of initials ingold, the whole set in a narrow twisted rim of pearls and garnets, andasked:

  "How do you propose to 'adapt' this, Mamma?"

  "Oh," cried Hesse, "I wouldn't have that 'adapted' for the world! Itmust stay just as it is. It belonged to my grandmother, and it has alove-story connected with it."

  "A love-story! Oh, tell it to us!" said Grace, the second of the DeLancey girls.

  "Why," explained Hesse; "you see, my grandmother was once engaged to aman named John Sherwood. He was a 'beautiful young man,' Aunt says; butvery soon after they were engaged, he fell ill with consumption, and hadto go to Madeira. He gave Grandmamma that pin before he sailed. See,there are his initials, 'J. S.,' and hers, 'H. L. R.,' for Hesse Le
eReinike, you know. He gave her a copy of 'Thomas a Kempis' besides, with'The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee andme,' written on the title-page. I have the book, too; Uncle gave it tome for my own."

  "And did _he_ ever come back?" asked Pauline.

  "No," answered Hesse. "He died in Madeira, and was buried there; andquite a long time afterward, Grandmamma married my grandfather. I'm sofond of that queer old brooch, I like to wear it sometimes."

  "How _does_ it look?" demanded Pauline.

  "You shall see for yourself, for I'll wear it to-night," said Hesse.

  And when Hesse came down to dinner with the quaint ornament shiningagainst her white neck on a bit of black velvet ribbon, even Paulineowned that the effect was not bad,--queer, of course, and unlike otherpeople's things, but certainly not bad.

  Mrs. De Lancey had a quick eye for character, and she noted withsatisfaction that her young cousin was neither vexed at, nor affectedby, her cousins' criticisms on her outfit. Hesse saw for herself thather things were unusual, and not in the prevailing style, but she knewthem to be handsome of their kind, and she loved them as a part of herold home. There was, too, in her blood a little of the family pridewhich had made Aunt say, "The Reinikes know what is proper, I hope." Soshe wore her odd fur and made-over silks and the old laces with no senseof being ill-dressed, and that very fact "carried it off," and made herseem well dressed. Cousin Julia saw that her wardrobe was sufficientlymodernized not to look absurd, or attract too much attention, and therewas something in Hesse's face and figure which suited the character ofher clothes. People took notice of this or that, now and again,--said itwas pretty, and where could they get such a thing?--and, flattery offlatteries, some of the girls copied her effects!

  "Estelle Morgan says, if you don't mind, she means to have a ball-dressexactly like that blue one of yours," Pauline told her one day.

  "Oh, how funny! Aunt's wedding-gown made up with surah!" cried Hesse."Do you remember how you laughed at the idea, Polly, and said it wouldbe horrid?"

  "Yes, and I did think so," said Polly; "but somehow it looks very niceon you. When it is hanging up in the closet, I don't care much for it."

  "Well, luckily, no one need look at it when it is hanging up in thecloset," retorted Hesse, laughing.

  Her freshness, her sweet temper, and bright capacity for enjoyment hadspeedily made Hesse a success among the young people of her cousins'set. Girls liked her, and ran after her as a social favorite; and shehad flowers and german favors and flatteries enough to spoil her, hadshe been spoilable. But she kept a steady head through all thesedistractions, and never forgot, however busy she might be, to send offthe long journal-letter, which was the chief weekly event to Uncle andAunt.

  Three months had been the time fixed for Hesse's stay in New York, but,without her knowledge, Mrs. De Lancey had written to beg for a littleextension. Gayeties thickened as Lent drew near, and there was onespecial fancy dress ball, at Mrs. Shuttleworth's, about which Hesse hadheard a great deal, and which she had secretly regretted to lose. Shewas, therefore, greatly delighted at a letter from Aunt, giving herleave to stay a fortnight longer.

  "Uncle will come for you on Shrove-Tuesday," wrote her Aunt. "He hassome business to attend to, so he will stay over till Thursday, and youcan take your pleasure till the last possible moment."

  "How lovely!" cried Hesse. "How good of you to write, Cousin Julia, andI _am_ so pleased to go to Mrs. Shuttleworth's ball!"

  "What will you wear?" asked Pauline.

  "Oh, I haven't thought of that, yet. I must invent something, for Idon't wish to buy another dress, I have had so many things already."

  "Now, Hesse, you can't invent anything. It's impossible to make a fancydress out of the ragbag," said Pauline, whose ideas were all of anexpensive kind.

  "We shall see," said Hesse. "I think I shall keep my costume as asurprise,--except from you, Cousin Julia. I shall want you to help me,but none of the others shall know anything about it till I comedown-stairs."

  This was a politic move on the part of Hesse. She was resolved to spendno money, for she knew that her winter had cost more than Uncle hadexpected, and more than it might be convenient for him to spare; yet shewished to avert discussion and remonstrance, and at the same time toprevent Mrs. De Lancey from giving her a new dress, which was very oftenthat lady's easy way of helping Hesse out of her toilet difficulties. Soa little seamstress was procured, and Cousin Julia taken into counsel.Hesse kept her door carefully locked for a day or two; and when, on theevening of the party, she came down attired as "My great-grandmother,"in a short-waisted, straight-skirted white satin; with a bigante-revolutionary hat tied under her dimpled chin; a fichu of mull,embroidered in colored silks, knotted across her breast; long white silkmittens, and a reticule of pearl beads hanging from her girdle,--evenPauline could find no fault. The costume was as becoming as it wasqueer; and all the girls told Hesse that she had never looked so well inher life.

  Eight or ten particular friends of Pauline and Grace had arranged tomeet at the De Lanceys', and all start together for the ball. The roomwas quite full of gay figures as "My great-grandmother" came down; itwas one of those little moments of triumph which girls prize. Thedoor-bell rang as she slowly turned before the throng, to exhibit theback of the wonderful gored and plaited skirt. There was a littlecolloquy in the hall, the butler opened the door, and in walked a figurewhich looked singularly out of place among the pretty, fantastic,girlish forms,--a tall, spare, elderly figure, in a coat ofold-fashioned cut. A carpet-bag was in his hand. He was no other thanUncle, come a day before he was expected.

  His entrance made a little pause.

  "What an extraordinary-looking person!" whispered Maud Ashurst toPauline, who colored, hesitated, and did not, for a moment, know what todo. Hesse, standing with her back to the door, had seen nothing; but,struck by the silence, she turned. A meaner nature than hers might haveshared Pauline's momentary embarrassment, but there was not a mean fibrein the whole of Hesse's frank, generous being.

  "Uncle! dear Uncle!" she cried; and, running forward, she threw her armsaround the lean old neck, and gave him half a dozen of her warmestkisses.

  "It is my uncle," she explained to the others. "We didn't expect himtill to-morrow; and isn't it too delightful that he should come in timeto see us all in our dresses!"

  Then she drew him this way and that, introducing him to all herparticular friends, chattering, dimpling, laughing with such evidentenjoyment, such an assured sense that it was the pleasantest thingpossible to have her uncle there, that every one else began to share it.The other girls, who, with a little encouragement, a little reserve andannoyed embarrassment on the part of Hesse, would have voted Uncle "acountrified old quiz," and, while keeping up the outward forms ofcivility, would have despised him in their hearts, infected by Hesse'ssweet happiness, began to talk to him with the wish to please, andpresently to discover how pleasant his face was, and how shrewd anddroll his ideas and comments; and it ended by all pronouncing him an"old dear,"--so true it is that genuine and unaffected love and respectcarry weight with them for all the rest of the world.

  Uncle was immensely amused by the costumes. He recalled the fancy ballsof his youth, and gave the party some ideas on dress which had neveroccurred to any of them before. He could not at all understand theprinciple of selection on which the different girls had chosen theirvarious characters.

  "That gypsy queen looked as if she ought to be teaching aSunday-school," he told Hesse afterward. "Little Red Riding Hood was toobig for her wolf; and as for that scampish little nun of yours, I don'tbelieve the stoutest convent ever built could hold her in for half aday."

  "Come with us to Mrs. Shuttleworth's. It will be a pretty scene, andsomething for you to tell Cousin Marianne about when you go back," urgedMrs. De Lancey.

  "Oh, do, do!" chimed in Hesse. "It will be twice as much fun if you arethere, Uncle!"

  But Uncle was tired by his journey, and would not consent; and I amafr
aid that Pauline and Grace were a little relieved by his decision.False shame and the fear of "people" are powerful influences.

  Three days later, Hesse's long, delightful visit ended, and she wasspeeding home under Uncle's care.

  "You must write and invite some of those fine young folk to come up tosee you in June," he told her.

  "That will be delightful," said Hesse. But when she came to think aboutit later, she was not so sure about its being delightful.

  There is nothing like a long absence from home to open one's eyes to thereal aspect of familiar things. The Sparlings-Neck house looked wofullyplain and old-fashioned, even to Hesse, when contrasted with theelegance of Madison Avenue; how much more so, she reflected, would itlook to the girls!

  She thought of Uncle's after-dinner pipe; of the queer little chamber,opening from the dining-room, where he and Aunt chose to sleep; of thegreen-painted woodwork of the spare bedrooms, and the blue paper-shades,tied up with a cord, which Aunt clung to because they were in fashionwhen she was a girl; and for a few foolish moments she felt that shewould rather not have her friends come at all, than have them come tosee all this, and perhaps make fun of it. Only for a few moments; thenher more generous nature asserted itself with a bound.

  "How mean of me to even think of such a thing!" she told herself,indignantly,--"to feel ashamed to have people know what my own home islike, and Uncle and Aunt, who are so good to me! Hesse Reinike, I shouldlike to hire some one to give you a good whipping! The girls _shall_come, and I'll make the old house look just as sweet as I can, and theyshall like it, and have a beautiful time from the moment they come tillthey go away, if I can possibly give it to them."

  To punish herself for what she considered an unworthy feeling, sheresolved not to ask Aunt to let her change the blue paper-shades forwhite curtains, but to have everything exactly as it usually was. ButAunt had her own ideas and her pride of housekeeping to consider. As thetime of the visit drew near, laundering and bleaching seemed to beconstantly going on, and Jane, the old housemaid, was kept busy tackingdimity valances and fringed hangings on the substantial four-postbedsteads, and arranging fresh muslin covers over the toilet-tables.Treasures unknown to Hesse were drawn out of their receptacles,--bits ofold embroidery, tamboured tablecloths and "crazy quilts," vases andbow-pots of pretty old china for the bureaus and chimney-pieces. Hessetook a long drive to the woods, and brought back great masses of ferns,pink azalea, and wild laurel. All the neighbors' gardens were laid undercontribution. When all was in order, with ginger-jars full of cool whitedaisies and golden buttercups standing on the shining mahogany tables,bunches of blue lupines on the mantel, the looking-glasses wreathed withtraveller's joy, a great bowl full of early roses and quantities oflilies-of-the-valley, the old house looked cosey enough and smelt sweetenough to satisfy the most fastidious taste.

  Hesse drove over with Uncle to the station to meet her guests. They tookthe big carryall, which, with squeezing, would hold seven; and a wagonfollowed for the luggage. There were five girls coming; for, besidesPauline and Grace, Hesse had invited Georgie Berrian, Maud Ashurst, andElla Waring, who were the three special favorites among her New Yorkfriends.

  The five flocked out of the train, looking so dainty and stylish thatthey made the old carryall seem shabbier than ever by contrast. MaudAshurst cast one surprised look at it and at the old white mare,--shehad never seen just such a carriage before; but the quality of theequipage was soon forgotten, as Uncle twitched the reins, and theystarted down the long lane-like road which led to Sparlings-Neck and wasHesse's particular delight.

  The station and the dusty railroad were forgotten almostimmediately,--lost in the sense of complete country freshness. On eitherhand rose tangled banks of laurel and barberries, sweet-ferns andbudding grapevines, overarched by tall trees, and sending out deliciousodors; while mingling with and blending all came, borne on a shorewardwind, the strong salt fragrance of the sea.

  "What is it? What can it be? I never smelt anything like it!" cried thegirls from the city.

  "Now, girls," cried Hesse, turning her bright face around from thedriver's seat, "this is real, absolute country, you know,--none of themake-believes which you get at Newport or up the Hudson. Everything wehave is just as queer and old-fashioned as it can be. You won't be askedto a single party while you are here, and there isn't the ghost of ayoung man in the neighborhood. Well, yes, there may be a ghost, butthere is no young man. You must just make up your minds, all of you, toa dull time, and then you'll find that it's lovely."

  "It's sure to be lovely wherever you are, you dear thing!" declared EllaWaring, with a little rapturous squeeze.

  I fancy that, just at first, the city girls did think the place veryqueer. None of them had ever seen just such an old house as theReinikes' before. The white wainscots with their toothed mouldingsmatched by the cornices above, the droll little cupboards in the walls,the fire-boards pasted with gay pictures, the queer closets andclothes-presses occurring just where no one would naturally have lookedfor them, and having, each and all, an odd shut-up odor, as of by-gonedays,--all seemed very strange to them. But the flowers and the greenelms and Hesse's warm welcome were delightful; so were Aunt's wafflesand wonderful tarts, the strawberries smothered in country cream, andthe cove oysters and clams which came in, deliciously stewed, for tea;and they soon pronounced the visit "a lark," and Sparlings-Neck aparadise.

  There were long drives in the woods, picnics in the pine groves,bathing-parties on the beach, morning sittings under the trees with aninteresting book; and when a northeaster came, and brought with it whatseemed a brief return of winter, there was a crackling fire, acandy-pull, and a charming evening spent in sitting on the floortelling ghost-stories, with the room only lighted by the fitfullyblazing wood, and with cold creeps running down their backs! Altogether,the fortnight was a complete success, and every one saw its end withreluctance.

  "I wish we were going to stay all summer!" said Georgie Berrian."Newport will seem stiff and tiresome after this."

  "I never had so good a time,--never!" declared Ella. "And, Hesse, I dothink your aunt and uncle are the dearest old people I ever saw!" Thatpleased Hesse most of all. But what pleased her still more was when,after the guests were gone, and the house restored to its old order, andthe regular home life begun again, Uncle put his arm around her, andgave her a kiss,--not a bedtime kiss, or one called for by any specialoccasion, but an extra kiss, all of his own accord.

  "A dear child," he said; "not a bit ashamed of the old folks, was she?I liked that, Hesse."

  "Ashamed of you and Aunt? I should think not!" answered Hesse, with aflush.

  Uncle gave a dry little chuckle.

  "Well, well," he said, "some girls would have been; you weren't,--that'sall the difference. You're a good child, Hesse."