Chapter XVI. Up at Merry's
"Now fly round, child, and get your sweeping done up smart and early."
"Yes, mother."
"I shall want you to help me about the baking, by and by."
"Yes, mother."
"Roxy is cleaning the cellar-closets, so you'll have to get thevegetables ready for dinner. Father wants a boiled dish, and I shall beso busy I can't see to it."
"Yes, mother."
A cheerful voice gave the three answers, but it cost Merry an effort tokeep it so, for she had certain little plans of her own which made thework before her unusually distasteful. Saturday always was a trying day,for, though she liked to see rooms in order, she hated to sweep, as nospeck escaped Mrs. Grant's eye, and only the good old-fashioned broom,wielded by a pair of strong arms, was allowed. Baking was another trial:she loved good bread and delicate pastry, but did not enjoy burning herface over a hot stove, daubing her hands with dough, or spending hoursrolling out cookies for the boys; while a "boiled dinner" was herespecial horror, as it was not elegant, and the washing of vegetableswas a job she always shirked when she could.
However, having made up her mind to do her work without complaint, sheran upstairs to put on her dust-cap, trying to look as if sweeping wasthe joy of her life.
"It is such a lovely day, I did want to rake my garden, and have a walkwith Molly, and finish my book so I can get another," she said with asigh, as she leaned out of the open window for a breath of the unusuallymild air.
Down in the ten-acre lot the boys were carting and spreading loam; outin the barn her father was getting his plows ready; over the hill rosethe smoke of the distant factory, and the river that turned the wheelswas gliding through the meadows, where soon the blackbirds would besinging. Old Bess pawed the ground, eager to be off; the gray henswere scratching busily all about the yard; even the green things in thegarden were pushing through the brown earth, softened by April rains,and there was a shimmer of sunshine over the wide landscape that madeevery familiar object beautiful with hints of spring, and the activityit brings.
Something made the old nursery hymn come into Merry's head, and hummingto herself,
"In works of labor or of skill I would be busy too,"
she tied on her cap, shouldered her broom, and fell to work soenergetically that she soon swept her way through the chambers, down thefront stairs to the parlor door, leaving freshness and order behind heras she went.
She always groaned when she entered that apartment, and got out of itagain as soon as possible, for it was, like most country parlors, a primand chilly place, with little beauty and no comfort. Black horse-hairfurniture, very slippery and hard, stood against the wall; the table hadits gift books, albums, worsted mat and ugly lamp; the mantel-piece itschina vases, pink shells, and clock that never went; the gay carpet waskept distressingly bright by closed shutters six days out of the seven,and a general air of go-to-meeting solemnity pervaded the room. Merrylonged to make it pretty and pleasant, but her mother would allow of nochange there, so the girl gave up her dreams of rugs and hangings, finepictures and tasteful ornaments, and dutifully aired, dusted, and shutup this awful apartment once a week, privately resolving that, if sheever had a parlor of her own, it should not be as dismal as a tomb.
The dining-room was a very different place, for here Merry had beenallowed to do as she liked, yet so gradual had been the change, that shewould have found it difficult to tell how it came about. It seemed tobegin with the flowers, for her father kept his word about the "posypots," and got enough to make quite a little conservatory in thebay-window, which was sufficiently large for three rows all round, andhanging-baskets overhead. Being discouraged by her first failure, Merrygave up trying to have things nice everywhere, and contented herselfwith making that one nook so pretty that the boys called it her"bower." Even busy Mrs. Grant owned that plants were not so messy as sheexpected, and the farmer was never tired of watching "little daughter"as she sat at work there, with her low chair and table full of books.
The lamp helped, also, for Merry set up her own, and kept it so welltrimmed that it burned clear and bright, shining on the green arch ofivy overhead, and on the nasturtium vines framing the old glass, andpeeping at their gay little faces, and at the pretty young girl, sopleasantly that first her father came to read his paper by it, then hermother slipped in to rest on the lounge in the corner, and finally theboys hovered about the door as if the "settin'-room" had grown moreattractive than the kitchen.
But the open fire did more than anything else to win and hold them all,as it seldom fails to do when the black demon of an airtight stove isbanished from the hearth. After the room was cleaned till it shone,Merry begged to have the brass andirons put in, and offered to keep themas bright as gold if her mother would consent. So the great logs werekindled, and the flames went dancing up the chimney as if glad to be setfree from their prison. It changed the whole room like magic, and noone could resist the desire to enjoy its cheery comfort. The farmer'sthree-cornered leathern chair soon stood on one side, and mother'srocker on the other, as they toasted their feet and dozed or chatted inthe pleasant warmth.
The boys' slippers were always ready on the hearth; and when the bigboots were once off, they naturally settled down about the table, wherethe tall lamp, with its pretty shade of pressed autumn leaves, burnedbrightly, and the books and papers lay ready to their hands instead ofbeing tucked out of sight in the closet. They were beginning to seethat "Merry's notions" had some sense in them, since they were madecomfortable, and good-naturedly took some pains to please her in variousways. Tom brushed his hair and washed his hands nicely before he cameto table. Dick tried to lower his boisterous laughter, and Harry neversmoked in the sitting-room. Even Roxy expressed her pleasure in seeing"things kind of spruced up," and Merry's gentle treatment of thehard-working drudge won her heart entirely.
The girl was thinking of these changes as she watered her flowers,dusted the furniture, and laid the fire ready for kindling; and, whenall was done, she stood a minute to enjoy the pleasant room, full ofspring sunshine, fresh air, and exquisite order. It seemed to give herheart for more distasteful labors, and she fell to work at the pies ascheerfully as if she liked it.
Mrs. Grant was flying about the kitchen, getting the loaves of brown andwhite bread ready for the big oven. Roxy's voice came up from the cellarsinging "Bounding Billows," with a swashing and scrubbing accompanimentwhich suggested that she was actually enjoying a "life on the oceanwave." Merry, in her neat cap and apron, stood smiling over her workas she deftly rolled and clipped, filled and covered, finding a certainsort of pleasure in doing it well, and adding interest to it by crimpingthe crust, making pretty devices with strips of paste and star-shapedprickings of the fork.
"Good-will giveth skill," says the proverb, and even particular Mrs.Grant was satisfied when she paused to examine the pastry with herexperienced eye.
"You are a handy child and a credit to your bringing up, though I do sayit. Those are as pretty pies as I'd wish to eat, if they bake well, andthere's no reason why they shouldn't."
"May I make some tarts or rabbits of these bits? The boys like them,and I enjoy modelling this sort of thing," said Merry, who was trying tomould a bird, as she had seen Ralph do with clay to amuse Jill while thebust was going on.
"No, dear; there's no time for knick-knacks to-day. The beets ought tobe on this minute. Run and get 'em, and be sure you scrape the carrotswell."
Poor Merry put away the delicate task she was just beginning to like,and taking a pan went down cellar, wishing vegetables could be grownwithout earth, for she hated to put her hands in dirty water. A word ofpraise to Roxy made that grateful scrubber leave her work to poke aboutin the root-cellar, choosing "sech as was pretty much of a muchness,else they wouldn't bile even;" so Merry was spared that part of thejob, and went up to scrape and wash without complaint, since it was forfather. She was repaid at noon by the relish with which he enjoyed hisdinner, for Merry tried to make even
a boiled dish pretty by arrangingthe beets, carrots, turnips, and potatoes in contrasting colors, withthe beef hidden under the cabbage leaves.
"Now, I'll rest and read for an hour, then I'll rake my garden, or rundown town to see Molly and get some seeds," she thought to herself, asshe put away the spoons and glasses, which she liked to wash, that theymight always be clear and bright.
"If you've done all your own mending, there's a heap of socks to belooked over. Then I'll show you about darning the tablecloths. I do hateto have a stitch of work left over till Monday," said Mrs. Grant, whonever took naps, and prided herself on sitting down to her needle at 3P.M. every day.
"Yes, mother;" and Merry went slowly upstairs, feeling that a part ofSaturday ought to be a holiday after books and work all the week. As shebraided up her hair, her eye fell upon the reflection of her own facein the glass. Not a happy nor a pretty one just then, and Merry was sounaccustomed to seeing any other, that involuntarily the frown smootheditself out, the eyes lost their weary look, the drooping lips curvedinto a smile, and, leaning her elbows on the bureau, she shook her headat herself, saying, half aloud, as she glanced at Ivanhoe lying near,--
"You needn't look so cross and ugly just because you can't have what youwant. Sweeping, baking, and darning are not so bad as being plaguedwith lovers and carried off and burnt at the stake, so I won't envy poorRebecca her jewels and curls and romantic times, but make the best of myown."
Then she laughed, and the bright face came back into the mirror, lookinglike an old friend, and Merry went on dressing with care, for shetook pleasure in her own little charms, and felt a sense of comfort inknowing that she could always have one pretty thing to look at if shekept her own face serene and sweet. It certainly looked so as it bentover the pile of big socks half an hour later, and brightened with eachthat was laid aside. Her mother saw it, and, guessing why such wistfulglances went from clock to window, kindly shortened the task oftable-cloth darning by doing a good bit herself, before putting it intoMerry's hands.
She was a good and loving mother in spite of her strict ways, and knewthat it was better for her romantic daughter to be learning all thehousewifery lessons she could teach her, than to be reading novels,writing verses, or philandering about with her head full of girlishfancies, quite innocent in themselves, but not the stuff to live on.So she wisely taught the hands that preferred to pick flowers, trim uprooms and mould birds, to work well with needle, broom, and rolling-pin;put a receipt-book before the eyes that loved to laugh and weep overtender tales, and kept the young head and heart safe and happy withwholesome duties, useful studies, and such harmless pleasures as girlsshould love, instead of letting them waste their freshness in vaguelongings, idle dreams, and frivolous pastimes.
But it was often hard to thwart the docile child, and lately she hadseemed to be growing up so fast that her mother began to feel a new sortof tenderness for this sweet daughter, who was almost ready to takeupon herself the cares, as well as triumphs and delights, of maidenhood.Something in the droop of the brown head, and the quick motion of thebusy hand with a little burn on it, made it difficult for Mrs. Grantto keep Merry at work that day, and her eye watched the clock almost asimpatiently as the girl's, for she liked to see the young face brightenwhen the hour of release came.
"What next?" asked Merry, as the last stitch was set, and she stifled asigh on hearing the clock strike four, for the sun was getting low, andthe lovely afternoon going fast.
"One more job, if you are not too tired for it. I want the receipt fordiet drink Miss Dawes promised me; would you like to run down and get itfor me, dear?"
"Yes, mother!" and that answer was as blithe as a robin's chirp, forthat was just where Merry wanted to go.
Away went thimble and scissors, and in five minutes away went Merry,skipping down the hill without a care in the world, for a happy heartsat singing within, and everything seemed full of beauty.
She had a capital time with Molly, called on Jill, did her shopping inthe village, and had just turned to walk up the hill, when Ralph Evanscame tramping along behind her, looking so pleased and proud aboutsomething that she could not help asking what it was, for they weregreat friends, and Merry thought that to be an artist was the mostglorious career a man could choose.
"I know you've got some good news," she said, looking up at him as hetouched his hat and fell into step with her, seeming more contented thanbefore.
"I have, and was just coming up to tell you, for I was sure you would beglad. It is only a hope, a chance, but it is so splendid I feel as if Imust shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two, to let off steam."
"Do tell me, quick; have you got an order?" asked Merry, full ofinterest at once, for artistic vicissitudes were very romantic, and sheliked to hear about them.
"I may go abroad in the autumn."
"Oh, how lovely!"
"Isn't it? David German is going to spend a year in Rome, to finish astatue, and wants me to go along. Grandma is willing, as cousin Mariawants her for a long visit, so everything looks promising and I reallythink I may go."
"Won't it cost a great deal?" asked Merry, who, in spite of her littleelegancies, had a good deal of her thrifty mother's common sense.
"Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can--I know I can, for I've savedsome, and I shall work like ten beavers all summer. I won't borrow ifI can help it, but I know someone who would lend me five hundred if Iwanted it;" and Ralph looked as eager and secure as if the earning oftwice that sum was a mere trifle when all the longing of his life wasput into his daily tasks.
"I wish I had it to give you. It must be so splendid to feel that youcan do great things if you only have the chance. And to travel, and seeall the lovely pictures and statues, and people and places in Italy. Howhappy you must be!" and Merry's eyes had the wistful look they alwayswore when she dreamed dreams of the world she loved to live in.
"I am--so happy that I'm afraid it never will happen. If I do go, I'llwrite and tell you all about the fine sights, and how I get on. Wouldyou like me to?" asked Ralph, beginning enthusiastically and endingrather bashfully, for he admired Merry very much, and was not quite surehow this proposal would be received.
"Indeed I should! I'd feel so grand to have letters from Paris andRome, and you'd have so much to tell it would be almost as good as goingmyself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, as they pauseda minute on the hill-top to get breath, for both had walked as fast asthey talked.
"And will you answer the letters?" asked Ralph, watching the innocentface, which looked unusually kind and beautiful to him in that softlight.
"Why, yes; I'd love to, only I shall not have anything interesting tosay. What can I write about?" and Merry smiled as she thought how dullher letters would sound after the exciting details his would doubtlessgive.
"Write about yourself, and all the rest of the people I know. Grandmawill be gone, and I shall want to hear how you get on." Ralph lookedvery anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised she would tell allabout the other people, adding, as she turned from the evening peace andloveliness to the house, whence came the clatter of milk-pans and thesmell of cooking,--
"I never should have anything very nice to tell about myself, for Idon't do interesting things as you do, and you wouldn't care to hearabout school, and sewing, and messing round at home."
Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory perfume of ham whichsaluted them, and paused with her hand on the gate, as if she found itpleasanter out there than in the house. Ralph seemed to agree with her,for, leaning on the gate, he lingered to say, with real sympathy in histone and something else in his face, "Yes, I should; so you write andtell me all about it. I didn't know you had any worries, for you alwaysseemed like one of the happiest people in the world, with so many to petand care for you, and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hatefulto do. You'd think you were well off if you knew as much about povertyand work and never getting what you want, as I do."
"You bear your worries so
well that nobody knows you have them. I oughtnot to complain, and I won't, for I do have all I need. I'm so glad youare going to get what you want at last;" and Merry held out her hand tosay good-night, with so much pleasure in her face that Ralph could notmake up his mind to go just yet.
"I shall have to scratch round in a lively way before I do get it, forDavid says a fellow can't live on less than four or five hundred a year,even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and on crusts. I don'tmind as long as Grandma is all right. She is away to-night, or I shouldnot be here," he added, as if some excuse was necessary. Merry needed nohint, for her tender heart was touched by the vision of her friend ina garret, and she suddenly rejoiced that there was ham and eggs forsupper, so that he might be well fed once, at least, before he went awayto feed on artistic crusts.
"Being here, come in and spend the evening. The boys will like to hearthe news, and so will father. Do, now."
It was impossible to refuse the invitation he had been longing for, andin they went to the great delight of Roxy, who instantly retired to thepantry, smiling significantly, and brought out the most elaborate pie inhonor of the occasion. Merry touched up the table, and put a little vaseof flowers in the middle to redeem the vulgarity of doughnuts. Of coursethe boys upset it, but as there was company nothing was said, and Ralphdevoured his supper with the appetite of a hungry boy, while watchingMerry eat bread and cream out of an old-fashioned silver porringer, andthinking it the sweetest sight he ever beheld.
Then the young people gathered about the table, full of the new plans,and the elders listened as they rested after the week's work. A pleasantevening, for they all liked Ralph, but as the parents watched Merrysitting among the great lads like a little queen among her subjects,half unconscious as yet of the power in her hands, they nodded to oneanother, and then shook their heads as if they said,--
"I'm afraid the time is coming, mother."
"No danger as long as she don't know it, father."
At nine the boys went off to the barn, the farmer to wind up theeight-day clock, and the housewife to see how the baked beans and Indianpudding for to-morrow were getting on in the oven. Ralph took up his hatto go, saying as he looked at the shade on the tall student lamp,--
"What a good light that gives! I can see it as I go home every night,and it burns up here like a beacon. I always look for it, and it hardlyever fails to be burning. Sort of cheers up the way, you know, when I'mtired or low in my mind."
"Then I'm very glad I got it. I liked the shape, but the boys laughedat it as they did at my bulrushes in a ginger-jar over there. I'd beenreading about 'household art,' and I thought I'd try a little," answeredMerry, laughing at her own whims.
"You've got a better sort of household art, I think, for you make peoplehappy and places pretty, without fussing over it. This room is ever somuch improved every time I come, though I hardly see what it is exceptthe flowers," said Ralph, looking from the girl to the tall calla thatbent its white cup above her as if to pour its dew upon her head.
"Isn't that lovely? I tried to draw it--the shape was so graceful Iwanted to keep it. But I couldn't. Isn't it a pity such beautiful thingswon't last forever?" and Merry looked regretfully at the half-faded onethat grew beside the fresh blossom.
"I can keep it for you. It would look well in plaster. May I?" askedRalph.
"Thank you, I should like that very much. Take the real one as amodel--please do; there are more coming, and this will brighten up yourroom for a day or two."
As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding two or three of the greatgreen leaves, put the handsome flower in his hand with so much good-willthat he felt as if he had received a very precious gift. Then he saidgood-night so gratefully that Merry's hand quite tingled with the graspof his, and went away, often looking backward through the darkness towhere the light burned brightly on the hill-top--the beacon kindled byan unconscious Hero for a young Leander swimming gallantly against windand tide toward the goal of his ambition.