CHAPTER II
GOOD-BY TO AN OLD HOME
When they reached the barn they saw Aunt Mary carrying a great platterof corn up to the house. The little girl washed her hands and her face,that was quite rosy now, and followed. How delicious it all looked!White bread, corncake, cold chicken, pot-cheese in great creamy balls,and a hot molasses cake to come on with the berries.
The little girl always sat beside her mother, and Margaret on the boys'side, to help them. There were four boys and two hired men.
Mrs. Underhill was a notable housekeeper. She was a little sharp in thetemper, but Mr. Underhill was so easy that some one had to uphold thefamily dignity. She complained that 'Milyer spoiled the children, butthey were good-natured and jolly, and quite up to the average.
After supper the cows were milked, the horses fed and bedded, Margaretand her mother packed up the dishes in a big basket, and the boys tookthem down to Mary. Mrs. Underhill looked after the milk.
The little girl went out on the wide porch and studied her lessons.There were two long lines in Webster's elementary spelling-book to getby heart, for the teacher "skipped about." The children went up anddown, and it was rare fun sometimes. The little girl had been out of theBaker class a long while. They call it that because the first columnbegan with that easy word. She was very proud of having gone in thelarger class. Her father gave her a silver dollar with a hole punchedthrough it, and Steve brought her a blue ribbon for it. She wore it onstate occasions. She studied Peter Parley's geography and knew theverses beginning:
"The world is round and like a ball, Seems swinging in the air."
How it could be puzzled her. She asked her father, for she thought heknew everything. He said he believed it was, but he could never make itseem so.
Aunt Mary strenuously denied it. "Sta'ns to reason de folks would falloff w'en it went swirlin' round. De good Lord He knows His businessbetter'n dat. Jes don't mind any sech foolin', honey! Its clear agin deBible dat speaks ob de sun's risin' an' settin', an' de Lord nebbermakes any mistake 'bout dat ar Bible."
The little girl studied her lesson over four times. Then Jim came up andthey had a game of tag. Dave Andrews and Milton Scott sat out under theold apple-tree smoking their pipes and talking politics. One was a Whigand the other a Democrat who believed that we had never had a Presidentworth mentioning since Andrew Jackson, Old Hickory as he was oftencalled.
When her father came round the corner of the house she stopped runningafter Jim and held out both hands to him. Her cheeks were like wildroses and her eyes shone with pleasure. They sat down on the step, andhe put his arm about her and "cuddled" her up to his side. She told himshe had gone up three in saying seven times in the multiplication table,and four in spelling "tetrarch." Then when Charley Banks was reading hesaid "condig-en" and the class laughed. She also told him she had beenstudying about Rhode Island and Roger Williams, and all the bays andinlets and islands. She made believe comb his hair with her slim littlefingers and once in a while he opened his lips like a trap and caughtthem, and they both laughed.
Presently Mrs. Underhill, who sat by the window knitting in thetwilight, said: "'Milyer, that child must go to bed."
She felt she had to issue this mandate two of three times, so she beganearly.
They hugged each other and laughed a little. Then he said: "All thechickens right?"
"Yes, I counted them. They're so cunning and lovely."
"I hope they'll get their feather cloaks on before cold weather," saidher father.
"'Milyer, that child _must_ go to bed! I don't see why you want to keepher up all hours of the night."
They hugged each other a little closer this time and did not laugh, butjust kissed softly. It was beginning to grow dusky. The peeps andcrickets and katydids were out in force. The katydids told you therewould be frost in six weeks.
When her mother added in a dignified tone, "Come, Hannah Ann," thelittle girl took one last hug and came into the room. Margaret hadlighted the candles in their polished brass candlesticks. One stood onthe hall table, one on the stand in the middle of the room. Mrs.Underhill had knit past the seam in her stocking and pulled out a fewstitches. Then she laid it down and unfastened the little girl's frockand said, "Now run to bed this minute." Margaret was reading, but sheglanced up and smiled.
The candle made a vague yellowish light on the stairs. There were peoplewho burned lamp-oil, as the oil from whales was called. The little girlheld it in curious awe, associating it with the story of Jonah. Mrs.Underhill despised the "ill-smelling stuff" and would not have it in thehouse. She made beautiful candles. Oil-wells had hardly been thought of,except that some one occasionally brought a bottle from Pennsylvania forrheumatism.
The little girl had slept in her mother's room, which answered to theback parlor, until this spring when she had gone up to Margaret's room.There were four large chambers on the second floor and a spaciousclothes-room with a closet for bedding. Up above was an immense garretwith four gables. The three younger boys and the two hired men sleptthere.
The little girl didn't mind going to bed alone, but her mother generallyfound some good reason for going up-stairs. On cool nights she was afraidthe little girl wasn't well covered; and to-night she looked in andsaid:
"I hope you're not bundled up in a blanket this hot night, Hannah Ann!Children seem to have such little sense."
"Oh no, I have only the sheet over me." But the little girl raised upand held out her arms, and her mother gave her a soft squeeze and pattedthe pillow and said:
"Now you must go to sleep like a good little girl;" quite as if she wasin the habit of being bad and not going to sleep, but they bothunderstood.
You may think the little girl's life was dull with lessons and sewingand going to bed at dusk. But she found no end of fun. Now and then ahost of cousins came, and they climbed trees, ran races, waded in thebrooks, went off to the woods and swung in the wild grape-vines.Sometimes they walked out on the end of a wide-spreading branch, holdingto the one above, and when they began to "teeter" too much they gave aspring and came down on the soft ground. The little girl could go out along way because she was so light and fearless. They never broke theirnecks or their limbs. They laughed and shouted and turned summersaultsand ran races. No day was ever long enough.
The school was a good mile away, but on very stormy days they were takenin the covered wagon. They studied with a will, just as they played, andyou heard nothing about nerves in those days.
Some of the parents came that last day at school. Jim acquitted himselfcreditably in his "Ode to Columbia," and the little girl recited with arose in her hand, though Margaret had quite a trouble to find one forher. Roses didn't bloom all the year round as they do now. When thechildren were dismissed they went out and gave some deafening hurrahsfor the two weeks' vacation. Oh, what throats and lungs they had!
When the little girl reached home she found a houseful of company. Whenfamilies have lived from one to two hundred years in one section of thecountry, they get related to almost everybody. And though Aunt BeckyOdell was a second cousin of her mother's, she was aunt to the littlegirl all the same. She had come up from West Farms to spend a few daysand brought her two little girls. Some other relatives had come fromTarrytown.
The little girl greeted everybody, took off her Sunday white frock thathad a needleworked edge that her mother had worn twenty years and moreago. Then she took the little girls out to see the chickens and huntsome eggs and have a good play on the hay in the barn.
"Oh, ain't you just crazy to go to New York to live?" cried Polly Odell."The stores are so beautiful! When I go down I just don't want to comeback!"
"You was homesick at Aunt Ph[oe]be's, you know you was," said hersister, with small regard for her tense.
"Well, I didn't like Aunt Ph[oe]be one bit. She's old and cross, and sheisn't our own aunt either. She won't let you stand by the window les'you breathe on the glass, and she won't let you rock on the carpet norrun up and down stairs, no
r touch a book, and makes you get up at fivein the morning when you're so sleepy. She wanted me to stay 'cause shesaid 'I was handy to wait on her.' And it wasn't truly New York but wayup by the East River. I wouldn't have stayed for a dollar. I just jumpedup and down when poppy came, and she said, 'For goodness' sake! don'tthrash out all my carpet with your jouncin' up an' down.' You can justgo yourself, Janey Odell, and see how you like it!"
"I'm sure I don't want to go. But you just jumped at it!"
"Well, I thought it would be nice. But oh, Hanneran, it's just splendidhere! And to-morrow Uncle 'Milyer's going to take us out riding. He saidso. Oh, Hanneran, wasn't you awful 'fear'd to speak a piece before allthe folks at school?"
Polly Odell looked at her in amazement.
"Well--just at first----"
"I wouldn't dast to for a dollar!" cried Janey.
They went on with their play, now and then stumbling against adiscussion that never really reached the height of a dispute. Margaretcame to hunt them up presently that they might have their tousled headssmoothed and their hands and faces washed.
The little girl was always interested when they had a high tea in thesitting-room. The best old blue china was out, the loaf sugar, and thesugar-tongs that the little girl watched breathlessly lest her mothershould lose the lump of sugar before it reached the cup.
The men and boys were having supper in the other room, but the littlegirls waited on the porch. They were so quiet and kept so tidy that Mrs.Underhill gave them a lump of sugar in each glass of milk, and took itup with the sugar-tongs, to the little girl's great delight.
She couldn't help hearing the talk as they all sat out on the porch.Uncle Faid had really sold his farm, stock, and crops, and was to givepossession in September. Then they would visit their two sons and someof Aunt Betsey's people in Michigan, and get on about Christmas.
"It's a shame to have to give up the house," declared Cousin Odell."Can't you keep it, 'Milyer?"
"A bargain's a bargain. Faid did a fair thing when he went away, and Ican't do less than a fair thing now. If he'd died, his share in thehouse would have been offered to me first. I dare say we could put on anaddition and live together without quarrellin', but the boys want to goto New York, and they couldn't all stay here and make a living. Theyoung folks must strike out, and I tell mother if she don't get tofeeling at home I'll come back and build her a house."
"It'll never be like this one," said Mrs. Underhill sharply.
"The world is full of changes," declared the Tarrytown cousin.
The little girl sat in her father's lap and listened until she wentsoundly asleep. Janey Odell leaned against the porch column and almosttumbled over. Mrs. Underhill sprang up.
"Mercy on us! These children ought to be in bed. Wake up, Hannah Ann!"
"I'll carry her up-stairs," said her father, and he kissed her tenderlyas he laid her on the bed. Her mother undressed her and patted down herpillow. She flung her arms about her mother's neck.
"Oh, mother!" she cried softly, wonderingly, "do you want to go to NewYork?"
"Child dear, I don't know what I want," and there was a muffled sound inher voice. "There, go to sleep, dear. Don't worry."
They inspected the pretty knoll the next day where Mrs. Underhill was tohave her new house built if they didn't take root in New York. Were nother children dearer to her than any spot of ground? And if they were allgoing away----
The children had a very jolly time. On Monday the Odells went home, andthe little girl hated to say good-by. Cousin Famie Morgan, her real namewas Euphemia, wanted to go to White Plains to visit a while with AuntAnn and David, and Cousin Joanna would stay a few days longer and go toNew York to do some shopping. Margaret would go with Cousin Famie. Thelittle girl wanted to go too, and take her patchwork. She had only sixblocks to do now.
Grandmother was very glad to see her, and praised her without stint.Uncle David and Aunt Eunice had some grandchildren. Two sons and onedaughter were married, and one son and daughter were still at home. AuntEunice was a very placid, sweet body, and still clung to her Quakerdress and speech, though she went to the old Episcopal church with herhusband. Her folks lived up in Putnam County.
Grandmother would have spoiled the little girl if such a thing had beenpossible. She would help her with the patchwork, and then she broughtout some lovely red French calico that was soft and rich, and began tojoin it. They had some nice drives, and one day they took Cousin Morganhome and stayed to dinner. There were three single women living togetherin a queer rambling house that had been added to, and raised in places.Mr. Erastus Morgan and his wife lived in Paris, and once a year or sothere would come a package of pretty things--china and ornaments ofvarious kinds, odd pieces of silk and brocade for cushions, gloves, andfans and laces and silk for gowns, as if they were still quite youngwomen.
Uncle David had the "Knickerbocker History of New York," which everybodynow knew was written by Mr. Washington Irving, and various members ofthe family were settled about Tarrytown, and many others in the SleepyHollow graveyard. The very next day the little girl began to read thehistory, for she wanted to know about New York. They had a delightfulvisit with grandmother and Aunt Eunice. Uncle David was seven yearsolder than her father. The little girl concluded she liked him verymuch.
When she and Margaret went home everything was going on just the same.The little girl was somewhat amazed. No one said a word about moving.She had expected to see everything packed. The children started forschool as usual. Then Mrs. Underhill went down to the city and stayed afortnight and came home looking worn and worried. The impending changeweighed upon her. But the little girl was so interested in Mr. DederichKnickerbocker which she was reading aloud to her father that changeshardly mattered.
Early in December Mr. Frederic Underhill with his wife and daughter cameto hand. He was thin and stooped a good deal, and looked older thanUncle David. Aunt Crete's name was Lucretia, and the little girl wasamazed to learn that. She was tall and thin and wore a black lace sortof cap to cover the bald spot on her head. Then she had a false front ofdark hair. Her own was very thin and white. She had been a greatsufferer from 'ager,' as she called it, and the doctors said only anentire change of climate would break it up. And goodness only knew howglad she was to get back East.
Lauretta--Retty as she was called--was about twenty-two, a good, stout,common-place girl who made herself at home at once. She had a lover whowas coming on in the spring when they would be married, and he expected"to help Pop farm. Pop was pretty well broken down with hard work, andhe'd about seen his best days. He'd been awful anxious to get back amonghis own folks, and she, Retty, hoped now he'd take things kinder easy."
Grandmother and Uncle David's family came down to welcome them. All thecountry round seemed to turn out. And just before Christmas, with allthe rest of the work, the little girl's quilt was put in. Some of theolder people came the first day and had a fine supper. Next afternoon itwas the young people's turn.
The little girl had a blue-and-white figured silk frock made from askirt of her mother's. The tops of the sleeves were trimmed with four orfive ruffles and there were two ruffles around the neck. She wore hergold beads, and Margaret curled her hair. Everybody praised her and shefelt very happy. Some of the young men came in while they were takingthe quilt out of the frame, and oh, what a tussle there was! The girlwho could wrap herself first in it was to be married first. Such pullingand laughing, such a din of voices and struggle of hands--you would havethought all the girls wild to get married. The little girl looked withdismay, for it seemed as if her quilt would be torn to pieces.
Retty wound one corner around herself, and two of the young men rolledMargaret and several of the other girls in the other end amid the shoutsof the lookers-on.
Then grandmother shook it out and folded it.
"There!" she exclaimed, "to-morrow I'll put on the binding. And, HannahAnn, you have a good beginning. Not every little girl can show such aquilt as that, pieced all by herself before she w
as eight years old!"
"But you helped, grandmother----"
"Nonsense, child! Just a piece now and then! And I've a nice pair ofwool blankets I'm saving up for you that I spun myself. You'll have agood many things saved up in a dozen years."
What fun they had afterward! There were two black fiddlers in the hall;one was Cato, Aunt Mary's grandson, a stylish young fellow much indemand for parties. They danced and danced.
Steve took his little sister out several times, and John danced withher. Her father thought her the very prettiest one in the crowd. Hermother let her stay up until eleven.
"I'm so sorry you are going away," said Retty, the next morning. "Inever did have such a good time in my life. I don't see why we can't alllive together in this big house!"
In the new year the real business of changing began. It was hard toselect a house. Joe said all New York was going up-town, and that beforemany years the lower part of the city would be given over to business.Bond and Amity Street, around St. John's Park and East Broadway werestill centres of fashion. The society people had come up from theBowling Green and the Battery, though there were still some beautifulold houses that business people clung to because they wanted to be nearto everything. Harlem and Yorkville were considered country. Up on theeast side as far as Eightieth or Ninetieth Street there were somespacious summer residences with beautiful grounds. A few fine mansionsclustered about University Square. City Hall Park was still covered withfine growing shade-trees. There was such a magnificent fountain thatLydia Maria Child, describing it, said there was nothing to equal it inthe Old World.
Still, the unmistakable trend was up-town. Grace Church was agitating anew building at Tenth Street. Rows of houses were being put up on thenew streets, though down-town people rather scoffed and wondered whypeople were not going up to Harlem and taking their business placesalong.
After much discussion the Underhills settled upon First Street. Stephenmade the decision, though he had great faith in "up-town." This wasconvenient. Then they could buy through to Houston Street, and there wasa stable and sort of storehouse on the end of the lot. And though youwouldn't think it now, it was quite pretty and refined then, from AvenueA out to the Bowery. They were in a row of nice brick houses, quite nearFirst Avenue, on the lower side of the street. Opposite it was wellbuilt for quite a space, and then came the crowning glory of the block.About a dozen houses stood thirty or so feet back from the street andhad lovely flower-gardens in front. Stephen would have liked one ofthese, but the houses were not roomy enough. And in their own place theyhad a nice grass-plot, some flower-beds, and several fruit-trees, besidea grape-trellis. He thought his mother would be less homesick if shecould see some bloom and greenery.
It was the last of March, 1843, that the little girl came to New York.Mrs. Underhill believed it only an experiment. When the boys were grownup and married, settled in their own homes, she and 'Milyer would goback to Yonkers on their part of the farm and have a nice big house fortheir old age and for the grandchildren. In her motherly heart she hopedthere would be a good many of them. She couldn't have spared any of hereight children.
The house in First Street seemed very queer. It had a front area and twobasements, two parlors on the next floor with folding-doors and a longell-room, rather narrow, so that it would not darken the back room toomuch. Up-stairs there were three large chambers and one small one, andon the fourth floor, that did not have full-size windows, three more.That there was no "garret" caused endless lamentation.
They could not bring old Mary, indeed she would not come, but they had arather youngish countrywoman whose husband had deserted her, and who waslooking for a good home. Mary thought she would stay a while with the"new folks" and get them "broke in," as she phrased it, and then go andlive with her son.
The little girl stood on her own front stoop looking up and down thestreet. It was queer the houses should be just alike--six brown-stonesteps, and iron side railings, and an iron railing to the area, that waspaved with brick. You would always have to be thinking of the number oryou might get into the neighbor's house. Oh, no. Here was a sure sign,the bright silver door-plate with black lettering--"Vermilye F.Underhill." She looked at it in amazement. It made her father suddenlygrand in her estimation. Could she sit in his lap just the same andtwist his whiskers about her fingers and comb his hair and read out ofher story-books to him? And where would she go to school? Were there anylittle girls around to play with? How could she get acquainted withthem?
While she was considering this point, two girls went by. Both had strawgypsy hats with flowers and ruffled capes of black silk. They looked upat her. She was going to smile down to them in the innocent belief thatall little girls must be glad to see each other. One of themgiggled--yes, she absolutely did, and said:
"Oh, what a queer-looking thing! Her frock comes down to her shoe-topslike an old woman's and that sun-bonnet! Why she must have just come infrom the backwoods!"