In fact Hiel, though maintaining on the whole a fairly consistent walk and profession, was undoubtedly a very gleesome church member, and about as near Mother Jones's idea of a saint as a bobolink on a clover−top.
There was a worldly twinkle in his eye, and the lines of his cheery face grew rather broad than long, and his mother's most lugubrious suggestions would often set him off in a story that would upset even the old lady's gravity and bring upon her pangs of repentance. For the spiritual danger and besetting sin that Mother Jones more especially guarded against was an "undue levity;" but when she remembered that Dr. Cushing himself and all the neighboring clergymen, on an occasion of a "minister's meeting" when she had been helping in the family, had vied with each other in telling good stories, and shaken their sides with roars of heartiest laughter, she was somewhat consoled about Hiel. She confessed it was a mystery to her, however, 'how folks could hev the heart to be a−laughin' and tellin' stories in sich a dying world.'
CHAPTER XXXV. MISS DEBBY ARRIVES.
TO Dr. Cushing's, Ma'am?"
This question met the ear of Miss Debby Kittery just after she had deposited her umbrella, with a smart, decisive thump, by her side, and settled herself and her bandbox on the back seat of the creaking, teetering old stage on the way to Poganuc.
Miss Debby opened her eyes, surveyed the questioner with a well−bred stare, and answered, with a definite air, "Yes, sir."
"Oh, yis; thought so," said Hiel Jones. "Miss Kittery, I s'pose; the Doctor's folks is expecting ye. Folks all well in Boston, I s'pose?"
Miss Debby in her heart thought Hiel Jones very presuming and familiar, and endeavored to convey by her behavior and manner that such was her opinion; but the effort was quite a vain one, for the remotest conception of any such possibility in his case was so far from Hiel's mind that there was not there even the material to make it of. The look of dignified astonishment with which the good lady responded to his question as to the "folks in Boston" was wholly lost on him.
The first sentence in the Declaration of Independence, that all men are "created equal," had so far become incarnate in Hiel that he never yet had seen the human being whom he did not feel competent to address on equal terms, and, when exalted to his high seat on the stage−box, could not look down upon with a species of patronage. Even the haute noblesse of Poganuc allowed Hiel's familiarities and laughed at his jokes; he was one of their institutions; and what was tolerance and acceptance on the part of the aristocracy became CHAPTER XXXV. MISS DEBBY ARRIVES.
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adulation on the part of those nearer his own rank of life. And so when Miss Debby Kittery made him short answers and turned away her head, Hiel merely commented to himself, "Don't seem sociable. Poor old lady!
Tired, I s'pose; roads is pretty rough," and, gathering up his reins, dashed off cheerfully.
At the first stage where he stopped to change horses he deemed it his duty to cheer the loneliness of the old lady by a little more conversation, and so, after offering to bring her a tumbler of water, he resumed:
"Ye hain't ben to Poganuc very often; hain't seen Dolly since she's grow'd up?"
"Are you speaking of Miss Cushing, sir?" asked Miss Debby, in tones of pointed rebuke. "Yis wal, we allers call her 'Dolly' t' our house," said Hiel. "We've know'd her sence she was that high. My wife used to live to the Doctor's she thinks all the world of Dolly."
Miss Debby thought of the verse in the Church Catechism in which the catechumen defines it as his duty to
'order himself lowly and reverently to all his betters.' Evidently Hiel had never heard of this precept. Perhaps if he had, the inquiry as to who are betters, as presented to a shrewd and thoughtful mind, might lead to embarrassing results.
So, as he seemed an utterly hopeless case, and as after all he appeared so bright, and anxious to oblige, Miss Debby surrendered at discretion, and during the last half of the way found herself laughing heartily at some of Hiel's stories and feeling some interest in the general summary of Poganuc news which he threw in gratis.
"Yis, the Doctor's folks is all well. Doctor's had lots o' things sent in this year, Thanksgiving time turkeys and chickens and eggs and lard every kind o' thing you can think of. Everybody sent Town Hill folks, and folks out seven miles round. Everybody likes the Doctor; they'd orter, too! There ain't sech a minister nowhere. The way he explains the doctrines and sets 'em home I tell ye, there ain't no mistake about him; he's a hull team, now, and our folks knows it. Orter 'a' ben here a week ago, when the Doctor had his wood−spell. Tell ye, if the sleds didn't come in! Why, his back−yard's a perfect mountain o' wood best sort too, good oak and hickory, makes good solid coals enough to keep him a year round. Wal, folks orter do it.
He's faithful to them, they'd orter do wal by him."
"Isn't there an Episcopal church in your town?" asked Miss Debby.
"Oh, yes, there is a little church. Squire Lewis he started it 'bout six years ago, and there was consid'able many signed off to it. But our Poganuc folks somehow ain't made for 'Piscopals. A 'Piscopal church in our town is jest like a hill o' potatoes planted under a big apple−tree; the tree got a−growin' afore they did, and don't give 'em no chance. There was my wife's father, he signed off, 'cause of a quarrel he hed with his own church; but he's come back agin, and so have all his boys, and Nabby, and jined the Doctor's church. Fact is, our folks sort o' hanker arter the old meetin'−house."
"Who is the rector of the Episcopal church?"
"Oh, that's Sim Coan; nice, lively young feller, Sim is; but can't hold a candle to the Doctor. Sim he ain't
'fraid of nobody preaches up the 'Piscopal doctrine sharp, and stands up for his side; and he's all the feasts and fasts and anthems and things at his tongue's end; and his folks likes him fust rate. But the church don't grow much; jest holds its own, that's all."
These varied items of intelligence, temporal and spiritual, were poured into Miss Debby's ear at sundry periods when horses were to be changed, or in the interval of waiting for dinner at the sleepy old country tavern; and by the time she reached Poganuc she had conceived quite a friendly feeling towards Hiel and unbent her frigid demeanor to that degree that Hiel told Nabby "the old lady reely got quite sociable and CHAPTER XXXV. MISS DEBBY ARRIVES.
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warmed up afore she got there."
Dolly was somewhat puzzled and almost alarmed on her first introduction to her aunt, who took possession of her in a summary manner, turning her round and surveying her, and giving her opinion of her with a distinct and decisive air, as if the damsel had been an article of purchase sent home to be looked over.
"So this is my niece Dolly, is it?" she said. "Well, come kiss your old aunty; upon my word, you are taller than your mother." Then holding her at arm's length and surveying her, with her head on one side, she added,
"There's a good deal of Pierrepont blood in her, sister; that is the Pierrepont nose I should know it anywhere. Her way of carrying herself is Pierrepont. Blushing!" she added, as Dolly grew crimson under this survey; "that's a family trick. I remember when I went to dancing school the first time, my face was crimson as my sash. She'll get the better of that as she gets older, as I have. Sit down by your aunty, child. I think I shall like you. That's right, sit up straight and hold your shoulders back the girls of this generation are getting round−shouldered."
Though Dolly was somewhat confused and confounded by this abrupt mode of procedure, yet there was after all something quaint and original about her aunt's manner that amused her, and an honest sincerity in her face that won her regard. Miss Debby was one of those human beings who carry with them the apology for their own existence. It took but a glance to see that she was one of those forces of nature which move always in straight lines and which must be turned out for if one wishes to avoid a collision. All Miss Debby's opinions had been made up, catalogued, and arranged, at a
very early period of life, and she had no thought of change.
She moved in a region of certainties, and always took her own opinions for granted with a calm supremacy altogether above reason. Yet there was all the while about her a twinkle of humorous consciousness, a vein of original drollery, which gave piquancy to the brusqueness of her manner and prevented people from taking offence.
So this first evening Dolly stared, laughed, blushed, wondered, had half a mind to be provoked, but ended in a hearty liking of her new relative and most agreeable anticipations of her Boston visit.
CHAPTER XXXVI. PREPARATIONS FOR SEEING LIFE.
THE getting ready for Dolly's journey began to be the engrossing topic of the little household.
Miss Simpkins, the Poganuc dress−maker, had a permanent corner in the sitting−room, and discoursed ex cathedra on "piping−cord" and "ruffling cut on the bias," and Dolly and Mrs. Cushing and Miss Deborah obediently ran up breadths, hemmed, stitched and gathered at her word of command.
The general course of society in those days as to dress and outward adornment did not run with the unchecked and impetuous current that it now does. The matter of dress has become in our day a yoke and a burden, and many a good house−mother is having the springs of her existence sapped by responsibilities connected with pinking and frilling and quilling, and an army of devouring cares as to hemming, stitching and embroidery, for which even the "consolations of religion" provide no panacea.
In the simple Puritan days, while they had before their eyes the query of Sacred Writ, "Can a maid forget her ornaments?" they felt that there was no call to assist the maid in her meditations on this subject. Little girls were assiduously taught that to be neat and clean was the main beauty. Good mothers who had pretty daughters were very reticent of any remarks that might lead in the direction of personal vanity; any extra amount of time spent at the toilet, any apparent anxiety about individual adornment, met a persistent discouragement.
CHAPTER XXXVI. PREPARATIONS FOR SEEING LIFE.
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Never in all her life before had Dolly heard so much discourse on subjects connected with personal appearance, and, to say the truth, she did not at all enter into it with the abandon and zeal of a girl of our modern days, and found the fitting and trying on and altering rather a tribulation to be conscientiously endured. She gathered, hemmed, stitched and sewed, however, and submitted herself to the trying−on process with resignation.
"The child don't seem to think much of dress," said Miss Debby, when alone with her sister. "What is she thinking of, with those great eyes of hers?"
"Oh, of things she is planning," said her mother; "of books she is reading, of things her father reads to her, of ways she can help me in short, of anything but herself." "She is very pretty," said Miss Debby, "and is sure to be very attractive."
"Yes," answered her mother, "but Dolly hasn't the smallest notion of anything like coquetry. Now, she has been a good deal admired here, and there have been one or two that would evidently have been glad to go farther; but Dolly cuts everything of that kind short at once. She is very pleasant, very kind, very friendly, up to a certain point, but the moment she is made love to everything is changed."
"Well," said Miss Deborah, "I am glad I came after her. There's everything, with a girl like Dolly, in putting her into proper society. When a girl comes to her years one should put her in the way of a suitable connection at once."
"As to that," said Mrs. Cushing, "I always felt that things of that kind must be left to Providence."
"I believe, however, your husband preaches that we must 'use the means,' doesn't he? One must put children in proper society, to give Providence a chance."
"Well, Debby, you have your schemes, but I forewarn you Dolly is one who goes her own path. She seems very sweet, very gentle, very yielding, but she has a little quiet way of her own of looking at things and deciding for herself; she always knows her own mind very definitely, too."
"Good!" said Miss Debby, taking a long and considerate pinch of snuff. "We shall see."
Miss Debby had unbounded confidence in her own powers of management. She looked upon Dolly as a very creditably educated young person so far, but did not in the least doubt her own ability to add a few finishing touches here and there, which should turn her out a perfected specimen.
On Sunday morning Miss Debby arose with the spirit of a confessor. For her brother−in−law the good lady had the sincerest respect and friendship, but on this particular day she felt bound to give her patronage and support to the little church where, in her view, the truly appointed minister dispensed the teaching of the true church.
The Doctor lifted his glasses and soberly smiled as he saw her compact energetic figure walking across the green to the little church. Dolly's cheeks flamed up; she was indignant; to her it looked like a slight upon her father, and Dolly, as we have seen, had a very active spirit of partisanship.
"Well, I must say I wonder at her doing so," she commented. "Does she not think we are Christians?" "She has a right to her own faith, my child," said the Doctor.
"Yes, but what would she think of me, when I am in Boston, if I should go off to some other church than hers?"
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"My dear, I hope you will give her no such occasion," said Mrs. Cushing. "Your conscience requires no such course of you; hers does."
"Well, it seems to me that Aunty has a very narrow and bigoted way of looking at things," said Dolly.
"Your aunt is an old lady very decided in all her opinions not in the least likely to be changed by anything you or I or anybody can say to her. It is best to take her as she is."
"Besides," said the Doctor, "she has as much right to think I am in the wrong as I have to think she is. Let every one be fully persuaded in his own mind."
. . . . . . .
"I was very glad, my dear, you answered Dolly as you did," said Mrs. Cushing to her husband that night when they were alone. "She has such an intense feeling about all that relates to you, and the Episcopal party have been so often opposed to you, that she will need some care and caution now she is going where everything is to be changed. She will have to see that there can be truth and goodness in both forms of worship."
"Oh, certainly; I will indoctrinate Dolly," said the Doctor. "Yes, I will set the whole thing before her. She has a good clear mind. I can make her understand."
CHAPTER XXXVII. LAST WORDS.
AT last all the preparations were made, and Dolly's modest wardrobe packed to the very last article, so that her bureau drawers looked mournfully empty.
It was a little hair trunk, with "D. C." embossed in brass nails upon one end, that contained all this young lady's armor a very different affair from the Saratoga trunks of our modern belles. The pink brocade with its bunches of rose−buds; some tuckers of choice old lace that had figured in her mother's bridal toilet; a few bits of ribbon; a white India muslin dress, embroidered by her own hands; these were the stock in trade of a young damsel of her times, and, strange as it may appear, young ladies then were stated by good authority to have been just as pretty and bewitching as now, when their trunks are several times as large.
Dolly's place and Aunt Debby's had been properly set down on Hiel's stage−book for the next morning at six o'clock; and now remained only an evening of last words. So Dolly sits by her father in his study, where from infancy she has retreated for pleasant quiet hours, where even the books she never read seem to her like familiar friends from the number of times she has pondered the titles upon their backs. And now, though she wants to go, and feels the fluttering eagerness of the young bird, who has wings to use and would like to try the free air, yet the first flight from the nest is a little fearful. Boston is a long way off three long days and Dolly has never been farther from Poganuc than she has ridden by her father's side in th
e old chaise; so that the very journey has as much importance in her eyes as fifty years later a modern young lady will attach to a voyage to England.
"My daughter," said the Doctor, "I know you will have a pleasant time; I hope, a profitable one. Your aunt is a good woman. I have great confidence in her affection for you; your own mother could not feel more sincere desire for your happiness. And your grandmother is an eminently godly woman. Of course, while with them you will attend the services of the Episcopal Church; for that you have my cordial consent and willingness.
The liturgy of the church is full of devout feelings, and the Thirty−nine Articles (with some few slight exceptions) are a very excellent statement of truth. In adopting the spirit and language of the prayers in the CHAPTER XXXVII. LAST WORDS.
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service you cannot go amiss; very excellent Christians have been nourished and brought up upon them. So have no hesitation about uniting in all Christian exercises with your relatives in Boston."
"Oh, Papa, I am almost sorry I am going," said Dolly, impulsively. "My home has been always so happy, I feel almost afraid to leave it. It seems as if I ought not to leave you and Mother alone."
The Doctor smiled and stroked her hair gently in an absent way. "We shall miss you, dear child, of course; you are the last bird in the nest, but your mother and I are quite sure it is for the best."
And then the conversation wandered back over many a pleasant field of the past over walks and talks and happy hours long gone; over the plans and hopes and wishes for her brothers that Dolly had felt proud to be old enough to share; until the good man's voice sometimes would grow husky as he spoke and Dolly's long eye−lashes were wet and tearful. It was the kind of pleasant little summer rain of tears that comes so easily to young eyes that have never known what real sorrow is.