CHAPTER VIII.
THE TANSY CHEESE.
You are not to suppose from this that I became a good girl the verynext day. No, nor the day after. I ceased from the wickedness oftelling lies, just as I had stopped pilfering sweetmeats. This wasall; but it was certainly better than nothing.
I was soon able to play once more, only I could not run as fast asusual. How pleasant it was out of doors, after my long stay in thehouse! The flowers and trees seemed glad to see me, and I knew thehens and cows were, and old Deacon Pettibone, the horse. I resumed myold business of hunting hens' nests, though it was some weeks beforeI dared jump off the scaffold, and it seemed odd enough to come downon the ladder.
"I'd twice rather have it be you that had cut your foot, Fel Allen,"said I, "for you don't want to run and jump; and folks that don't wantto, might just as well have a lame foot as not."
Fel couldn't quite understand that, though it was as clear to _me_ asA B C. And after all my suffering, she wouldn't own I was as"delicate" as she. I didn't like that.
"You don't remember how many bad things have happened to me," said I,waving my thimble-finger, which had lost its tip-end in thecorn-sheller.
"Well, Ned's going to give you a gold thimble to pay for that, and Isuppose you're glad it's cut off," said Fel, who had never met withan accident in her life, and was naturally ashamed of not having asingle scar or bruise on her little white body, not so much as a wartor pimple to show me. I could not help feeling my superioritysometimes, for I had been cut and burnt, and smashed and scalded, andbore the marks of it, too.
"Well, but you don't have so bad headaches as me," said Fel,recovering her self-esteem. "Your mamma never has to put mustard_pace_ on your feet, and squeeze up burdock leaves and tie 'em on yourhead, now, does she?"
"I don' know but she did when I was a baby; I never heard her say,"returned I, coolly. "Folks don't think much of headaches. PollyWhiting has 'em so she can't but just see out of her eyes. But thatisn't like hurting a place on you so bad your mother doesn't dass doit up! I guess you'd think it _was_ something if you cut your footmost in two, and the doctor had to come and stick it together!"
Squeezing Herdsgrass. Page 125.]
That silenced Fel, and I had the last word, as usual.
It was already quite late in the summer. One day Fel and I weresnuggled in the three-cornered seat in the trees, trying to squeezeherdsgrass, to see which would be married first, when Ruthie came outat the side door to sweep off the steps.
"Maggie 'll be pleased," said she; "but how we shall miss her littlemill-clapper of a tongue."
She was talking to 'Ria, who was going back and forth, doing somethingin the kitchen.
"Yes, we shall miss her," said 'Ria; "but I shan't have her dressesto mend. I pity poor cousin Lydia; she'll think--"
Then 'Ria's voice sounded farther off, and I did not hear what cousinLydia would think.
"Put your head down here, Fel Allen. I've found out something,"whispered I, starting suddenly, and tearing my "tyer" on a nail.
"I'm going to cousin Lydia Tenney's."
"How do you know?"
"Why, didn't you hear 'Ria say she shouldn't have to mend my dresses?That means I shan't be here, of course."
"Perhaps it means you'll be a better girl, and not tear 'em."
"O, no, it don't. 'Ria knows better 'n that. Didn't you hear her sayshe pitied poor cousin Lydia? Well, it's because she'll have _me_ inher house; and that's why 'Ria pities her."
"Then I wouldn't go to her house, if 'twill make her feel bad," saidFel.
"O, I know what makes you say that; its because you don't want me togo."
"Of course I don't. Who'd I have to play with?"
"Lize Jane Bean."
"H'm."
"Well, then, there's Dunie Foster; you think she's a great deal nicer'n me."
"Now, Madge Parlin, I only said she kept her hair smoother; that's allI said."
"Well, there's Abby Gray and Sallie Gordon," added I, well pleasedto watch the drooping of my little friend's mouth. "You can play withthem while I'm gone. And there's your own brother Gust, that _you_think 's so much politer 'n Ned."
"You know there's nobody I like to play with so well as I do you,"said Fel, laying her cheek against mine, and we sat a while, thinkinghow dearly we did love each other. Then we saw Abner wheeling thechaise out of the barn. I ran down the steps from the tree, andasked,--
"Is anybody going anywhere, Abner?"
"Well, yes; I believe your pa's going over yonder," said he, pointingoff to the hills.
"Anybody--anybody going with him?"
"He talks of taking the Deacon," said Abner, dryly, as he began towrench off the wheels, and grease them.
"Madge, Madge, where are you?" called 'Ria, from the side door."Come into the house; I have something to tell you."
It was just as I expected. I was going to Bloomingdale to-morrow. Thenews had been kept from me till the last possible moment, for when Iwas excited about anything, I was noisier than ever, and as Ruthiesaid, "stirred up the house dreadfully."
Next morning father tucked me into the chaise, behind old Deacon. Ididn't know why it was, but I couldn't help thinking about thehatchet, and wondering mother should have taken so much pains to getsuch a naughty girl ready. I had been told I might stay till afterapple-gathering, and I was glad, for I wanted to make Fel as lonesomeas she had made me those two weeks she spent in Boston. I had neverbeen away from home but twice to stay over night, and my playmatescouldn't any of them know my true value, of course.
But as I looked at the dear friends on the piazza, growing dearerevery minute, especially mother, I had my doubts whether I cared muchabout cousin Lydia's apples.
"She'll be back with father," remarked Ned, "as homesick as a kitten."
"Just you see if I do!"
It was well we were driving away just then, for my brave laugh camevery near ending in a sob.
"I'm on business," said father, whipping up the Deacon, "and shallcome back to-morrow; but you can do as you please, Totty-wax--you cancome with me, or wait a month or six weeks, and come with cousinLydia."
I was disposing, privately, of a stray tear, and could not answer.
"Your cousin will take the cars," said he.
"Take the cars!" I slipped off the seat, and stood upright in mysurprise. The railroad had only just been laid to one corner ofWillowbrook, and I had never taken a car in my life; had never seenone; didn't even know how it looked. This had been a greatmortification to me ever since Fel went to Boston.
"O, father," cried I, whirling round and getting caught in the reins,"did you say the cars? I s'posed cousin Lydia would come in a wagon,and I didn't know 's I cared about staying. _Did_ you say the cars?"
"There, there; don't fall out over the Deacon's back. Did you everhear what the water-wagtail said?"
Then I knew father was laughing at me. When I was so happy Icouldn't keep still, he often asked me if I ever heard what a smallbird, called the water-wagtail, said, who thought the world was madefor him:--
"Twas for my accommodation Nature rose when I was born; Should I die, the whole creation Back to nothing would return."
That was what the little bird said. But father was mistaken this time.I felt remarkably humble for me. I had been thinking so much about thehatchet that I couldn't have a very high opinion of myself, to save mylife.
It was twenty miles to cousin Lydia's. When we got there she waslooking for us. I knew her very well, but had never been at her housebefore. It was a pretty white cottage, with woodbines creeping overit, and Boston pinks growing by the front door-stone. There was a redbarn and barnyard on one side of the house, and a woodshed on theother; and in front of the porch door, facing the street, was a well,with an old oaken bucket, hanging on a pole. I had never seen awell-sweep before, and supposed it must be far nicer than a pump.
Cousin Lydia had a farmer husband in a striped frock, and a beautifulold mother in a black dress
and double-frilled cap. Then there wereher husband's two sisters, who lived with her, and a cat and a dog;but not a child to be seen.
I didn't feel quite clear in my mind about staying; but cousin Lydiaseemed to expect I would, and showed me a little cheese-hoop, about asbig round as a dinner-plate, saying she would press a cheese in it onpurpose for me, and I might pick pigweed to "green" it, and tansy togive it a fine taste. So I should almost make the cheese myself; whatwould my mother say to that? Then there were the beehives, which werefilling with honey, and some late chickens, which were going to chipout of the shell in a week. Remarkable events, every one; but it wasthe tansy cheese which decided me at last, and I told father he mightgo without me; I wanted to stay and make a visit.
It was not till he was fairly out of sight that I remembered what along visit it would be. Why, I shouldn't see mother for as much as amonth! A new and dreadful feeling swept over me, as if I was left allalone in the great empty world, with nothing to comfort me as long asI lived.
Samantha, one of Mr. Tenney's sisters, found me an hour afterwardssitting beside a chicken-coop, crying into my apron. She asked me if Iwas homesick. I thought not; I only wanted to see my mother, and Ifelt bad "right here," laying my hand on the pit of my stomach. Thefeeling was not to be described, but I did not know homesickness wasthe name for it.
Samantha consoled me as well as she could with colored beads tostring, and a barrel of kittens out in the barn. I felt a littlebetter at dinner time, for the dinner was very nice; but my spiritswere still low.
Julia, the other young lady, was not very fond of little girls, andhad no box of trinkets as Samantha had, or, at any rate, did not showany to me. She seemed to be always talking privacy with her sister, orwith cousin Lydia, and always sending me out of the room. Not that sheever told me, in so many words, to go away--but just as if I didn'tknow what she meant!
"Don't you want to go out in the barn and hunt for eggs?" said she.
No, I certainly didn't. If I had wanted to I should have found it outwithout her speaking of it. But I was only a little girl; so I had togo, and couldn't answer back. The neighbors' children were few and farbetween; and though I strolled about for hours behind cousin JosephTenney and the hired man, there were times when I liked to see whatwas going on in the kitchen, and it was vexing to hear Julia say,--
"If I was a little girl about your age, I never should get tired oflooking at that speckled bossy out in the barn."
Indeed! I almost wished she had to be fastened into the stall a while,just to _see_ if she wouldn't get tired of that speckled bossy.
But when the time came to make my cheese, I had a right to stay inthe house. Cousin Lydia let me look on, and see it all done. First, Ipicked the pigweed and tansy, or how could she have made the cheese?Then she strained some milk into a pan, and squeezed the green juicesthrough a thin cloth. After that she put in a little rennet with aspoon.
"There," said she, "isn't that a pretty color? Watch it a few minutes,and you will see it grow thick, like blanc-mange, and that will becurd."
Then she made some white curd in another pan, without any greenjuice. After the curd "came," it was very interesting to cross it offwith a pudding-stick, and this she let me do myself. Next morning shedrained the curd in a cloth over a cheese-basket, and put on a stoneto press out the whey. When it was drained dry enough, she let me cutit up in the chopping-tray, and she mixed the two curds together, thegreen and the white, salted them, and put them in that cunning hoop,and then set the hoop in the cheese-press, turned a crank, and weighedit down with a flatiron. There, that is the way to make a cheese. Whenit came out of the press it was a perfect little beauty, white, withirregular spots of green, like the streaks in marble cake. I knew thenhow that greedy Harry felt, in the story, when his mother sent him aplum cake, and he couldn't wait for a knife, but "gnawed it like alittle dog."
Of course I did not gnaw the cheese, but I did want to have it cutopen, to see if it tasted like any other I ever ate. But cousin Lydiacovered it with tissue paper, and oiled it, and set it in a safe, andevery day she oiled it again, and turned it. I would have spent halfmy time looking at it, only she said I must not open the dairy-roomdoor to let the flies in.