A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER X

  WITH A POET

  The city by the sea sung itself in Hanny's brain. The sweet, young,beautiful wife, ruthlessly torn away, was somewhere in space, among thestars perhaps, and not in the old graveyard. She was floating on and onamidst all lovely things and divine fragrances. She could never growold; she would never want for anything. Ah, would she not want for themother and the poet who loved her?

  An incident that had moved her strongly only a few weeks before, was astrange bit of reminiscence that could hardly be called a story. Ben hadbrought home a volume of De Quincey, and "Suspiria de Profundis" wasamong the papers. The others were too intellectual to interest her; butthe touching, tender, immeasurable longing for the little sister goneout of life, filled her inmost soul with an emotion so sacred she couldnot talk it over with any one. This was akin to it.

  Yet Hanny did not live in the clouds or in vague memories all the time.Her father drove up the next day, and found she was not homesick; andher mother was coming up the next week to spend the day; and everybodywas well. She had a great deal to tell him; and she seemed very merry.He wasn't quite sure about the crabbing expedition; but Mrs. Odell saidthere wasn't a mite of danger, for some of the big boys always wentalong; and that it was a regular frolic for the children.

  So Saturday they put on their oldest clothes. Hanny wore an outgrownfrock of Polly's. Mr. Odell said he would drive them down to the river,which would save half the walk. He had some business in that direction.

  He had the farm-waggon, and put some hay in the bottom, though heinsisted Hanny should sit on the seat with him. They stopped at Fordham,and took in another relay; and the children were wild with theunreasoning gladness of youth. Mr. Odell was in an uncommon good-humour,and took them down the river quite a distance, to High Bridge, and thenup again, when they espied the boys and baskets and the net, which had along handle and looked to Hanny like a butterfly-net, only larger.

  A motley crew they were. The boys had their trousers rolled above theirknees, and some of the girls took off their shoes and stockings andwaded about in the wet, sedgy grass. There was a little dock where theboats were tied; and soon two of them were loosened and filled up with ajolly crew. Big, cheerful Cousin Ben took charge of the little girl, andwould not allow the others to frighten her. Ann was quite a famous handon these expeditions.

  They rowed out a short distance, and then began business. Oh, theshrieks and laughter that came from the other boat, when some one dippedup two hands full of water and dashed it over the others. And it isstrange how much you can make your hands hold at such a time. Hanny wasglad she was not in that boat, when they rocked it up and down. But mostof the children could swim, and they were not in the channel.

  "Quick!" exclaimed Cousin Ann, and the net was held out in a twinkling,Ann drew up a great green fellow with a frightful lot of legs, and hedropped in the net. They dumped him into a basket, and covered him witha piece of old fish-net; and the more he struggled to get out, the morehe entangled himself. Hanny felt rather glad he was not down her end ofthe boat.

  They had brilliant luck for a little while. Then the other boat shiftedabout; they had not caught a single crab, and there were loud murmurs ofdiscontent. The others had the best place.

  "You make such a racket you frighten them away," said Ben.

  "Can they hear?" asked Hanny.

  "I think about everything in this world can see and hear in somefashion."

  They certainly were dreadful looking. The laughter and the exclamations,the disappointment at losing one, the funny conundrums the childrenpropounded to one another, and the limp appearance of the voyagers,partly made amends for the sudden fright every time the great sprawlingthings came up. Hanny would not even undertake the capture of one.

  The crabs grew wise presently. Not one of them could be aroused to thefaintest curiosity concerning bait. Ben's boat had nineteen, the othereleven. They rowed up to the little dock, and managed to get them all inone basket. Jack showed Hanny how you could take hold of a crab, andrender him helpless. It certainly did look funny to see him strugglingwith all his might and main, and his numerous legs. The two front oneswere very fierce.

  "He could give you an awful pinch with them," said Jack; and he madebelieve fling him at a group of girls, who scattered pellmell.

  "I suppose the legs are oars, and help him swim," said Hanny.

  "And help him grab his prey. He's a sort of savage fellow, and lives onsmaller folks."

  Then Ben and Jack went to dig for clams. There were very nice clam andoyster beds along the river then. There were not many people to disturbthem, and no sewage to starve them out.

  Hanny thought planting oysters a very funny idea. They were put in theirbeds like other babies.

  The boys, and some of the girls, picked up the clams, until they had ahalf-bushel basket full. Tony Creese, the black man who did odd jobs,was to drive down for the "freight;" but he seemed in no hurry. Some ofthe boys went in swimming; and Janey Odell did wish she had broughtanother frock along. She could swim very well. They waded instead. Benwalked up to a little bank that, having lain in the sun all day, waswarm and dry, and stretched himself out. Ann was too big to go "larking"about with the girls, so she and Hanny, and one or two others, sat downon the soft, sunburned turf.

  How beautiful it all was! The sun was going down behind the New Jerseyhills. The little rise of ground between this and the Hudson shut outthe river; but it could not shut out the amethystine splendour. Back ofit all was heaven, to the child's faith. Miss Lois and her sister werethere, and old Mr. Bounett, and the poet's young wife, and ever so manyothers. It was only the other side of the clouds, with their scarlet andgold and green battlements. She could see the ships sailing into port.She recalled "Pilgrim's Progress," and Christiana going across. In thatmoment of ecstasy she could have gone herself.

  Tony came down the road singing "Oh, Susannah;" Ben answered "Hillo!"and shook himself like a great bear. The two baskets were put into thewaggon.

  "Now you girls who are too delicate for a long walk, or too much wornout by your day's toil, had better hop in. Ann, you go and keep an eyeon Hanny. Now who else?"

  They were all pretty tired with their racing about, and the threesmallest ones were picked out, as there was but one horse. The othersformed the rear-guard, and marched on behind, with their arms abouteach other. They were too tired for even the tempting game of "tag," orthe ambition of running races.

  Mr. Odell was waiting at the uncle's, having come around the other way.Supper was ready; but he thought they had better be "gettin' on," asmother would wait supper for them.

  Hanny was very tired, and went to bed immediately after the meal.

  They had some splendid clam-fritters for breakfast. Ben had proposed todivide the crabs; but Mr. Odell reckoned, "He'd go crabbing the firstleisure day," and was satisfied with part of the clams.

  And then, unexpected delight, Stephen and Dolly and the two babies cameup to dinner. Little Stevie captured everybody, he was so merry andcunning; and Polly wished they could keep him.

  "When he gets to be a big boy, and has a school vacation, I'll be veryglad to send him up, I dare say," was the response.

  "But, dear me, we'll be big too," said Polly; "and it won't be any fun."

  Dolly told her little sister-in-law all the news, and what everybody wasdoing. It seemed as if she had been away so long. Mother had spent a daywith Martha, which she had been promising to do ever since Martha wasmarried.

  The little girl almost wanted to go home with them; but no one invitedher, and she would not have been so silly or ungracious as to pleadhomesickness, for she really wasn't homesick a bit.

  Then, on Tuesday, Joe came up with a letter from Daisy, who had gone tosome German baths, and was drinking water twice as horrid as that atSaratoga. The things you had to eat were so very queer; but the musiceverywhere was perfectly bewitching. Everything was so different. Shewas taking lessons of a Fraeulein, and had to talk German at the tab
le.They had been through several churches, and one picture gallery that wasmagnificent. A little withered-up old German was giving her somepainting lessons. If Hanny could only be there, she would be quitecontent; yet she did think she loved America best.

  Hanny was so delighted that her eyes shone, and her cheeks were pink asa rose-leaf.

  But Mrs. Odell said she could notice that her appetite was better, andshe was doing her best to fat her up a little, and make her look like acountry girl.

  Mr. Odell took her about with him when he could. There were so manybeautiful places up and down the valley of the Bronx. They went up toWhite Plains, and took everybody by surprise. Grandmother up there wasquite feeble now.

  Then it happened, rather oddly, that when Cousin Jennie came down forher, as there was no one scarcely at Fordham but the regular family,Mrs. Odell was going to have a houseful of relatives from the West. Shejust wished they had their new house at such times as these. She couldmake a bed on the floor for Janey and Polly, and that would give her twospare rooms.

  The girls didn't feel so badly, as there were two Western cousins oftheir age, and they would bring them up to Fordham.

  The little girl was not at all tired of her pleasant hosts; but therewas a romantic side to the coming visit that she could not talk overwith Polly and Janey; and she was most famished for reading, as theOdells were not of the intellectual sort. Mrs. Odell didn't like thechildren to handle her parlour books, in their red morocco bindings,that were spread around on the centre-table.

  Hanny's favourite place at the Fordham house was up on the high piazza.To be sure, it was sunny in the morning; but then Doctor Joe saidsunshine was good for her, and one corner soon grew shady. There wassome one passing up and down continually: the priests from St. John'sCollege, in their long black coats and queer hats, generally reading asthey walked; the labourers who worked on the railroad; the people goingto the station; and the girls out calling in the afternoons in theirpretty white gowns. There was no Jerome Park for stylish driving.Indeed, it was a plain little country village, and most of the lifecentred about the corner grocery and the blacksmith shop, where mentalked politics and the discovery of California, and discussed themerits of the heroes of the Mexican War.

  She sewed some patchwork for Cousin Jennie, who was making severalbed-quilts, and who had a lover,--a tall, bright-eyed young man whodrove a very handsome horse. Hanny felt quite wise on the subject oflovers; and though no one said anything special, she understood what thepreparations meant.

  "Now," Cousin Jennie said the next afternoon, "I am going up to Mr.Poe's, to return some books and get others. Will you go along?"

  Hanny was very glad. She had seen Mr. N. P. Willis and General Morris,and some others, on the street; but that wasn't like going to theirhouses. The dead young wife lent him a glamour of romance, to hergirlish imagination.

  Mrs. Clemm sat on the farther end of the porch. It almost seemed as ifshe had not stirred since Hanny caught the first glimpse of her. Sherose, a tall, rather thin woman with a sad, quiet face and a gravesmile; and the two had a little chat.

  There was no hall to the house, at least the door opened into the frontroom. A half closet stood at one side of the chimney, piled with booksand papers, an old sofa and some chairs, a table in the centre, strewnwith pamphlets and writing-materials, and the poet sitting beside it ina melancholy pose, marking passages in a book.

  He glanced up and spoke. The little girl had an impression of a pallidface framed in dark, tumbled hair, and luminous eyes that seemed to beof some other world in their abstracted light.

  "You are quite welcome to any of the books, as you well know," said thepoet. "I am glad to have some one interested in them."

  Then the white hand went on turning pages and making notes. The littlegirl stood by the window, almost expecting the frail ghost to walk downfrom the graveyard and enter the door again. Later on, she understoodthe impression of weirdness, the almost ghostly stillness of the room;and she found herself thinking over the poem that had so impressed her.

  Fordham, in those days, was neither poetical nor intellectual. That aman should starve on writing poetry, when there was other work to bedone in the world, seemed rather absurd. In some of the centres,literature was becoming an honourable employment; but country places hadnot emerged from the twilight of respect for brawn rather than brain.

  Jennie made her selections, and expressed her obligation. The poetnodded absently.

  Mrs. Clemm rose, as they emerged from the door, and walked to the end ofthe porch with them. There was something wonderfully pathetic in thecare-worn face, the reticent air, and gentle voice.

  "I wonder if you have a few eggs to spare," she asked, in a hesitatingmanner. "My poor Edgar's appetite is so wretched. He has had a badspell, and eats next to nothing."

  "Yes, I can find you half-a-dozen, I know. Our hens are afflicted alittle with summer laziness," and Jennie smiled. "We have been bakingto-day, and I wish you would accept a loaf of bread. I'll send thislittle cousin up with them."

  "Oh, don't trouble! I will come down."

  "I shall be glad to do it," said Hanny, with a gentle eagerness.

  Cousin Jennie put the bread and the eggs,--she found seven,--and part ofa cake, in a little basket, and said, "Run along, Little Red RidingHood. There are no wolves to catch you."

  They teased Cousin Jennie a little because the tall young man withbright eyes was named Woolf.

  Mrs. Clemm received the little girl's parcel with her usual quiet air,and thanked her for coming. And before she could hunt up her ever-scantypurse the child had said Good-evening, and vanished.

  Hanny heard the "spells" rather rudely explained a day or two after, andunderstood the melancholy shadow that hung about the house. People werenot any more delicate in gossiping about their neighbour's short-comingsthen than now, when all the little faults and frailties of heroes areparaded to the public gaze and comment.

  But the exquisite care with which the mother watched over the son of herheart, made her one of the little girl's heroines later on, when shecould fully appreciate the tender solicitude that tried to shield himand save him from temptation, when possible, bearing her burthen withsuch heroic dignity that she was fain to persuade her own soul that shecovered it from critical eyes. When one woman suffers bravely to thedeath, amid untold privation, and another takes up the dropped burthenwith a devotion no anxiety can wear out, is it not proof that there musthave been some charm in the poet seen more clearly by those who lovedhim?

  There was a new book by Miss Macintosh among those they had broughthome; and this Hanny devoured eagerly, sitting on her high perch, whilethe rest were busy in the household routine. In the afternoon, she readaloud while the others sewed. Sometimes the Major came in to listen; buthe thought there were no novels written nowadays like "The Mysteries ofUdolpho," "The Children of the Abbey," and "The Vicar of Wakefield."

  "Oh," said the little girl, "isn't this funny! We have the first volumeof 'The Grumbler' and the second of 'The Grandfather.' I don't believe Ican piece them together," with a bright, mirthful expression.

  "And I picked those up myself. No; we are interested in the 'Grumbler'now and must know what became of him."

  They were English novels by a Miss Pickering, long since forgotten,while less worthy ones are remembered.

  "We'll walk up after supper and change them," continued Cousin Jennie.

  But visitors came in shortly afterward to stay to supper. People werenot specially invited then; and the hostess did not expect to prepare afeast on ordinary occasions. So Jennie said Hanny might go up alone, ifshe didn't mind.

  She started gladly, yet a sense of diffidence oppressed her as she stoodat the door, a half guilty consciousness, as if she had no right to thesecret Mrs. Clemm was trying so assiduously to hide.

  The poet was pacing up and down the room; but his pallid face andstrange, shining eyes seemed looking out from some other world. Mrs.Clemm sat by the window with a magazine in her hand.
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  Hanny preferred her request timidly.

  "Oh, come in and hunt them up. Your cousin is quite welcome to anything.Then there are some upstairs, though I brought down that pile over inthe corner this very morning."

  The corner looked attractive. Hanny went thither, and knelt down on thechecked matting. There were two books of engravings containing portraitsof famous people, some old volumes of verse, some new ones, andmagazines.

  The volumes she wanted were not among them. But she exhumed somethingelse that made her forget the slight, nervous man pacing up and down,and the woman at the window. Turning the leaves of an old novel that hadlost one cover, she came across the name of one of her heroes, "Richardof the Lion Heart." She had a passion, just then, for English history.And there was Bulwer's "White Rose of England," in paper covers with aHarper imprint.

  "Could I take these beside?" she asked, with some hesitation.

  He glanced over at them as he came to that end of the room.

  "Those old novels? Yes. Do they let you read novels?"

  "I read almost anything," and Hanny glanced up with rising colour. "Butthere are not so many books up here--I live in New York," she added, byway of explanation.

  A half smile crossed his face, but its melancholy haunted the littlegirl long afterward.

  Then she went over to the closet, and soon found her missing volumes,and uttered her gentle Good-afternoon. Mrs. Clemm had folded her sewing,and came out on the porch where the water-pail stood empty, so shestarted to the well.

  "Please thank your cousin for her kindness," she said in a soft tone. "Iam glad she is fond of books."

  The modern realistic school, or even the analytic school, would floutMadame Cottin's old novel of "The Saracen" to-day. Perhaps in the yeartwo thousand the novels of to-day will be wondered at. The next morning,the little girl was up in her eyrie in the corner of the porch, andbegan her story. She was deeply interested in the Crusaders as well.Richard, Saladin, and his noble and knightly brother Melek held herspell-bound. She let the patchwork lie unheeded.

  Queen Joan, Richard's sister, beautiful and unfortunate in her marriage,almost a prisoner for years, rescued and taken to the Holy Land incompany with Berengaria, and treated with Oriental suavity and honour,and loved by Melek Adel, indeed, almost married to him, though historyconsiders it only as one of the many feints of Eastern diplomacy, rousedall Hanny's youthful ardour. And Saladin's young nephew, takingknighthood at Richard's hands on Easter morning, was so striking apicture that the child could not understand why Turks and Christiansshould be bitter enemies, when friendships like this could be cemented,and apparently appreciated by men of such qualities.

  She lost interest in the "Grumbler," and I am afraid her mind wanderedas she read aloud. She was really glad that for several days there wereno children to play with. She sat out of doors, and was pretty sure thatwould answer Doctor Joe's requirements; and the Major took her outdriving, but she smuggled in her book. She was not quite so pale, thoughthat might have been due to sun-burn.

  She had just finished her enchanting story one morning, and was glancingidly down the hill, watching the toilers who bent over as if they werecarrying heavy loads, or drawing something behind them. Physical culturehad not yet been applied to the fine art of walking.

  A barouche, drawn by two nodding horses, came slowly along. There werefour ladies in it; but one especially attracted the child. She wore agown of softest cerulean blue, a bonnet of blue crape with delicate pinkroses, and a large bow of airy tulle tied under her chin. Her longringlets, the fashion of the day, drooped about her lovely face, thatsmiled and dimpled as she talked. Her hands were daintily gloved, andone held her parasol up high so she could glance about. Hanny was quitesure she espied her, for her companion leaned out and looked also.

  She left the child in a daze as she went by. Hanny had a secret,exultant consciousness that she had seen her ideal poet; then she smiledand wondered if she could write poems. Dolly was quite as pretty, butshe couldn't; and Margaret was handsomer. She could not quite associatethe sad, abstracted man up the road with "Annabel Lee." What a puzzle itall was!

  She went downstairs presently, and was sitting on the area stepswatching Cousin Jennie iron, when the tall figure in her shabby blackhat and veil, which she invariably wore, came up the outer steps. Hannyran to open the gate.

  Mrs. Clemm was always quietly dignified. It was the intangible goodbreeding that distinguished her from the ordinary country-folk. She hada small tin kettle in her hand, and her manner was apologetic.

  "They had some unexpected visitors from the city, dear friends ofEddie's" (she oftener called him that than any other name, and she oftensaid "My poor dear Eddie!"). "Could they spare her some milk, and a feweggs? They had no milk at the store."

  "With pleasure," said Jennie, who went to the milk-room, and cast aglance around to see if there was not something else that would help outthe feast.

  The little girl wanted to ask some questions, but she hesitated fromdiffidence.

  She wondered afterward how the quiet, almost listless woman couldconcoct dainty feasts for these illustrious people out of her poverty;for they were illustrious in their day. Were the wit and poesy andknowledge the successive desserts, and bright gossip the sparkle of theBarmecide wine? She thought of the little cottage, when she read ofMadame Scarron among the French wits.

  She described them to Cousin Jennie when the tall black figure was goingslowly up the road.

  "Yes, they have a good many visitors," said Jennie. "They did lastsummer, when poor Mrs. Poe was alive."

  "Was _she_ very beautiful?"

  "Oh, child, beauty isn't everything!" and Jennie smiled. "Yes; it wassaid she was. But she was so thin and pale. She used to sit out there onthe porch, wrapped in a white shawl, with his arm about her, or her headresting on his shoulder. You see no one knew much about them then, andthey kept so to themselves. Then there is his unfortunate habit, thatyou cannot help feeling ought not to belong to a person of hisintelligence. It is a great pity."

  Hanny sighed. She was to know a great deal more about the world lateron, and the appreciation that was spread as a garment about the poetwhen his life's fitful fever ended.

  There was an influx of quite elderly people one afternoon; and Hanny,gathering up some books, stole up to the little cottage, quite assuredno one would need her, or even miss her.

  The corner of books had been "cleared up." In the wide fireplace, therewas a jar of feathery asparagus, and on the table a vase of flowers.There were a number of pictures, Hanny noticed. She had hardly glancedabout the room before,--the plain, low-ceiled room to which people wereto make pilgrimages as time went on.

  The poet sat by the table in a dreamy, indolent mood.

  "Did you find what you wanted the other day?" he asked gently.

  "Oh, yes! And I have read 'The Saracen.' It interested me so, I couldn'tleave it a moment. I didn't want to like Saladin so much; but I had to.But I shall never give up Richard."

  He smiled a little at that, kindly, cordially, and her heart warmed tohim. The pervasive eyes were so deep and beautiful! In spite of thepallor and attenuation, the face had a rare charm.

  "So Richard is your hero? Well, you will doubtless change your heroes agood many times before you get through with life. I think I had a boy'sfancy for Saladin once. Yet heroes come to be quite common-place peopleafter all. I wonder if I have any more that you would like?"

  Hanny said they had several books yet, and she was going down to WestFarms in a few days. She wanted to finish "The White Rose of England."

  "History in romance,--I dare say that suits young people best."

  She stood in a sort of vague uncertainty.

  "Well?" in a voice of suggestive inquiry, as if she might ask himanything.

  "Oh!" she cried, summoning all her courage, and flushing as she did so,"will you please tell me who the pretty lady in blue was, who came upthe other day in the carriage? She looked like a poet!"

  He di
d laugh then, softly, as if laughing was a little strange.

  "Is that your idea of a poet? Well, she _is_ one,--an airy, light-wingedpoet with dainty conceits, and a charming woman, too. I must tell hershe captured you at sight. That is Frances Sargent Osgood. And besideher sat Mrs. Gove Nichols, one of the new lights. Stay, I think I canfind a poem or two of Fanny Osgood's for you."

  He hunted up two or three magazines. Hanny sat down on the door-sill; itwas so softly, so enchantingly bright out-of-doors, and the room alittle gloomy. She wanted to have a glimpse of sunshine, for Mrs. Osgoodlooked as if she belonged to the brighter world.

  They were dainty and bright. One was set to music afterward; and thelittle girl learned to sing it very prettily:--

  "I've something sweet to tell you, And the secret you must keep, For remember, if it isn't night, I'm talking in my sleep."

  Then they talked about poetry. I dare say he was amused at a little girlwhose ideal poem was "Genevieve," by Coleridge, and who knew"Christobel," "The Ancient Mariner," and "The Lady of the Lake" half byheart. When, in her young womanhood, she read some of his sharp,scathing criticisms, she wondered at his sweetness that afternoon. Witha little more courage, she would have asked him what was really meant by"the high-born kinsman;" but she did not know as it was quite proper totalk to him about his own verses.

  The wood-robins were singing in the tall trees, and the sun made dancingshadows on the stoop that was always clean as a floor. Mrs. Clemmbrought her splint rocker out, and begged her to try it, and asked afterthe cousins, sending thanks for the cake that she had found in herbasket, and the pot-cheese that had proved such a treat to her visitors.

  She thanked Mrs. Clemm prettily for the chair, but said she must gohome. The poet nodded. He had taken up his pen then, and she wonderedwhat the spell was like that inspired a poem.

  The next forenoon, they saw Mr. Poe going down to the station. CousinJennie shook her head; and the stout old Major said, "It was a pity Mrs.Clemm couldn't keep him at home steadily."

  She was never to see him again; but when she heard of his tragic death,her heart ached for the poor desolate mother.