Poganuc People: Their Loves and Lives
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And when Dolly after her conference came to bid her mother good−night, she fell upon her neck and wept for reasons she could scarce explain herself.
"I should like to know what you've been saying to Dolly," said Mrs. Cushing to the Doctor, suddenly appearing at the study−door.
"Saying to Dolly?" exclaimed the Doctor, looking up dreamily, "why, nothing particular."
"Well, you've made her cry. I declare! you men have no idea how to talk to a girl."
The Doctor at first looked amazed, and then an amused expression passed slowly over his face. He drew his wife down beside him and passing his arm around her said significantly,
"There was a girl, once, who thought I knew how to talk to her but that is a good many years ago."
Mrs. Cushing laughed, and blushed, and said, "Oh, nonsense!"
But the Doctor looked triumphant.
"As to Dolly," he said, "never fear. She's a tender−hearted little thing, and made herself cry thinking that we should be lonesome, and a dozen other little pretty kindly things that set her tears going. She's a precious child, and we shall miss her. I have settled her mind as to the church question."
CHAPTER XXXVIII. DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON.
MY DEAR PARENTS: Here I am in Boston at last, and take the very first quiet opportunity to write to you.
Hiel Jones said he would call and tell you immediately about how we got through the first day. He was very kind and attentive to us all day, taking care at every stopping−place to get the bricks heated, so that our feet were kept quite warm, and in everything he was so thoughtful and obliging that Aunt Deborah in time quite forgave him for presuming on his rights as a human being to keep up a free conversation with us at intervals, which he did with his usual cheerful goodwill.
It amuses me all the time to talk with Aunty. All her thoughts are of a century back, and she is so unconscious and positive about them that it is really entertaining. All this talk about the "lower classes," and the dangers to be apprehended from them; of "first families" and their ways and laws and opinions; and of the impropriety CHAPTER XXXVIII. DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON.
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of being too familiar with common people, amuses me. She seems to me like a woman in a book one of the old−world people one reads of in Scott's novels. She is very kind to me; no mother could be kinder but all in a sort of taking−possession way. She tells me where to sit, and what to do, and what to wear, and seems to feel a comfortable sense that she has me now all to herself. It amuses me to think how little she knows of what I really am inside.
We stopped the first night at a gloomy little tavern, and our room was so cold that Aunty and I puffed at each other like two goblins, a cloud coming out of our mouths every time we opened them. They made a fire in the chimney, but the chimney had swallows' nests in it and smoked; so we had to open our windows to let out the smoke, which did not improve matters.
The next night we slept at Worcester, and thought we would try not having a fire in our room; so it grew colder and colder all night, and in the morning we had to break the ice in our pitchers. My fingers felt like so many icicles, and my hair snapped with the electricity. But Aunty kept up good cheer and made me laugh through it all with her odd sayings. She is very droll and has most original ways of taking things, and is so active and courageous nothing comes amiss to her.
Our third and last day was in a driving snow−storm, and the stage was upon runners. I could see nothing all day but white drifts and eddies of snow−feathers filling the air; but at sunset all cleared away and the sun came out just as we were coming into Boston. My heart beat quite fast when I saw the dome of the State House and thought of all the noble, good men that had lived and died for our country in that brave old city.
My eyes were full of tears, but I didn't say a word to Aunty, for she doesn't feel about any of these things as I do. I daresay she thinks it a great pity that the old Church and King times cannot come round again.
It was quite dark when we got home to Grandmamma's, and a lovely, real home it seems to me. Dear Grandmamma was so glad to see me, and she held me in her arms and cried and said I was just my mother over again; and that pleased me, for I like to hear that I look like Mother. Mamma knows just how the old parlor looks, with Grandmamma's rocking−chair by the fire and her table of books by her side. The house and everything about it is like a story−book, the furniture is old and dark and quaint, and the pictures on the wall are all of old−time people aunts and cousins and uncles and grandfathers looking down sociably at us in the flickering fire−light.
It was all nice and sweet and good. By and by Uncle Israel came in and I was introduced to him, and our new English cousin, Alfred Dunbar. They both seemed glad to see me, and we had a very cheerful, pleasant evening. Uncle Israel is a charming old gentleman, full of talk and stories of by−gone times, and Cousin Alfred is not stiff and critical as Englishmen often are when they come to our country. He likes America, and says he comes here to make it his country, and so far he is delighted with all he has seen. He seems to be one of those who have the gift of seeing the best side of everything. I think it is as great a gift as any we read of in fairy stories.
Well, altogether we had a very pleasant evening, and at nine o'clock the servants came in, and Grandmamma read prayers out of the great prayer−book by her side. It was very sweet to hear her trembling voice commending us all to God's care before we lay down to rest. Grandmamma is really altogether lovely. I feel as if it was a blessing to be in the house with her. I am so sleepy that I must leave this letter to be finished to−morrow.
December 24th.
I have not written a word to−day, because Aunty said that we had come home so late that it would be all we could do to get the house trimmed for Christmas; and the minute breakfast was done there was a whole cart−load of greens discharged into the hall, and we set to work to adorn everything. I made garlands and CHAPTER XXXVIII. DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON.
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wreaths and crosses, and all sorts of pretty things, and Cousin Alfred put them up, and Aunty said that really,
"for a blue Presbyterian girl," I showed wonderful skill and insight in the matter.
Cousin Alfred seemed puzzled, and asked me privately if our family were "Dissenters." I explained to him how in our country the tables were turned and it is the Episcopalians that are the dissenters; and he was quite interested and wanted to know all about it. So I told him that you could tell much better than I could, and he said he was coming some day to see his relations in the country, and inquire all about these things. He seems to be studying the facts in our country philosophically, and when I told him how I meant to visit the Copp's Hill Cemetery and the other graveyards where our fathers are buried, he said he should like to go with me. He is not at all trifling and worldly, like a great many young men, but seems to think a great deal and to want to know everything about the country, and I know Papa would be interested to talk with him.
Between us, you've no idea how like a bower we have made the old house look. Aunty prides herself on keeping the old English customs, and had the Yule log brought in and laid with all ceremony, and we had all the old Christmas dishes for supper in the evening, and grew very merry indeed. And indeed we have made it so late that, if I am to sleep at all to−night, I must close this letter which I want to have ready to be posted to−morrow morning.
Dear parents, I know you will be glad that I am happy and enjoying everything, but I never forget you, and think of you every moment.
Your affectionate
DOLLY.
CHAPTER XXXIX. DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER.
MY DEAR PARENTS: We had such a glorious Christmas morning clear, clean white snow lying on the earth and on all, even the little branches of the trees. You know, Mamma, the great square garden back of the house. Every little tree there was glittering like fai
ry frost work. We all hung our stockings up the night before, and at breakfast examined our presents. I had lovely things a beautiful prayer−book bound in purple velvet from Grandmamma, and a charming necklace of pearls from Uncle Israel, and a scarlet cloak trimmed with lace from Aunt Deborah, and a beautiful Chinese fan from cousin Alfred. Aunty has been putting up the usual Christmas bundle for you; so you will all share my prosperity.
I was waked in the morning by the old North chimes, which played all sorts of psalm tunes and seemed to fill the air with beautiful thoughts. It was very sweet to me to think of what it was all about. It is not necessary to believe that our Saviour really was born this very day of all others; but that he was born on some day we all know. So when we walked to church together, and the church was like one green bower, and the organ played, and the choir sung, it seemed as if all there was in me was stirred. I never heard the Te Deum before, and how glorious, how wonderful it is! It took me up to the very gates of heaven. I felt as if I was hearing the angels sing; and when I thought of the prophets, the apostles, the martyrs, and the holy church of Christ throughout the world, I felt that I was one with them, and was happy to be one drop in that great ocean of joy.
For though I was only a little one I felt in it, and with it, and a part of it, and all the joy and glory was mine. I trembled with happiness.
When the communion service came I went with Grandmamma and knelt at the altar. It seemed as if Christ himself was there giving me the bread and the wine. I never felt so near to Him. After church I went home. I was so full that I could not speak. No one else seemed to feel as I did they were all used to it but it was all new and wonderful to me, and made heavenly things so real that I felt almost averse to coming back to CHAPTER XXXIX. DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER.
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every day life. I wanted to go alone to my room and dwell on it. There was quite a company invited to dinner, and I did not feel like joining them, but I knew Aunty wanted me to make myself agreeable, and so I tried my best, and after a while took my part in the conversation, as gay as the rest of them. Only once in a while some of those noble words I had been hearing came back to me with a sudden thrill, and would bring tears to my eyes even while I was gayest.
Cousin Alfred noticed that I was feeling very much about something, and in the evening when we were alone for a few minutes he asked me about it, and then I told him all how the service affected me, and made me feel. He looked a little surprised at first, and then he seemed thoughtful; and when I said, "I should think those who hear and say such glorious things at church, ought to live the very noblest lives to be perfect Christians," he said, "Cousin, I am sorry to say, it is not so with me. We hear these things from childhood; we hear them Sunday after Sunday, in all sorts of moods, and I'm afraid many of us form a habit of not really thinking how much they mean. I wish I could hear our service as you have done, for the first time, and that it would seem as real and earnest to me as it does to you."
We talked a good deal after this; he has a deep, thoughtful mind, and I wish you, my dear Father, could talk with him. I know you will like him. Isn't it pleasant to find relations that one can like and esteem so much?
Cousin Alfred is like a brother to me already, and to−morrow we are going out to explore the antiquities of Boston. He seems as much interested in them as I do.
Dear Parents, this Christmas puts me in mind of the time years ago when they dressed the little church in Poganuc, and I ran away, over to the church, and got asleep under a great cedar−bush, listening to the Christmas music. It affected me then just as it has done now. Is it not beautiful to think we are singing words that Christians have been singing for more than a thousand years! It gives you the feeling of being in a great army one of a great host; and for a poor little insignificant thing like me it is a joyful feeling.
You ought to see how delighted Aunt Deborah is that I take so kindly to the prayer−book and the service. She gives me little approving nods now and then, and taps me on the shoulder in a patronizing way and says there is good blood in my veins, for all I was brought up a Presbyterian! This is all very well, but when she goes to unchurching all our churches and saying there are no ordained ministers in the United States except the few in Episcopal pulpits, I am dreadfully tempted to run a tilt with her, though I know it would do no earthly good. I believe I should do it, however, if Cousin Alfred did not take up the argument on our side, and combat her so much better than I could that I am content to let her alone. She tells him that he is no Englishman and no churchman, but a very radical; and he tells her that he came to America to learn to use his common sense and get rid of old rubbish!
For all this they are excellent friends, and dear old Grandmamma always takes our part because she is so afraid Aunt Debby will hurt my feelings, though Aunty says that in her heart Grandmamma is a regular old Tory.
I asked Grandma about this one day, when we were alone, and she said she always loved and honored the king and royal family, and was grieved when they stopped praying for them in the churches. If she was a Tory she was so from love, and it is quite charming to hear her talk about the old times.
It seems to me no great change ever comes on this earth without grieving some good people.
But it is past midnight and I must not sit up writing any longer. Dear parents, I wish you a happy Christmas!
Your loving
DOLLY.
CHAPTER XXXIX. DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER.
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CHAPTER XL. ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR.
DEAR OLD FELLOW: Here I am in America in Boston and every day I spend here makes me more and more satisfied with my change of situation. The very air here is free and inspiring, full of new hope and life.
The old world with all its restraints and bounds, its musty prejudices, its time−honored inconveniences and hindrances, is a thing gone by; it is blue in the dim distance, and I see before me a free, generous, noble country that offers everything equally to all. I like Massachusetts; I like Boston; and more and more I feel that I am a fortunate fellow to have been selected by my uncle for this lot.
He is all that is kind and generous and fatherly to me, and I should be an ungrateful cur if I did not give him the devotion of a son. He is so amiable and reasonable that this is not at all a hard task.
We are spending our Christmas holidays with his mother and sister; after that he will go to housekeeping in his own house. He wants me to get married with all convenient dispatch, but I am one that cannot enter into the holy state simply to furnish a housekeeper to my uncle or to place a well−dressed, well−mannered woman at the head of my own table.
You at home called me fastidious and romantic. Well, I am so to this degree, that I never shall marry unless I see the woman I cannot live without. The feast of matrimony may be well appointed, the oxen and fatlings be killed, and all things ready, but I never shall accept unless some divine power "compels" me to come in; and up to this day I have felt no such call.
Mark me, I say, up to this day; for I am by no means certain I shall say as much a month hence. To be frank with you, there is spending the Christmas holidays under the same roof with me a very charming girl whom I am instructed by my Aunt Deborah to call "Cousin Dolly."
Now, in point of fact, this assumption of relationship is the most transparent moonshine. I am, I believe, second or third cousin to my "Uncle Israel," who is real uncle to this Miss Dolly. Of course my cousinship to her must be of a still more remote and impalpable nature; but if it is agreed that we call each other "cousin,"
certainly it is not I that am going to object to the position and its immunities oh, no! A cousin stands on a vantage−ground; all sorts of delightful freedoms and privileges are permitted to him!
I "take the good the gods provide" me, and so Cousin Dolly and I have become the best of friends, and we have been busy making wreaths and crosses and Christmas decor
ations under the superintendence of Aunt Deborah, in the most edifying and amicable way. This Aunt Deborah is the conventional upright, downright, good, opinionated, honest, sincere old Englishwoman, of whom there are dozens at every turn in the old country, but who here in America have the interest that appertains to the relics of a past age. But she is vigorously determined that in her domains the old customs shall be in full force, and every rule of Christmas−keeping observed.
Of course I put up mistletoe in all the proper places, and I found my new cousin, having grown up as a New England Congregational minister's daughter, knew nothing of its peculiar privileges and peculiarities, so that when the kissing began I saw a bright flush of amazement and almost resentment pass over her face; though when it was explained to be an old Christmas custom she laughed and gave way with a good grace. But I observed my young lady warily inspecting the trimmings of the room, and quietly avoiding all the little green traps thereafter.
It is quite evident that, though she has all the gentleness of a dove, she has some of the wisdom of the serpent, and possesses very definite opinions as to what she likes and does not like. She impresses me as having, behind an air of softness and timidity, a very positive and decided character. There is a sort of reserved force CHAPTER XL. ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR.
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in her; and one must study her to become fully acquainted with her. Thus far I hope I have not lost ground.
I find she is an enthusiast for her country, for her religion, for everything high and noble; and not one of the mere dolls that have no capability for anything but ribbons and laces. She has promised to show me the antiquities of Boston and put me in the way of knowing all that a good American ought to know; you see our time for the holidays is very agreeably planned out in advance.