“And what if ye did something for somebody else, instead of having everybody else a-serving ye?” said Bridget. “I works from morning to night, and gets my two dollars a week, and sends the most part of it to me poor old mother in Ireland; and it keeps me jolly — praise be to God! — to think I’m a-comfortin’ her old age. Did ye ever think whether ye did anything for anybody?”
No; Emily never had thought of that. From the very first hour that her baby eyes had opened, she had seen all the world on their knees around her, trying to serve and please her. Neither her father nor mother ever spoke or acted as if they expected her to do the slightest service for them. On the contrary, they always spoke as if they must do everything for her; and Bridget’s blunt talk now and then was the only intimation the little girl ever got that there was a way to be happy that she knew not of.
CHAPTER VI
OUR little friend Pussy went on in the way we have described, every day finding a new thing that she was able to do, and taking the greatest delight in doing it. Gradually her mother’s arm recovered, — as it never would have done, had not the helpfulness of her little daughter enabled her to give it entire rest, — and she was in a situation to resume her family cares.
“What a blessing our little Pussy has been to us!” said her father to her mother, one night, as they were talking over their family affairs.
“Yes,” said the mother; “that dear child is so unselfish, and so much more than willing to do for us, that I am fearful lest we shall make too much of her. I don’t want to make a mere drudge of my daughter, and I think we must send her to school this summer. Pussy is a good reader, — I have always taught her a little every day, — and she writes little letters on a slate quite prettily for a child; but now I think we must send her over to the Academy, and let her go in with the primary class.”
Now the Academy was two miles off; but all the family were used to being up and having breakfast over by seven o’clock in the morning; and then Pussy put on her sun-bonnet, and made a little bundle of her books, and tripped away cheerfully down the hard stony road, along the path of the bright brown brook, through a little piece of waving pine forest, next through some huckleberry pastures and patches of sweet fern-bushes, then through a long piece of rocky and shady forest, till she reached the Academy.
Little Emily Proudie also went to school, at one of the most elegant establishments on Fifth Avenue; and as she was esteemed to be entirely too delicate to walk, her father had provided for her a beautiful little coupé, cushioned inside with purple silk, and drawn by a white horse, with a driver in livery at her command. This was Emily’s own carriage, and one would think that, when she had nothing to do but to get into it, she might have been always early at her school; but, unfortunately for her, this was never the case. Emily could not be induced, by the repeated calls of Bridget, to shake off her morning slumbers till at least half an hour after the time she ought to rise. Then she was so miserably undecided what to put on, and tried so many dresses before she could be suited, and was so dissatisfied with the way her hair was arranged, that she generally came to breakfast all in ill-humor, and only to find that they had got for her breakfast exactly the things that she didn’t fancy. If there was an omelette and coffee and toast, then Emily wished that it had been chocolate and muffins; but if the cook the next morning, hoping to make a lucky hit, got chocolate and muffins, Emily had made up her mind in the mean time that the chocolate would give her a headache, and that she must have tea made; and with all these points to be attended to, there is no wonder that the little coupé, and the little white horse, and the driver in livery, were often kept waiting at the door long after the time when Emily ought to have been in her class-room.
Madame Ardenne often gently complained to Emily’s mother, — very gently, because the Proudies were so rich and fashionable that she would have been in utter despair at the idea of offending them; but still the poor woman could not help trying to make Emily’s mother understand that a scholar who always came into the class-room when the lesson was half over could not be expected to learn as fast as if she were there punctually, besides being a great annoyance to all the rest of the scholars.
Emily’s mother always said that she was sorry it was so, but her dear child was of a most peculiar organization, —— that it did not seem possible for her to wake at any regular hour in the morning, — and that really the dear child had a sensitiveness of nature that made it very difficult to know what to do with her.
In fact, young ladies who are brought up like little Emily, to have every earthly thing done for them, and to do no earthly thing for themselves, are often sorely tried when they come to school life, because there are certain things in education which all human beings must learn to do for themselves. Emily always had had a maid to wash her and dress her, and to do everything that a healthy little girl might do for herself; but no maid could learn to read for her, or write for her. Her mamma talked strongly of sending to Paris for a French dressing maid, to keep her various dresses in order; but even a French dressing-maid could not learn a French verb for her, or play on the piano for her. Consequently poor Emily’s school life was full of grievous trials to her. Her lessons seemed doubly hard to her, because she had always been brought up to feel that she must be saved from every labor, and must yield before the slightest thing that looked like a difficulty.
Little Pussy, after her walk of two miles, would come into the Academy fresh and strong, at least a quarter of an hour before school, and have a good time talking with the other girls before the school began. Then she set about her lessons with the habit of conquering difficulties. If there was a hard sum in her lesson, Pussy went at it with a real spirit and interest. “Please don’t tell me a word,” she would say to her teacher: “I want to work it out myself. I’m sure I can do it.” And the greater the difficulty, the more cheerful became her confidence. There was one sum, I remember, that Pussy worked upon for a week, — a sum that neither her father nor mother, nor any of her brothers, could do; but she would not allow her teacher to show her. She was resolutely determined to do it all alone by herself, and to find out the way for herself, — and at last she succeeded; and a very proud and happy Pussy she was when she did succeed.
My little girls, I want to tell you that there is a pleasure in vanquishing a difficulty, — in putting forth all the power and strength you have in you to do a really hard thing, — that is greater than all the pleasures of ease and indolence. The little girl who lies in bed every morning just half an hour later than her conscience tells her she ought to lie, thinks she is taking comfort in it, but she is mistaken. She is secretly dissatisfied with and ashamed of herself, and her conscience keeps up a sort of uneasy trouble, every morning; whereas, if she once formed the habit of springing up promptly at a certain hour, and taking a good morning bath, and dressing herself in season to have plenty of time to attend to all her morning duties, she would have a self-respect and self-confidence that it is very pleasant to feel.
Pussy’s life in the Academy was a great enjoyment to her this summer. She felt it a great kindness in her mother to excuse her from all family duties, and take all the work upon herself, in order that she might have time to study; and so she studied with a right good will. Her cheerful temper made her a universal favorite. She seemed among her schoolfellows like a choice lot of sugarplums or sweetmeats; everybody wanted a scrap or portion. One girl wanted Pussy to play with her; another made her promise to walk home with her; two or three wanted to engage her for recess; all Pussy’s spare hours for days and days ahead were always engaged by her different friends. The girls said, “Pussy is such a dear girl! she is so bright! she makes the time pass so pleasantly!” And Pussy in return liked everybody, and thought there never was so pleasant a school, or such a fortunate girl, as herself.
On Saturdays there was no school, and then Pussy would insist on going into the kitchen to help her mother.
“Now, my dear, you ought not to do it,” her mo
ther would say. “You ought to have Saturday to amuse yourself.”
“Well, it amuses me to make the pies,” Pussy would say. “I like to see how many I can turn out in a day. I don’t ask better fun.”
So went on the course of Pussy’s education.
CHAPTER VII
I HAVE told you how Pussy went to the Academy in summer, and what good times she had going through the fragrant sweet-fern pastures, and across the brown sparkling brooks, and through patches of woods green with moss and gay with scarlet wintergreen berries, — and what other good times she had studying and working out her sums, — and also how fond every one got of her.
Well, by and by autumn came, and the frost changed all the leaves on the mountains round the house to scarlet and orange and gold; and then the leaves began to fall, and the old north-wind came, and blew and whirled and scattered them through the air, till finally the trees stood bare. Then Pussy’s father said, “It’s time to make all ready for winter,” — for he had been getting the cellar full of good things. Barrels of cider had been rolled in at the wide cellar-door, great bins had been filled with rosy apples and with brown-coated potatoes, and golden pumpkins and great crook-neck squashes had been piled up for Thanksgiving pies; and now it was time to shut the great doors, and to “bank up” with straw and leaves and earth all round the house, lest sharp-eyed Mr. Jack Frost should get in a finger or a toe, and so find a way into the treasures of the cellar. For a very sharp fellow is this Mr. Jack, and he always has his eyes open to see whether lazy people have left anything without proper care; and where he finds even a chink not stopped, he says, “Ha, ha! I guess I’ll get in here;” — and in he goes, and then people may whistle for their apples and potatoes. But Pussy’s folks were smart, careful people, and everything was snugly stowed and protected, you may be sure.
By and by the sun took to getting up later and later, setting a dreadfully bad example, it is to be confessed. It would be seven o’clock and after before he would show his red face above the bedclothes of clouds, away off in the southeast; and when he did manage to get up, he was so far off and so chilly in his demeanor, that people seemed scarcely a bit the better for him; and by half past four in the afternoon he was down in bed again, tucked up for the night, never caring what became of the world. And so the clouds were full of snow, as if a thousand white feather-beds had been ripped up over the world; and all the frisky winds came out of their dens, and great frolics they had, blowing and roaring and careering in the clouds, —— now bellowing down between the mountains, as if they meant to tear the world to pieces, then piping high and shrill, first round one corner of the farmhouse, and then round the other, rattling the windows, bouncing against the doors, and then, with one united chorus, rumbling, tumbling down the great chimney, as if they had a mind to upset it. Oh, what a frisky, rough, jolly, unmannerly set of winds they were! By and by the snow drifted higher than the fences, and nothing was to be seen around the farmhouse but smooth waving hills and hollows of snow; and then came the rain and sleet, and froze them over with a slippery shining crust, that looked as if the earth was dressed for the winter in a silver coat of mail.
Now I suppose some of my little girls will say, “Pussy never can go two miles to the Academy through all the cold and snow and sleet.” But Pussy did, for all that.
She laughed a gay laugh when her mother said it would be best to wait till spring before she went any more. “I wait till spring? What for? What do I care for cold and snow? I like them: I’m a real snow-bird, — my blood races and bounds so in cold weather that I like nothing better than being out. As to the days being short, there are just as many hours in them as there were before, and there’s no need of my lying in bed because the sun does.” And so at half past five every morning you might have heard Pussy bestirring herself in her room, and afterwards in the kitchen, getting breakfast, and singing louder than the tea-kettle on the stove, as she drove her morning’s work before her; and by eight o’clock Pussy’s breakfast was over, and the breakfast-dishes washed and put away, and Pussy gathered her books under her arm, and took her little sled in her hand, and started for school.
This sled her brothers had made for her in the evenings, and it was as smart a little sled as ever you saw going. It was painted red, and had “Snow-Bird” lettered on it in black letters. Pussy was proud of its speed; and well she might be, for when she came to the top of the long, stony hill on which the house stood, she just got on to her little sled, took her books in her lap, and away she flew, — past the pastures, by the bam, across the plain below, across the brook, — almost half a mile of her way done in a minute; and then she would spring off and laugh, and draw her sled to the next hill, and away she would go again. The sled was a great help to Pussy, and got her on her way famously; but then she had other helps, for she was such a favorite in school that there was always one boy or another who came to meet her, and drew her on his sled at least half-way to school. There were two or three boys that used to quarrel with each other as to which should have the privilege of drawing Pussy from the chestnut pasture to the school-house, and he was reckoned the best fellow who got there first; while more than once, after school, little Miss Pussy rode the whole way home to her father’s on the sled of some boy who liked her blue eyes and felt the charm of her merry laugh. You may be sure Pussy always found company, and she used to say that she really couldn’t tell which she liked best, summer or winter. In summer, to be sure, there were the pretty flowers and the birds; but in winter there were the sleds and sliding, and that was such fun!
In winter evenings, sometimes, when the moon shone clear, whole parties of boys and girls would get an old sleigh-bottom, and come to the farmhouse, and then Pussy would get on her hood and mittens, and out they would all go and get on the sleigh-bottom together. There were Tom Evans and his sister Betsey, and Jim Styles, and Almira and Susan Jenkins, and Bet Jenkins, and Mary Stephens, and Jack Stephens, and nobody knows how many more, all piled on together, and holding as tight as they could; and away they would go, down the smooth, white hill, and across the shining silvery plain, screaming and laughing, like a streak of merriment; and the old sober moon, as she looked down through the deep blue sky, never said a word against it, or hushed them up, for making too much noise.
Ah, it was splendid fun! and even when they stamped their feet, and blew their hands for cold, not one of them would hear of going in till nine o’clock; and then they all got round the stove, and ate apples and cracked nuts for half an hour more, and then went off home to be in bed by ten o’clock, so that they might all be up early the next day.
Another of the good times Pussy used to have was at a candy frolic. When the weather was at the coldest, and the frost so severe that everything really snapped, then was the time to make candy. Then Pussy’s mother would put on a couple of quarts of molasses to boil in the afternoon, while Pussy was at school, so that the candy would be almost made by evening.
In the evening, when the supper-dishes were cleared off, you would hear them all trooping in, and a noisy, happy time they had of it, — trying the candy, pulling little bits of it out in tea-cups and plates and saucers, to see if it was done hard enough to pull. Finally the whole dark, smooth, ropy liquid was poured out from the kettle into a well-greased platter, and set out in a snow-bank to cool; and then all the hands were washed and greased, to begin the pulling.
Ah! then what sport, as each one took a share of the black-looking candy, and began pulling it out, and watching the gold threads come out as they worked and doubled and turned and twisted, till at last the candy grew bright amber-color, and then a creamy white, and, when finally hardened by setting it out again in the snow, would snap with a delicious, brittle crispness most delightful to see! How jolly were the whole party after this gay evening, as each wended his way home over the crisp sparkling snow, with a portion of candy-sticks, — and what talking there was in school next day, and what a going over of the jokes of last evening, — and how every latch
of every door in all the houses round had molasses-candy on it for a week after, — are all things that my little readers who have ever given candy frolics will not need to have told them.
What I have said will be enough to show you that Pussy made a merry time of winter no less than summer.
CHAPTER VIII
LITTLE Pussy went on in the sort of life we have described two or three years longer, helping her mother at home, and going across the lots and through the woods to the distant Academy; and gradually she grew taller and larger, till one day her father woke up and said to her mother, “Wife, our Pussy is growing into a real handsome little woman.”
Now Pussy heard the remark as she was moulding up some little biscuit in the next room, and she smiled to herself. “Am I pretty, I wonder?” she said to herself. So that evening she strolled down into the meadow, where the brook spread out in one place into a perfect little looking-glass, set in a green enameled frame of moss and violets and waving feathers of fern-leaves. Here she sat down on the bank, and began to consider herself in the water. Looking in, she saw a pair of eyes just the color of the blue violets which were fringing the bank, a pair of rosy cheeks, a fair, white forehead, and some long curls of brown hair. Pussy considered awhile, and then she gathered some violets and crowsfoot, and drooping meadow-grasses, and wove them into a garland, and put it on her head, and peeped into the brook again to see how it looked.
“She is pretty,” said old Mother Fern to Miss Hepatica. “She is pretty, and she has come now to the time when she may as well know it. She will begin now to dress herself, and brush out her feathers, as the bluebirds and robins do in the spring-time.”
Pussy walked home with the garland on her head, and at the door she met her father.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 578
