"Yes, the floor and ceilings," corrected Rupert.
"And another door on the other side," said Ada, running and opening it.
"Not a mantelpiece to set anything on, nor any chimney at all! How on earth are we going to keep warm in the winter time?" Mildred went on, ignoring the remarks of her younger brother and sister.
"With a stove, Miss; pipes run up through the floor into the room above; there's a flue there," said one of the men, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his checked shirt.
Mr. Keith stopped to settle with the men for their work, and the others walked on into the next room.
It was as bare and more dreary than the first; somewhat larger, but had only one window, that and an outside door, opening directly upon the side street.
Back of the two rooms and in a line with them, was the kitchen; smaller than either of the other rooms, but provided with a chimney and fireplace; also a small, dark closet under a flight of steep and crooked stairs which led from it to the story above.
This, as they found on climbing up to it, consisted of two rooms, the first extending over kitchen and sitting-room, the other over the front room and of exactly the same size.
The stairs led directly into the first room and it must be passed through to reach the second; therefore had not the recommendation of privacy.
"What a house!" grumbled the children; "how'll we ever live in it? Such a few rooms and not a bit nice."
Mrs. Keith stood in the middle of that large, barn-like upper room, saying never a word, but her heart sinking lower and lower as she glanced from side to side taking in the whole situation.
Aunt Wealthy saw it and came to the rescue. "Never mind, dearie; it will look very different when we have unpacked and arranged your furniture. With the help of curtains several rooms can be made out of this, and we'll do nicely."
"Yes, no doubt we shall, auntie," Mrs. Keith answered with determined cheerfulness. "That front room shall be yours – "
"No, no! you and Stuart must take that – "
"I'm quite set on having my own way in this," interrupted the younger lady in her turn. "It is the best room, and you must take it. Don't hesitate or object, for I should be afraid to have my little ones in there with that outside door opening on to nothing," she concluded, with a laugh.
"Well, wife, what do you think?" asked Mr. Keith, coming up the stairs.
"That we can be very happy here if we make up our minds to be content with our lot."
"That is like you, Marcia; always ready to make the best of everything," he said, with a pleased look.
"I think it's a dreadful place!" exclaimed Mildred, "like a great barn; and so dirty! plaster all over the floor and spattered on the windows too."
"I hope it can be cleaned," her father said, laughing at her rueful face. "Mrs. Prior can probably tell us where to find a woman to do it."
A little more time was spent in discussing plans for the arrangement of the inside of the dwelling; then they stepped into the side-yard and viewed it from the out.
A great dead wall of rough weather boarding broken by one window only and that in the second story, was what met their view as they looked up; down below, first a heap of sand, beyond that a wilderness of weeds and brushwood.
"I'm dumb with despair!" cried Mildred, folding her hands with a tragical air.
"Can dumb folks talk?" asked Cyril.
"As ugly as mud this side," remarked Zillah, turning up her nose scornfully as she scanned the unsightly wall.
"We'll cover it with vines," said Aunt Wealthy.
"And I'll clear the yard and sod it," added Rupert, seizing a great mullein stalk and pulling it up by the roots as he spoke. "Twon't be nearly so hard as the clearing the early pioneers of Ohio had to do, our grandfathers among the rest."
"That's the right way to look at it, my boy," responded Mr. Keith, heartily. "Come now, we'll lock up the house and go back to our hotel for the night."
"There's a log house nearly opposite," remarked Rupert, when they were in the street again, "and the next is a real shabby one-and-a-half-story frame with a blacksmith shop attached. We haven't the worst place in town after all. Ho! look at the sign, 'G. Lightcap;' what a name! 'specially for a blacksmith."
Mrs. Prior joined her guests in the parlor after the younger portion had gone to bed.
"Well, how did you like the house?" she asked.
"I hope we shall be able to make ourselves comfortable there," Mr. Keith answered, in a cheerful tone.
"You can get possession right away, I s'pose."
"Yes; and want to move in as quickly as possible, but must have some cleaning done first."
Mrs. Prior recommended a woman for that without waiting to be asked, and offered to "send round" at once and see if she could be engaged for the next day.
The offer was accepted with thanks and the messenger brought back word that Mrs. Rood would be at the house by six o'clock in the morning.
"But," suggested Aunt Wealthy in dismay, "she'll want hot water, soap, cloths, scrubbing brushes!"
"I'll lend a big iron kettle to heat the water," said the landlady; "a fire can be made in that kitchen fireplace, you know, or out doors, with the brush wood."
"And brushes and soap can be had at the stores, I presume," suggested Mr. Keith.
"Yes; and if they ain't open in time, I'll lend mine for her to start on."
"Thank you very much," said Mrs. Keith. "But, Stuart, we may as well unpack our own; I can tell you just which box to open."
"What a woman you are for doing things systematically, Marcia," he said, admiringly. "Yours is the best plan, I think. Can we be up in season to be on hand there at half-past five, think you?"
"We can try," she answered brightly, "Mrs. Prior, where is your market?"
"We haven't got to that yet, ma'am," replied the landlady, laughing and shaking her head.
"No market? why how do you manage without?"
"There's butcher shops where we can buy fresh meat once or twice a week – beef, veal, mutton, lamb, just whatever they happen to kill – and we put up our own salt pork, hams, dried beef, and so forth, and keep codfish and mackerel on hand.
"Most folks have their own chickens, and the country people bring 'em in too; and butter and eggs and vegetables; though a good many town folks have garden sass of their own raisin'; keep a cow and make their own butter."
"That's the most independent way," remarked Mr. Keith. "I think I must have a cow; if I can get a girl who can milk. Do you know of a good girl wanting a place, Mrs. Prior?"
"I wish I did; but they're dreadful scarce sir; and so sassy! you can't keep 'em unless you let 'em come to the table with the family; and you must be mighty careful what you ask 'em to do."
Chapter Seventh
"I feel my sinews slacken'd with the fright,
And a cold sweat thrills down all o'er my limbs,
As if I were dissolving into water."
– Dryden's Tempest.
The Lightcaps were at supper; father and eldest son, each of whom stood six feet in his stockings, with shirt sleeves rolled up above their elbows, displaying brown sinewy arms; the mother in a faded calico, grizzled hair drawn straight back from a dull, careworn face and gathered into a little knot behind in which was stuck a yellow horn comb; years of incessant toil and frequent exposure to sun and wind had not improved a naturally dark, rough skin, and there was no attempt at adornment in her attire, not a collar or a ruffle to cover up the unsightliness of the yellow, wrinkled neck.
Rhoda Jane, the eldest daughter, seated at her father's right hand, was a fac-simile of what the mother had been in her girlhood, with perhaps an added touch of intelligence and a somewhat more bold and forward manner.
There were besides several younger children of both sexes, quite ordinary looking creatures and just now wholly taken up with the business in hand; – vieing with each other in the amount of bread and butter and molasses, fried potatoes and fried pork they could devour in a given space of time.
"Some new comers in town, mother," remarked Mr. Lightcap, helping himself to a second slice of pork. "The keelboat Mary Ann come up the river with a lot of travellers."
"Who, father? somebody that's going to stay?"
"Yes; that lawyer we heerd was comin', you know. What's his name?"
"Keith," said Rhoda Jane, "I heerd Miss Prior tell Damaris Drybread last Sunday after meetin'. And so they've come, hev they?"
"Yes; I had occasion to go up street a bit ago, and saw George Ward takin' 'em to the Union Hotel; the man hisself and two or three wimmin folks and a lot of young uns."
"Damaris was wishing there'd be some children;" remarked Rhoda Jane, "she wants more scholars."
"It don't foller they'd go to her if there was," put in her brother.
"Oh now you just shut up, Goto! you never did take no stock in Damaris."
"No, nor you neither, Rhoda Jane; 'cept once in a while just fur contrariness. No, I don't take no shine to Miss Drybread; she's a unmitigated old maid."
"I wish the man had been a doctor and good on curin' the agur," said Mrs. Lightcap, replenishing her husband's cap. "What's up now, Rhoda Jane?" as that damsel suddenly pushed back her chair, sprang up, and rushed through the adjoining room to the front door.
"A wagon goin' by filled full of great boxes o' goods," shouted back the girl. "There they're stoppin' at the yaller house on the corner. Come and look."
The whole family, dropping knives and forks, the children with hands and mouths full, ran pell mell to door and windows to enjoy the sight.
"I wonder what's up, father? are we goin' to have a new store over there, think?" queried Mrs. Lightcap, standing on the outer step with her hands on her hips, her gaze turned steadily in the direction of the corner house.
"Dunno, mother; b'lieve I'll jest step over and ask. Come along Goto, I guess they'd like some help with them thar big boxes."
They were kind-hearted, neighborly folk – those early settlers of Pleasant Plains, always ready to lend a helping hand wherever it was needed.
"It's the new lawyer feller's traps," announced Mr. Lightcap, as he and his son rejoined the waiting, expectant wife and children; "he's took the house and we'll have 'em for neighbors."
There was another rush to the door, half an hour later, when the Keiths were seen passing on their way to inspect their future abode.
"The prettiest gal I ever see," remarked Gotobed, gazing admiringly after Mildred's graceful, girlish figure.
"They look like eastern folks," said his mother. "Won't they wish they'd staid where they was when they find out how hard 'tis to get help here?"
"Real stuck up folks; dressed to kill," sneered Rhoda Jane. "Look at the white pantalets on them young uns! and the girl's got a veil on her bunnit."
"Well, what's the harm?" asked her brother. "If you had as pretty a skin, I guess you'd be for takin' care of it too."
"Humph! beauty that's only skin deep won't last," and with a toss of the head Miss Lightcap walked into the house in her most dignified style.
For the next ten days the doings at the corner house and the comings and goings of the Keiths were a source of entertainment and intense interest to their neighbors – the Lightcaps and others; a fact not to be wondered at when we consider the monotony of life in the town at that time; – no railroad, no telegraph, no newspaper, except those brought by the weekly mail; no magazines, no public library, and very few books in private houses.
Really the daily small occurrences in their own little world were pretty nearly all the Pleasant Plainers could find to talk or think about.
And the Keiths, as recent arrivals from an older settled part of the country, and above many of them in the social scale, were considered worthy of more than ordinary attention. Their dress, their manners, the furnishing of their house and their style of living were subjects of eager discussion.
The general opinion among the Lightcaps and their set seemed to be that they were too fine for the place; such remarks as the following being frequently heard,
"Why would you believe it, they've got a real store carpet on that front room, and a sofy and cheers covered with horse-hair cloth and white curtains to the winders and picturs hanging up on to the walls."
"And the little girls wears white pantalets caliker ones such as our youngsters wears isn't good enough for them."
There were in the town, however, a number of families of educated, refined people who rejoiced in this addition to their society and only waited for the new comers to get settled in their new home before calling.
Among these Mrs. Keith and her aunt found several pleasant, congenial companions; and with two or three the acquaintance soon ripened into a close intimacy, a warm, enduring friendship.
Mildred also soon had more than one young girl crony whom she found as worthy of regard as those she had left behind.
Back of the yellow house was a grove of saplings which became a favorite haunt of the children in their hours of recreation. They would bend down the smaller trees and ride them, climb up into the larger and sit among the branches; or build baby-houses and play housekeeping underneath, where the shade was thickest.
It was here they spent the warm, sunny days while the older members of the family busied themselves in making the dwelling habitable and the yard neat and orderly.
On the morning after their arrival Rupert spread a buffalo robe on the ground in the shadiest part of the grove, whereon Zillah and Ada seated themselves with their baby sister who had been entrusted to their care.
There were many lovely wild flowers springing up here and there, and Cyril, Don and Fan ran hither and thither gathering them, prattling merrily to each other the while, and now and then uttering a joyous shout as they came upon some new floral treasure.
"Be careful not to go too far away, children," Zillah called to them.
"No, we won't go far," they answered, Cyril adding, "And I'll take care of Fan."
In a little while they came running back with full hands.
"See, see!" they said, "so many and such pretty ones – blue, and white, and purple, and yellow. There, you take these and we'll pick some more for ourselves. And for mother and Aunt Wealthy; we'll make a big bunch for each of them," and away they ran again.
"Oh, aren't they pretty?" cried Ada. "Let's make a bouquet for mother out of these."
"She won't want two," said Zillah, "'specially just now when she's no place to put them. Let's make wreaths for Annis and Fan."
"Oh yes!" and they began sorting the flowers with eager interest, little Annis pulling at them too, crowing and chattering in sweet baby fashion.
Suddenly Zillah gave a start and laid a trembling hand on Ada's arm. Her face had grown very pale and there was a look of terror in her large blue eyes.
Ada turned quickly to see what had caused it, and was quite as much alarmed on beholding a tall Indian, with rifle in hand, tomahawk and scalping knife in his belt, standing within a few feet of them, evidently regarding them with curiosity.
He wore moccasins and leggins, and had a blanket about his shoulders; feathers on his head, too; but no war paint on his face.
Behind him was a squaw with a great bark basket full of wild berries, slung to her back.
The little girls were too terribly frightened to cry out or speak, they sat there as if turned to stone, while the Indian drew nearer and nearer still closely followed by his squaw.
Stopping close beside the children, he grunted out a word or two to her, and she slung her basket to the ground.
Taking up a double handful of the berries, he poured them into Zillah's lap, saying, "Pappoose!"
The squaw restored her basket to its place and the two walked leisurely away; happily not in the direction of Fan and the boys.
The little girls gazed at each other in blank astonishment; then burst out simultaneously, "Oh, weren't you frightened? I thought he was going to kill us!"
"But wasn't it good in him to give us the berries?"
"Yes; he meant them for baby; but mother doesn't let her have any, you know; so we mustn't give them to her."
"No, but I'll call the children to get some.'
"Yes, do."
"Where did you get em?" queried Cyril, devouring his share with zest.
"An Indian gave them to us."
"An Indian? why that was like a friend and colation! I shan't be 'fraid of 'em any more."
"I don't know," returned Ada with a wise shake of her head, "I'd rather not see 'em even with their berries."
The little feast was just ended when they espied a gentleman passing along the road beyond the grove. He turned and came toward them.
"Good-morning," he said, pleasantly. "These are Mr. Keith's children, I believe?"
"Yes, sir," answered Zillah.
"I'm glad to see you," shaking hands with them; "and I should like to make the acquaintance of your parents. Are they at home, in the house yonder?"
"Mother is, sir; but I saw father go away a little while ago."
"Do you think your mother could see me for a moment? My name is Lord."
Cyril opened his eyes very wide; gazing up into the gentleman's face with an odd expression of mingled curiosity and astonishment.
"I don't know, sir;" answered Zillah, "they're just cleaning the house and – Cyril, run and ask mother."
Away flew the child, rushing into the room where Miss Stanhope and Mrs. Keith were overseeing the opening of boxes and the unpacking of the household gear.
"Mother, mother," he cried breathlessly, "the Lord's out yonder and he wants to see you! Can he come in? shall I bring him?"
"The Lord! what can the child mean?" cried Aunt Wealthy, in her astonishment and perplexity nearly dropping a large china bowl which she held in her hand.
Mrs. Keith, too, looked bewildered for a moment, then a sudden light breaking over her face,
"Yes, bring him in," she said, and turning to her aunt as the child sped on his errand, "It must be the minister, auntie; I remember now that Stuart told me his name was Lord."
Mr. Lord, who was a very absent-minded man, came in apologizing for his "neglect in not calling sooner; he had been engaged with his sermon and the matter had slipped his mind."
"I think you are blaming yourself undeservedly, sir," Mrs. Keith said, giving him her hand with a cordial smile, "we arrived in town only yesterday. Let me introduce you to my aunt, Miss Stanhope."
The two shook hands, and Mr. Lord seating himself upon a box, instead of the chair that had been set for him, sprang up instantly with a hurried exclamation.
A portion of the contents of a paper of tacks had been accidentally spilt there.
The ladies were too polite to smile. Mrs. Keith offered the chair again, simply saying, "You will find this a more comfortable seat; please excuse the disorder we are in;" then plunged into talk about the town and the little church he had recently organized there.
Chapter Eighth
"Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,
The spot where angels find a resting place,
When bearing blessings, they descend to earth."
– Mrs. Hale.
Cyril came running back carrying a covered basket.
"He's gone, girls. He wasn't the Lord at all; only a man; and he didn't stay long; I guess 'cause he sat down on the tacks and hurted himself.
"Here's our dinner. Mother says we may eat it out here under the trees and it'll be as good as a picnic."
"So it will. Let's see what it is," and Zillah took the basket and lifted the lid. "Oh that's nice! buttered biscuits and cold tongue and cheese and ginger bread – lots of it – and a turnover apiece."
"Isn't our mother good?" cried Ada gratefully. "Did you tell her about the Indian the berries?"
"Yes; and father was there – he just came home – and he says we needn't be a single bit afraid; they don't kill folks now, and they wouldn't dare to hurt us right here in the town; even if they wanted to."
"Baby's been fretting a little; 'cause she's hungry, I guess," said Zillah, putting a bit of gingerbread in the little one's hand.
"Yes; mother said you should give her some cake; and she'll come directly and take her awhile. Now let's begin to eat, for I'm as hungry as a big black bear."
"So am I," piped the small voices of Don and Fan. "But father always asks a blessing first."
"Yes," assented Zillah, stopping short in her distribution of the good things; "and mother does it when he's away, but – " and she glanced from one to the other of the childish but grave faces of the little group.
"I'll do it," said Cyril, closing his merry blue eyes and folding his chubby hands. "O Lord, we thank thee for the ginger bread and turnovers and – and all the good things, Amen. Now gi me mine, Zil," opening his eyes wide and holding out both hands.
"Ladies first, you know," answered the sister, "and we must all spread our handkerchiefs in our laps to keep the greasy crumbs from our clothes."
"Oh, yes; I fordot. Help Ada and Fan and yourself, then Don too, and me last 'cause we're the gentlemen."
"No, myself last, because that's the way mother does."
"And mother and father always do everything right," commented Ada, beginning upon her sandwich.
They were rosy, healthy children and their appetites were keen; but they were not selfish or greedy, and the supply of food was more than amply sufficient for all.
They were never stinted but had been taught that waste was sinful; so the remains of the meal were put carefully by in the basket, which Zillah then hung up on a branch near at hand.
As she did so the others set up a glad shout, "Mother's coming!" and sprang forward to meet her, while baby held out her hands with a crow of delight.
"Well, dears, had you plenty of dinner?" Mrs. Keith asked, taking Annis in her arms and sitting down on the buffalo robe while they grouped themselves about her.
"Oh yes; yes indeed! some left; and it was very good. Thank you for it, mother."
"You quite deserved it; you have been dear, good children, taking care of yourselves and baby all morning, and not giving any trouble to anybody."
How the young cheeks flushed and the eyes grew bright at these words of commendation from those dear lips. How they loved her for them, and what an increased desire to merit her approbation they felt swelling in their breasts.
She could stay with them only a little while but suggested various amusements, some games they might play, some stories Zillah might relate to the younger ones.
"Are you getting done fast, mother? can we sleep in our own home to-night?" they asked.
"No, dears; for though the bedroom floors are cleaned there might be some dampness that would injure us. We will go back to the tavern for our supper and to sleep to-night; but to-morrow night we will be in our own home once more."
"Not the nice home we used to have, though!" sighed Zillah.
"No, daughter; but we must try to be content and thankful; and if we are, we may be as happy in the new home as we were in the old."
With that the now sleeping babe was laid gently down on the robe, a light covering thrown over her, and with a charge to the others to take care of her, and a caress bestowed upon each, the mother hastened back to the house.
"We're tired running 'bout and picking flowers, Fan and Don and me," said Cyril; "so won't you please tell us a story now, Zil?"
"Yes; I'll tell you Androcles and the Lion; you always like that."
"Yes; and then tell 'bout the girl that had a silk dress and couldn't run and play 'cause her shoes pinched," begged Fan.
"Oh look!" exclaimed Ada in an undertone, "see those girls. They haven't silk dresses or shoes to pinch their toes. Don't they look queer?"
The subjects of her remarks were two little maids – one about her own size, the other a trifle smaller – who were slowly making their way through the bushes toward the spot where the Keith children were seated.
They had sallow, sunburnt faces, tawny, yellow locks straggling over their shoulders, and their thin, lanky little forms were arrayed in calico dresses faded, worn and skimpy: pantalets of the same material but different color, appeared below their skirts. Their feet were bare, and on their heads were sunbonnets of pasteboard covered with still another pattern of calico both faded and soiled.
"Shall we ask them to come and join us?" queried Zillah.
"No; they don't look nice; they're dirty," whispered Cyril, with a glance of disgust directed toward the strangers.
"Maybe dey is hungry," suggested Fan, "let's dive 'em some fing out o' de basket."
"Good afternoon, little girls," said Zillah, raising her voice slightly as they drew near; "will you come and sit with us?"
They shook their heads but came creeping on, each with a finger in her mouth.
"Have you had your dinner?" An affirmative nod.
"I'm going to tell a story to these children, and if you like to come and listen too, you can. What are your names?"
"Mine's Emmaretta Lightcap, and hers is Minerva Lightcap. She's my sister, she is. Now go on and tell your story. Min, let's set down on the grass right here."
They listened in open-mouthed wonder till summoned by a shrill voice from the direction of the smithy, when they rose and scampered away.
The Keiths were a very domestic family; no place like home to them; and all, from the father down to little Fan, were heartily weary of the unsettled life they had led for some weeks past.
It was therefore with joy they found themselves once more able to sit down under their own vine and fig tree, (if a rented domicile so unsightly as "the yellow house on the corner" may fitly be compared to natural objects so full of beauty and grace).
By the evening of the second day the advanced stage of the internal improvements warranted them in taking possession.
As the shadows grew long the children were called in, the family gathered about a neatly appointed table set out in the centre one of the three lower rooms; spoken of indifferently as the sitting, or dining-room, since it must answer both purposes.
The meal was enlivened by cheerful chat, in which the children were allowed to take part; the only restriction being that but one voice was to be heard at a time; and that not in loud or boisterous tones.
No domestic had been found yet and leaving mother and aunt to chat with the father, Mildred and the younger girls cleared the table, washed the dishes and made all neat in the kitchen.
This done they returned to the sitting-room. The great family Bible lay open on the table before the father, a pile of hymn-books beside it. These last Rupert took up and distributed; the father read a few verses of Scripture and gave out a hymn. The mother's sweet voice set the tune, the others joined in and a full chorus of praise swelled upon the summer evening air.
It died away, and all knelt while the father offered a short but fervent prayer giving thanks for the mercies of the day, asking for protection through the night, confessing sins and pleading for pardon and eternal life, for all temporal and spiritual good, through the atoning blood of Christ.
It was thus each day was begun and ended in this truly Christian family. "As for me and my house we will serve the Lord," was the resolution with which Mr. and Mrs. Keith had begun their married life.
Each little one came to claim a good-night kiss from father and Aunt Wealthy, then cheerfully followed their mother up the steep crooked stairway to the large room above.
"Oh, how much nicer it looks!" they cried "Auntie's room too," running to the open door and peeping in.
Everything was now clean and neat, carpets covered the rough boards of the floor, curtains draped the windows and divided the large room into several apartments, in each of which was a neat, white bed.
But little of their heavy furniture had been brought with them from the old home, but its place was partially supplied by turning packing boxes into chintz-covered and cushioned lounges, and toilet tables, whose unsightliness was concealed by dainty drapery. Ingenuity and taste had done wonders in making the house comfortable and attractive at small expense.