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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
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 GIFT OF 
 
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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 050 924 996 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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THE 
 
 TIN KITCHEN 
 
 J. HATTON WEEKS 
 
 NEW YORK; 46 East 14TH Street 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON; 100 Purchase Street 
 
copybight, 1886 
 By Thomas T. Ckowell & Compant 
 
 PBfiSS Or 
 BOSTON, U.S.A. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 These stories were included in an en- 
 tertainment furnished by me for one of 
 the regular meetings of the Westboro' 
 Historical Society. 
 
 It was not my purpose, in the begin- 
 ning, to do more than provide a pleasant 
 hour for the members. 
 
 The stories are now printed, however, 
 in response to a call, on the part of 
 many, for their publication. 
 
 J. H. w. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tin Kitchek .... 9 
 The Old Clock . . . -29 
 
 The Teapot 53 
 
 The Satin Shoes . . . .79 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 "In whose house I "was living" . Frontispiece 
 
 " Put on lier calash, settin' right before 
 
 me to see if she'd got it on straight" 11 
 
 " And took great comfort in the scenery 
 
 and the society of his barn critters " 15 
 
 " She 'd shut up as quick and as tight as 
 
 a trap when a rat has sprung it" . 37 
 
 " But that day of the crash was the time 
 
 old Josh let me run down " . , 50 
 
 " Had lifted my little cap, and admired 
 
 the curve of my nose "... 57 
 
 " Farmer Bowman had come in from the 
 
 barn with his pails of foaming milk " 71 
 
 " For that was what Cynthia Holmes was 
 
 called — the Belle of Plymouth" . 81 
 
 " She would come and take us out, and 
 
 stand with us in her hand " . . 90 
 
THE TIN KITCHEN. 
 
 You would not think, to look at me, 
 that I was young and handsome once, 
 would you? Of course not. Folks now- 
 adays don't seem to care much about the 
 looks of their kitchen servants. But once 
 they did, I 'd have you to know. My ! 
 what powerful scrubbin's I 've took in 
 my time. My reflections are painful still ; 
 but my appearance was worth it all ! 
 
 In these days folks want us to keep 
 strong and have a civil tongue; then 
 they'll excuse the looks. But if J had a 
 tongue like our parson's or old Suke 
 
 (9) 
 
10 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 Burton's, I'd let folks see that we have 
 feelings as well as them, and can be hot 
 or cold accordin'. 
 
 But there ! I did n't let myself be dragged 
 out of the dust just to scold, but to refresh 
 myself with a little gossip. 
 
 My complexion is n't so good as it once 
 was, when many a spruce-looking feller 
 and pretty girl has told me to my face (or 
 rather my back) that I was just as good 
 as a lookin'-glass, I was so slick and 
 shiny. And them was the days when 
 there was n't a lookin'-glass in more 'n 
 one house in ten in the town, and folks 
 had to comb their hair before a pane of 
 window-glass with something put up be- 
 hind it — or over a paU of water. And 
 the last thing that Marm Ewen did on a 
 summer Sabbath morning, before settin' 
 out for the meeting-house, was to put on 
 
tell you anything of parties and parson's 
 calls and such in the best room. In all my 
 long life at Clark Ewen's I was never 
 allowed to cross the front entry. 
 
 O my land ! it was so aggravatin' to 
 stand and stand there on my four legs on 
 the shelf and imaa;ine what there was in 
 
one house in ten in the town, and folks 
 had to comb their hair before a pane of 
 window-glass with something put up be- 
 hind it — or over a pail of water. And 
 the last thing that Marm Ewen did on a 
 summer Sabbath morning, before settin' 
 out for the meeting-house, was to put on 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 13 
 
 her calash, settin' right before me to 
 see if she 'd got it ou straight. But what's 
 that ? You want me to stop talkin' about 
 myself and tell you something about the 
 folks I've lived with? Well, if this 
 was u't the only chance I 'd got for per- 
 haps another fifty years to have a talk, 
 I'd be mad enough to shut right up and 
 not say another word Ij* But if you 'II stop 
 fidgetin', and let me take my own time and 
 way, I'll get 'round to something, sooner 
 or later. So here goes. I ain't used to 
 society, — I guess you see that, — so I can't 
 tell you anything of parties and parson's 
 calls and such in the best room. In all my 
 long life at Clark Ewen's I was never 
 allowed to cross the front entry. 
 
 O my land ! it was so aggravatin' to 
 stand and stand there on my four legs on 
 the shelf and imagine what there was in 
 
14 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 that room and what was going on there ! 
 But it was worse to stand there and look 
 down on Marm Ewen as she bustled and 
 scrubbed and cooked. JMy sakes ! that 
 woman was a walkin' mop, dish-pan, 
 broom, and churn all in one ! Not a speck 
 of dust anywhere — and stingy and savin' ! 
 Now, I ain't sayin' anything against 
 Marm Ewen, because I do hate to hear any- 
 thing like backbitin'. I don't mean to 
 wrong her ; I 'm only aimin' at her weak- 
 nesses — that's all. But she did make a 
 mighty smart wife for Mr Ewen — though 
 folks had a way of sayin' that he was par- 
 ticular fond of outdoor air, and took great 
 comfort in the scenery and the society of 
 his barn critters. But then, there 's other 
 husbands that find the air indoors rather 
 stiflin', most of the time. 
 If 't was stupid in the daytime, just 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 17 
 
 watchin' Maim Ewen at work, what do 
 you suppose it was in the evenin', with 
 them two on opposite sides of the fire- 
 place : Mr. Ewen with his chin down in his 
 bosom somewliere, snorin' dreadful, and 
 Marm Ewen just knittin' and patchin' for 
 dear life, and looking up once in a while to 
 see if 't was time for evenin' prayers. And 
 as soon as nine by the clock had struck, 
 she 'd roll up her cloth, or stick her odd 
 knittin'-needle through the ball of yarn, 
 and then she 'd cross over and nudge Sir. 
 Ewen and say : ' ' Prayers ! " And he'd 
 wake and look up as if somebody was 
 goin' to cut his throat, and she 'd always 
 look hurt and soleinn-like at him, every 
 time. 
 
 Company ? Not much ; except once in 
 so often at Thanksgivin'-time, when it 
 come her turn to have all their relations. 
 
18 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 But I could see it was an awful cross to 
 her. 
 
 Then I had my good times ! There 
 was n't one of all them relations that did n't 
 take an awful interest in me, and come 
 lookin' over my shoulder, and sniffin' and 
 sayin' how nice I smelled. And then they 
 would all get there together, and all their 
 tongues a-clackiu' at the same time. Then 
 all the family doings got an airin'. It give 
 me a great deal of enjoyment, and something 
 to think about till they come there again. 
 
 Thanksgivin' day is n't the time to keep 
 folks in the best room, where there aia't 
 anything to look at but a horse-hair sofy, 
 a bunch of coral, a wreath of wax flowers, 
 and the picture of a tomb, with a widder 
 hangin' over the corner with her right eye 
 covered with her best pocket handkerchief. 
 Even the barn looks cheerfuller ! 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 19 
 
 But my ! how I am goin' on ! Did n't 
 ever anything happen at our house? Not 
 often. But there was something funny 
 that I think you '11 be interested in hearin' 
 about. 
 
 We did really have a donation party 
 for the minister, once. Suke Burton wns 
 the one that got it up. If you've ever 
 had anything to do with such a thing, 
 you know it needs a pretty good talker to 
 start it ; and she had the name of havin' 
 lots of gab. 
 
 Well, she worked up a good deal of 
 interest, finally, and so many folks said 
 they intended to be present that there 
 was n't a house in the town big enough 
 for the party but ours. And so Suke 
 come, with the two deacons, and asked 
 Marm Ewen if they might have the party 
 to our house. Well, she was so took 
 
20 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 aback that she said "Yes," before she 
 knowed what she was doin'. 
 
 There was a week between then and 
 the party — and such a time ! Mr. Ewen 
 spent more time viewin' the scenery 
 and admirin' the live-stock. How that 
 woman did slave, tho' ! Why, there were 
 men and women, near neighbors, who'd 
 never been inside her best room, she was 
 so powerful choice of it; and she went 
 round thro' all the rooms, takin' out 
 everything she thought would be hurt, 
 — the lookin'-glass, and the sofy, and the 
 tomb, from the best room, and all the 
 chaney and glass from the cupboard. 
 She took the carpet off the stairs, and 
 locked the door of the best bedroom. 
 And she got the hired man to put boards 
 in the windows in the livin'-room, so 
 that none of the wild young fellers 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 21 
 
 could put their heads or elbows thro' the 
 glass. 
 
 Mr. Ewen asked Mai-m Ewen what she 
 was goin' to give the parson. And she 
 said : " Givin' the house is enough, I 
 should say." But he held on that they 
 could n't be so mean as that, and lie was 
 goin' to kill one of the young geese for 
 the supper. And she said she was n't 
 goin' to have one of her nice geese eat 
 up by all that crowd. But if he was so 
 set, she said, he might take the old gander ; 
 she was tired of seeing him round. And 
 he said they could n't get a tooth thro' 
 him. And s/ie said : "All the better; he 
 will go further and last longer ! " And so 
 it ended, of course, in the old gander bein' 
 killed and roasted. When they put the old 
 critter in my arms I wanted to tip myself 
 and him into the fire. "But," I thought, 
 
22 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 "it's all for the parson, poor man, and 
 I '11 do my part and make him as brown 
 and juicy as I can." 
 
 At last the evening come ; and the folks 
 filed in as stiff as a row of trees And 
 when they was all there, and settin' 'round 
 tlie tables in our big kitchen and livin'- 
 room, after leaving their pork and pin- 
 cushions in the sink-room, the parson said 
 a blessing and the real fun begun. 
 
 What should that Suke Burton do but 
 put that gander down before the parson to 
 carve ! But he did look plump and fine, 
 if I <lo say it, — I mean the gander ; the 
 parson was a powerful thin, plain man, 
 himself. 
 
 Well, he struck out to wing the feller ; 
 but after giving that up as a bad job he 
 sawed away at one of his legs till his 
 arm got tii-ed. 'T wa'n't no use ; and as 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 23 
 
 he was tryin' to jab a hole in him some- 
 where, and folks were getting to snicker, 
 Miss Worthy, who had a spite against 
 Marm Eweu, said, so 's lots could hear : 
 " He must be one of the critters that laid 
 the gold eggs " — twittin' on his age, 
 like. 
 
 "Try him on the stuffln'," said some- 
 body. 
 
 And with that the parson put in the 
 spoon, and shovelled some out on his 
 plate. Land of Goshen ! what do yon 
 suppose was in that stuffln' ? Four big 
 gold pieces, and they jingled and rolled 
 out on the plate before everybody. And 
 such a time of talkin' and wonderin' and 
 laughin' as we had then ! Marm Ewen 
 looked red as the pickled beet in the 
 glass dishes, and Miss Worthy looked 
 as if she wished she hadn't, and Mr. 
 
24 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 Ewen looked everywhere but at the gan- 
 der. Well, of course there was oceans 
 to eat without the gander. And folks 
 seemed to have a right good time all 
 through. Marm Ewen couldn't say one 
 word about how the money got into 
 the gander, because she didn't know 
 any more than the hitchin'-post, herself. 
 Well, well, and the party came to an end, 
 and everybody went off home and left us 
 alone again. And when the door closed 
 on the last one, Marm Ewen, who had fire 
 in her eye, and who'd just been boilin', 
 she was so mad, begun to jaw Mr. Ewen, 
 and she was goin' on at a great rate 
 about his sin and extravagance, and his 
 throwin' all that good hard money away 
 on a minister that couldn't preach better 
 than the coffee-mill, when Mr. Ewen 
 drawed himself np as if he'd prepared 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 25 
 
 himself beforehand, aud had " snuffud the 
 battle from afar off," and, holding out his 
 hand, said, just as he would in town meet- 
 ing: "Eliza Ann, the Lord has been good 
 to us, lo! these many years. He has 
 provided us with a comfortable home, and 
 money in the bank. We hain't chick nor 
 child to need none of it. We 're both 
 gettin' into the sere and yeller. Now, 
 what are we workiu' and slavin' for but 
 our own miserable selves ! I allow half 
 the property is youru ; you 've helped me 
 rake it together. But the other half is 
 mine, and I'm goin' to use it hereafter 
 as I please. From this day on I 'm goin' 
 to lead a higher and better life, and the 
 Lord-a-Mighty have mercy on me, a miser- 
 able and undeserving sinner ! " 
 
 With that he opens the back stairway 
 door and goes off to bed. Marm Ewen 
 
26 The Tin Kitchen. 
 
 stood with her mouth wide open and her 
 eyes staring — just as Elisha did, probably, 
 when Elijah stepped into the chariot and 
 went up. And when she heard Mr. Ewen's 
 boots drop, one after the other, on to the 
 floor above, she just sunk into a chair 
 and put her hands up to her eyes, and 
 then slid right down on to the floor her- 
 self, and I heard her kind of sniffle, and 
 then say, soft and huslied-like: " O Lord, 
 and I've been the miserabler sinner of 
 the two ! My eyelids have been stuck 
 together, my ears stopped! I've been 
 takin' and never givin'. O Lord, forgive ! 
 O Lord, forgive me, a selfish woman!" 
 And so she knelt there, rockin' herself 
 back and forth, till the fite got low, and 
 the candle got to smokiu' ; and when 
 she smelled that she got up. 
 But you ought to have seen the break- 
 
The Tin Kitchen. 27 
 
 fast she put on the table next morniu' ! 
 Everything was there that Mr. Ewen par- 
 ticular liked, and she was as meek and 
 pleasant as a pigeon. But I saw Mr. Ewen 
 stop eatin' more than once to look at her, 
 dazed-like, and once I caught him wipiu' 
 a tear off the end of his nose. He pre- 
 tended it was the coffee that was too hot. 
 Things were better and brighter always 
 after that. There was more company, and 
 Marm Ewen joined the Dorcas and the 
 Benevolent, and even went so far as to 
 take two of the parson's boys one summer 
 when he went off with his poor, frayed- 
 out wife for a vacation. And anybody 
 who knowed them boys can testify that 
 they was a cross, and can wish that any- 
 body that ever had the care of 'em may 
 receive a crown laid ud. 
 
THE OLD CLOCK. 
 
 We wooden folks have this advantage 
 over you flesh and blood ones : we ain't 
 never too old to mend. At any age we 
 can be made to look as handsome and 
 bloomin' as on the day we was born. 
 I 've been acquainted with a snarl of fur- 
 niture that put on more style and set up 
 for bigger punkins when they was a hun- 
 dred thau when they was ten years old. 
 
 And there's one fact I can't quite get 
 over : our friends and admirers get to 
 increasin' and multiplyiu' just accordin' 
 as our age lengthens. And as we grow 
 shaky, and patch and paint ourselves, 
 
 (29) 
 
30 The Old Clock. 
 
 and pertend to be something when ive 
 ain't, and the bolder and brassier we get, 
 the more people swarm around us and 
 seem to love us. But I notice that with 
 you, things is different. It 's mainly the 
 handsome, and spry, and young that gets 
 the attention ; that 's mourned most if 
 they get lost, strayed, or stole ; that gather 
 in all the plums and the fun. You put 
 your old folks off in some back room 
 when you have your parties, and recep- 
 tions, and beaux, but you trot out all 
 the old stuff in the way of furniture 
 you can lay your hands on ; and when 
 you have fixed it up in a way to make it 
 ashamed of itself, and to be a sight for 
 the angels and such, you expect all your 
 friends to kneel down around and worship 
 it as if they was so many heathens. It 
 may be nice for us to feel we shall be took 
 
The Old Clock. .31 
 
 good care of, and that things will grow 
 better and brighter for us to the end of 
 time, but 't ain't so comfortable for the 
 human bciu's that are agin'. 
 
 Now, if somebody should take it into 
 his head to give me a rubbin'-down with 
 a sheet of sand-paper, ile my insides, and 
 throw a thin coat of varnish over me, I 
 c:ilculate I might keep my good looks, 
 without troubliu', for another fifty year, 
 and be much obleeged to him, too. 
 
 Tiiere 's another advantage we clocks 
 have over you folks : we see and hear 
 every blessed thing without anybody mak- 
 iu' the least mite of objection to our 
 bein' present. And nobody can tell from 
 our faces whether we do know anything. 
 
 Nobody has ever dared to hint to me, 
 under certain circumstances, that " three 's 
 company." And I 've never been sent 
 
32 The Old Clock. 
 
 off to bed at early candlelight, as I reckon 
 most of you have, though I do remember 
 one young feller who came to set up with 
 our Tilda sayin', when twelve o'clock was 
 near, that he wished I 'd be so obligin' as 
 to run down. Run down ! Shade of Bil- 
 dad 1 When I 've been taught that the 
 meanest and most contemptiblest thing a 
 clock could do is to run down! "I'll 
 teach you, old feller," says I. And so, 
 when twelve o'clock came, I just struck as 
 loud and spiteful as I could, and that made 
 the young folks jump, and they upset their 
 chair, and the noise woke Tilda's father, 
 and he come to the landing, and bawled 
 out: "Say, Hank, don't be in such a 
 hurry ; stay a few minutes longer and 
 help us with the mornin's milkin', won't 
 you ? " I reckon the young spark made 
 tracks then. 
 
The Old Clock. 33 
 
 I've lived the best part of four life- 
 times in the Atkins family. There has n't 
 been much that has happened there that 
 I did n't know all about it. Not a whim- 
 per or a growl out of me all that time; 
 but I 've heard a powerful lot of growlin' 
 and jawiu' — and some things some folks 
 ought to be ashamed of. But there ! 
 most of 'em 's gone now, and we won't 
 rake over dry bones. 
 
 "When I was young, folks lived mostly in 
 the kitchen, and that 's where I got most of 
 my education. That's where they washed 
 their faces and combed their hair. That's 
 where the pig's leaf was tried out, and the 
 gowns was fitted ; that 's where the funerals 
 was planned ; where the neighbors knit their 
 socks and spun their yarns about other 
 folks. And that 's where some folks did 
 their fightin' and makin' up, and their 
 
34 The Old Clock. 
 
 prayin' as well. And, of course, the 
 young folks did their sparkin' there. 
 
 It's a comfort to us clocks that people, 
 now that they 're movin' from the kitchen 
 to the best room, are concludin' to take us 
 along with 'em. So we still hear and see all 
 that 's goin' on ; and so, with the new 
 woman, there 's the new clock being devel- 
 oped and given a better education. 
 
 But I 've been told that I can have but so 
 many minutes for my talk with you this 
 time, and I 've concluded to spend them in 
 talkin' mostly of our Tilda and her folks. 
 Tilda was the daughter of old Josh Atkins, 
 in whose house I was livin'. I 'd belonged 
 to his father, Squire Atkins, for some forty 
 year ; and so 't was common with Tilda, 
 and Leffl, her brother, to speak of me as 
 " G-ran'ther's " cloclv. Lem had good jea- 
 sou to remember me for the awful trounciu' 
 
The Old Clock. 36 
 
 he got, once, when he was a little feller, 
 and snarled himself up with my insides. 
 There 's one thing I will say, right here, 
 about Josh Atkins. Though he was the 
 tight-fistedest and opinionatedest andselfish- 
 est man for twenty miles 'round, and that's 
 what everybody said of him, he never but 
 once forgot what he owed me, and did his 
 duty by me regular. Always to the minute 
 he remembered to wind me up. And no- 
 body but him ever cleaned my face and 
 hands, and looked out that I should feel 
 easy and comfortable. 
 
 He thought heaps of Tilda, in Ms way, 
 and when she got old enough for beaux he 
 was always jokin' her about a rich hus- 
 band. Fellers from our town used to come 
 around at first, but a hint from Josh was 
 as good as a kick. 
 
 Tilda was one of the quiet sort, with 
 
36 The Old Clock. 
 
 quiet ways and voice ; never had any more 
 color than bleached beeswax ; and if there 
 was one of them young men she perferred, 
 she would n't 'a' dared let it be seen, for 
 when her father, with his loud, roarin' 
 voice, was about, she did n't dare say her 
 soul was her own. He loved her same 's 
 a hawk does a chicken. 
 
 Mrs. Atkins, she was a little mite of a 
 woman, and didn't seem to have any more 
 will than Tilda. Sometimes, when he spoke 
 up to her or looked at her when she was 
 a-talkin' in a way he did n't like, she 'd shut 
 up as quick and as tight as a trap when a 
 rat has sprung it. But she could show 
 spirit once in awhile, as on the day when 
 old Josh — but I 'm getting ahead of my 
 story ; I '11 come to that by and by. Then 
 there was Ike Saunders, the hired man, a 
 good-looking sort of a feller, that Tilda 
 
'She'd shut up as quick and tight as a trap when 
 a rat i as sprung it," 
 
The Old Clock. 39 
 
 must go and fall in love with — and he 
 and she knowin' the old man would turn 
 him out-of-door the minute he s'spicioned 
 anything. I thought it was so queer the 
 old man didn't see nor hear anything. 
 P'raps he thought Ike was n't worth notic- 
 in', being somebody he just ordered 'round 
 to suit him. 
 
 I knew, and I've always thought Mrs. 
 Atkina was knowin' to it long before she 
 allowed she was ; and not altogether be- 
 cause she was sentimental, and set a good 
 deal by true love and pitied the young 
 folks, was Mrs. Atkins a-shutting her eyes 
 and ears and pertendin' all the time, but 
 here was a chance to be even with Josh — 
 he 'd have something worth roarin' about 
 now. And if he turned on her and jawed 
 her, and raised his hand at her, she could 
 just say back that she had n't done any- 
 
40 The Old Clock. 
 
 thing, and cry, and ask: "Now, did I, 
 Tilda?" And Tilda could answer, in- 
 nocent and pure as an angel out of the 
 sky: "No, indeed. Ma!" 
 
 When old Josh would get to talking 
 about getting a rich husband for Tilda, 
 he got to runnin' on about that constant, 
 so's 'twas worse than a slow case of 
 typhus in the house, the way folks looked 
 worrited finally. I used to see Ike's mouth 
 come together tight and his eyes blaze ; 
 but Tilda looked more bleached-like and 
 scared, and would try to slip out of the 
 room. 
 
 Exceptin' the old man, it was a queer, 
 meek kind of a lot of people, and I got 
 out of all patience with 'em. Even Lem, 
 who used to be as wild as a deer, and up 
 to all sorts of shines, had lost all his 
 spunk, and was down to the comer when 
 
The Old Clock. 41 
 
 he was n't workin' under his father's eye, 
 and shot up to bed every night like a 
 muskrat into his hole. 
 
 Why, Ike seemed to lack what the boys 
 call "sand," nowadays, — that isn't veiy 
 polite for a word, but I reckon you 
 know what I mean. Oh, you do? 
 
 For all the pile of work he managed to 
 get thro', he was kinder pale and spin- 
 dlin', and I always felt as if Tilda had a 
 kind of mother-love for him, different 
 from most. But he worshipped Tilda ; 
 followin' her with the eyes of a dumb 
 sheep creature. 
 
 The second summer, I think 't was, after 
 Ike come there to live, Mr. Atkins must 
 send Tilda off to Worcester town to see 
 her aunt, who was as much like him as one 
 pea is like another. Money was her god, 
 and human souls did n't count till you 'd 
 
42 The Old Clock. 
 
 got a good lot of that. You see, Tilda 
 was gettin' near her majority, and if she 
 got a rich husband through her father's 
 means he 'd have to put her where such 
 husbands grew thicker than they did in 
 Westboro'. 
 
 Tilda was gone nigh on to two months, 
 and we was all dreadful glad to have her 
 back again. The old man had had several 
 letters from his sister during the two 
 months — that is, Mrs. Atkins told Ike 
 so, but she knowed just as much what 
 was in 'em as one of the bricks in the chim- 
 bley-place, but we could all guess. Mr. 
 Atkins would be all the time a-rubbin' his 
 hands together and chucklin' to himself, 
 and he held his head as high and talked as 
 loud as Solomon in all his glory. But 
 Tilda seemed dreadful shy of Ike, and I 
 was downright mad with her because she 
 
The Old Clock. 43 
 
 never let him get a word with her at all. 
 And Ike — well, he was the sorrowfullest 
 critter that ever lived. 
 
 And now I 'm coming to something that 
 none on us who took part in it can for- 
 get to our dyin' day. I 'm sure I can't ; 
 for then, for the first time in my life as 
 an Atkins clock, — I ran down! But I 
 was n't to blame ; you '11 see that when you 
 hear. 
 
 One day, about a week after Tilda had 
 got back, as near as I can remember, old 
 Josh came in when the dinner-horn was 
 blowed, fetchin' with him a strange man, 
 who walked up kinder familiar to Tilda, and 
 shook hands and acted as if he 'd like to 
 kiss her. I declare, I e'enamost forgot to 
 tick ; I was so dumbfoundered at the sight, 
 a cold draft run up my back. I looked at 
 Mrs. Atkins and Ike. She had the spider 
 
44 The Old Clock. 
 
 in her hand, just off the fire, where she'd 
 been fryin', and her face was red as it 
 could be from the heat. But then I see 
 something in her face I never noticed be- 
 fore, and I thought 't was luckj- in Mr. 
 "V\"hat 's-his-name that he did n't really kiss 
 Tilda, for I do believe her ma would have 
 throwed all that bilin' fat over him; and 
 him not so bad-lookin' a lot, either, I must 
 allwo. 
 
 Ike never noticed nothing, and shook 
 hands with the new feller as natural as 
 could be, and set down and went to eatin' 
 his pork and greens as if they was of more 
 consequence than forty strangers. 
 
 TUda and her ma could n't seem to eat 
 much, and I guess they was considerable 
 relieved when the dinner come to a close. 
 But just as soon as the company had said 
 he 'd had a great sufDciency, old Josh rose 
 
The Old Clock. 45 
 
 from his chair, cleaned- his throat, and, 
 pompous as the sea-serpent, made us a 
 speech: " AVife,'' says he, "and Lemuel, 
 my son, and you, Ike Saunders, I want you 
 to know this is Tilda's husband that is to 
 be. They fell in love with each other in 
 Worcester. He 's got some property, and 
 I 've said he could huve her if he wants 
 her. Tilda's aunt fixed it all up with her. 
 And 1 think about Thanksgivin' time we '11 
 have Parson Parkman in, and have the knot 
 tied. And I guess that 's all you need to 
 know about it." With that, he was just 
 pushin' out his chair when Ike, who 
 looked at first as tho' he'd been struck by 
 lightnin', springs up and yells: "You 
 old scoundrel, to sell your own flesh and 
 blood ! She 'a mine, by the power of love 
 and the grace of God! She's promised 
 herself to me ! Tilda, Tilda, tell 'em you 
 
46 The Old Clock. 
 
 love me ! Oh, why can't you speak ! " 
 But Tilda just sat with her face like stone, 
 and only twisted her fingers, and then I 
 knowed how she was goin' to look some 
 day in her- coffin. 
 
 Old Josh was a sight to see, just foam- 
 ''n' at the mouth like a wild horse. He 
 shook his fist at Ike, and shouted: "You 
 sarpint, you! You cunning fox, to creep 
 iuto my house and deceive me this way, 
 and steal my darter's affections. She love 
 you! Why, you ain't good enough to 
 lay down in the dirt she 's walked on ! 
 You ain't worth a good pair of shoes! 
 You get out of this or I '11 shoot you ! " 
 And with that he grabbed for the old 
 Queen's arm that hung over the chimbley- 
 piece. But Mrs. Atkins was too quick 
 for him, and throwed herself on to him, 
 and held him tight, like a cat — he bel- 
 
The Old Clock. 47 
 
 lerin', and she with her sharp chin pressed 
 into his back and her little arms twisted 
 about him, and hoilerin' : "Remember, 
 Joshua, who you be ! Remember the 
 Bible says, 'I will repay,' and — and — 
 I ain't a-goin' to let go, not if you tear 
 me in pieces ! " But just then poor Ike, 
 who'd been imploring Tilda to say some- 
 thing, give a lurch, and over he went 
 on to the kitchen floor. That seemed to 
 wake Tilda up, and she jumps and throws 
 herself on to him, and she lifts up his poor 
 face, that was like snow, and kisses it, 
 and moans and cries over him. Then she 
 draws his head up on to her breast, and 
 lookin' up where Lem was spelling her 
 mother, and holding his father as tight as 
 a clothespin, she says, as if she did n't 
 fear nothing and nobody any more : " Yes, 
 it 's true, I love him, and I 've been mean, 
 
48 The Old Clock. 
 
 and wicked, and cruel ! If he dies, I '11 
 die too." 
 
 " And," says the "Worcester beau, who 'd 
 been standing as stiU as the broom, "I've 
 been took in by you and your sister, Mr. 
 Atkins. I would n't marry your darter 
 now for the best farm in Worcester County 
 — not if she come and begged me on her 
 knees ! " And with that, bang ! goes the 
 door, and out goes the beau, and nobody 
 ever see him in our parts again. 
 
 Well, I don't need, I think, to say how 
 they patched up the quarrel. It was worse, 
 for awhile, than if one of them Western 
 tornadoes had struck the farm, folks 
 seemed so crazy and shook up. But Ike 
 didn't die, then, and Tilda she married 
 him, as you may guess ; but they did n't 
 live to her father's house, you may de- 
 pend. The old man had got a check. 
 
But that day of the cra;h was the time old Josh 
 let me run down." 
 
The Old Clock. 51 
 
 and Mrs. Atkins she was n't fool enough to 
 let him Lave the bits in his teeth again ; but 
 stiU, nothing could ever make him a saint, 
 or anything within a thousand mile of it. 
 
 But that day of the crash was the time 
 old .Josh let me run down. He went off to 
 bed and teetotally forgot me. 
 
 Oh, dear ! Now that I 've got to tellin' 
 of the past, I could run on all day and a 
 year, but I s'pose I must stop. I feel, 
 however, before I walk off to my corner, 
 that I ought to confess one thing ; I shall 
 stand there peacefuller if I do. 
 
 When old Josh was a-foamin', and just 
 as he reached for his gun, I was tremblin' 
 so that I was afraid I'd fall over. And 
 then there came this evil prayer into my 
 heart: " If I fall, let me fall on old Josh, 
 and let it be a regular salawounder, but 
 not so's 'twill kill him." 
 
62 The Old Clock. 
 
 But I've been so thankful ever since 
 that my prayer was n't heard. And I 've 
 really been glad, seein' how near to a 
 crime I 've come, that my strikin' days 
 are over. 
 
THE TEAPOT. 
 
 There ! Stare, all you people, if you 
 wish ! It does n't hurt. I shall never care 
 much any more. But I cared once, ah! 
 did I not? 
 
 Life began so charmingly with me ! No 
 one could have been better pleased with his 
 surroundings and prospects than I. 
 
 I was born to extreme splendor ; for in 
 the London shop where I found myself 
 there were many elegant creatures like my- 
 self, dressed handsomely, all of them, and 
 fairly radiant with good looks and good 
 health. On the shelves, and displayed in 
 cases, were hundreds of gorgeous things, the 
 
 (53) 
 
54 The Teapot. 
 
 uses of which I then did not know. The 
 sparkle and glitter of all the objects about 
 me, and that I was so ready to reflect, filled 
 me with happiness, and I congratulated 
 myself on my extreme good fortune in 
 being in such royal company. I really 
 thought at first that we must have been 
 made to be worshipped, for the clerks were 
 so careful and respectful in their handling, 
 and used the softest fabrics in restoring our 
 color if we were so unfortunate as to lose 
 it Besides, so many people came in from 
 the street to see, admire, and comment 
 upon our beauty. I can see again, in vision, 
 the chairs that were set down at our door, 
 out of which stepped many a bewigged 
 lord or farthingaled lady, aud as they took 
 their stately way through the rows of bow- 
 ing and smiling clerks and scribes, their 
 cuffs and rufEs shook off sweet odors as 
 
The Teapot. 55 
 
 though tliey were straight come from Araby 
 itself. 
 
 And once there was indeed a great com- 
 motion, when the prince himself, in a 
 grand coach, with outriders in red and 
 gold, did drive up with a great clatter and 
 flourish. But I did think it would be for 
 one's greater ease if he did use the chair, 
 for what with the wretched paving and 
 the many deep holes and the black mud, 
 not even the being a prince might save 
 one from a frightful lurching, and being 
 thrown hither and yon till one's bones 
 cracked and one's flesh were made soft 
 as paste. It was a fine sight, though, 
 as I remember it. But the prince's words, 
 it was whispered, as he alighted, were not 
 for ears polite. 
 
 As soon, however, as I had grown used 
 to the place, and had learned somewhat of 
 
56 The Teapot. 
 
 the language, I realized my true mission : 
 I was a servant; a slave; a panderer to 
 human fashion and appetite. But that 
 did not altogether cast down my spirits. 
 I was of a proud turn, and reasoned that 
 it did not much matter so long as I could 
 still remain in good company. What 
 cared I who owned me, were he or she of 
 good quality ! So many persons had looked 
 at me in particular, had lifted my little 
 cap and admired the curve of my nose, 
 that when I learned that one of my 
 neighbors had been sold to Lord Dickie, I 
 was sure that something more fortunate stiU 
 was in store for me. I even said to myself : 
 "Who knows but the prince has already 
 taken a fancy to me and will send a lord 
 in waiting to fetch me soon ! And, un- 
 speakable ecstasy ! the queen herself may 
 wish to procure me to grace her lunch ! " 
 
'Had lifted my little cap, ;irid admired the curve of 
 my no3e." 
 
The Teapot. 59 
 
 Ah, dreadful day ! when that boisterous 
 sea-captain from North America got his 
 evil eye upon me. Into our shop he came 
 rolling, with a quid of tobacco in his cheek 
 and a canvas bag filled with good gold 
 pieces in his fist. He had been directed by 
 a certain Mr. John Maverick, of the Boston 
 Colony, to p'urchase and bring home to him 
 for sale in his own little shop a lot of tea- 
 pots, with many other things the making 
 of which was not then known to the sav- 
 ages in those parts. 
 
 Spare me the story of the sale of myself 
 and several friends, the surrender of my 
 dream of the prince and the royal lunches, 
 the packing in tight, dark boxes, our trans- 
 portation through the London streets, our 
 trip across the ocean, that consumed, so 
 far as we could reckon, a good forty days 
 and nights, then our release and exhibi- 
 
60 The Teapot. 
 
 tion in Mr. Maverick's window in Federal 
 street, Boston. 
 
 On my dreary way over the ocean I had 
 plenty of time to rebuild my shattered 
 castles. I again was the favorite of fort- 
 une. "Maybe," I thought, "I am re- 
 served for the wigwam of some enchant- 
 ing Indian princess. Or if even but the 
 governor of the colony choose me, it may 
 be better for my morals to be his servant 
 than a member of the household of so 
 dissipated a fellow as the present heir to 
 the British crown." So I tried to comfort 
 myself in my most miserable state. 
 
 But how astonished was I to find in this 
 wild country so considerable a town, and 
 real gentlemen and ladies walking the 
 streets ! Nowhere, although I looked in 
 every direction, did I see a single wig- 
 wam ; while the few aborigines who passed 
 
The Teapot. 61 
 
 our window did seem most loathsome to 
 my citj' eyes, aud did seem to laclv much 
 in ordinary cleanness. They could not at 
 all stand in comparison with their white 
 brethren. Certainly no fair Indian maid 
 ever appeared in that shop to look at tea- 
 pots or anything else. But, as before, 
 I was the object of great attention I 
 was introduced to an assemblage of not- 
 ables ; for our shop was quite a meeting- 
 place for all those persons of consequence 
 who liked to be brought together to 
 exchange the news, while one was sure to 
 catch here the very latest aud spiciest bit 
 of gossip. But how confounded I was to 
 see two of my companions on the trip from 
 London actually preferred before me ; sold, 
 alas ! to the governor himself. That loas a 
 crusher, indeed ! 
 
 I think I must have lost color; I could 
 
62 The Teapot. 
 
 not weep in those days, I had not yet 
 learned. But Mr. Maverick one morning 
 remarked that I was growing dull, and 
 was about to fetch his cloth and powder to 
 refresh me when there entered the store 
 one who proved to be at last my fate. 
 
 Spare me again ! No further dreams of 
 elegant luxury. No place of pomp in an 
 executive mansion. No fine ladies and 
 gentlemen beaming their affection and 
 admiration! Ugh! a common farmer's 
 brewer that I was to be forever, or till I 
 might, fortunately, weep myself dry and 
 melt away on the kitchen hearth. But 
 while I was lamenting my dismal prospect, 
 Mr. Maverick had wrapped me safely up 
 and given me into the hands of Farmer 
 Bowman, who put me into his saddle bag 
 and mounted and rode off. 
 
 I can tell you nothing of the journey, 
 
The Teapot. 63 
 
 except that we must have stopped one 
 night in some tavern. I knew it must be 
 a tavern by the clinking of glasses and the 
 swearing of a considerable company. By 
 noon of the next day we had come to the 
 end of our journey, and a lonely place my 
 despairing gaze rested upon ; for Farmer 
 Bowman had taken me from my wrappings 
 and held me aloft as he approached his own 
 door. Not another house in sight; the 
 woods stretching far on both sides the 
 path. 
 
 Bat there was a glad and cheerful greet- 
 ing from Mistress Bowman and the son, 
 Dan, who were at the door ; and glad 
 enough they seemed to have the husband 
 and father home again. 
 
 AYell, it was some compensation to me, 
 in my extreme misery, that they, in a 
 sense, took me at once to their kind 
 
64 The Teapot. 
 
 hearts. They were so genuinely honest 
 and smcere! " Of the right sort, surely," 
 thought I. 
 
 Nothing would do but they must be 
 having me at the fire at once. And when 
 the tea did turn out bad, the excellent 
 creatures laid it to my being new and 
 inexperienced. Time salves many a 
 wound, and does wonders for teapots as 
 well as human beings, if it does not spoil 
 them. 
 
 And so, accepting the inevitable at last, 
 being gently and persistently wooed by 
 my new friends, I grew fond of the plain 
 New England home and the sturdy char- 
 acters of my owners. 
 
 I suppose it would have been impossible 
 to tell you anything of my further life 
 there that would be at all interesting, had 
 it not been for love and Indians. Thus 
 
The Teapot. 65 
 
 far I had not a single close experience with 
 either. 
 
 Our Dan was a splendid young fellow : 
 tall, with cheeks like a pippin, and, withal, 
 as strong as an ox. After a while, I 
 noticed that on certain nights of the week 
 he was in the habit of carefully arraying 
 himself in his best garments, which to 
 my London eyes seemed but indiffeient, 
 mounting his horse, and riding towards 
 the east. Goodwife Bowman seemed al- 
 ways to take a most lively interest in his 
 preparations and departure, and always 
 put a fresh long candle, lighted, in the 
 window ere she lay down for the night. 
 Nothing was ever said, and to me these 
 things seemed for a long time quite strange 
 and unaccountable. But I came to know 
 the reason, and, in my turn, was inspired 
 with a lively satisfaction and joy. 
 
66 The Teapot. 
 
 We were soon to have another member 
 added to our family in the person of Miss 
 Xaney Rhodes, a neighboring farmer's 
 daughter, who was, I could see, in high 
 favor with Farmer Bowman and his wife. 
 Everything seemed auspicious : the spin- 
 ning-wheels were humming, the crops 
 were proving flue, neighborly visits were 
 made between the two farms, and I was 
 entu'ely in love, myself, with "our" 
 Nan, as we abeady were fond of calling 
 her. Such light and laughter as she 
 brought into our dull place ! When she 
 had gone away, a good bit of the comfort 
 and cheerfulness seemed to depart with 
 her, and we were always more quiet and 
 serious for a time. I was, therefore, im- 
 patient for the day that should make her 
 ours entirely. 
 
 Only a week before the day set for the 
 
The Teapot. 67 
 
 minister to come from the West Parish, we, 
 in these parts, were all startled by the news 
 that the savages were broken loose upon 
 our peaceful neighbors in Medfield, 
 and had barbarously murdered many of 
 them and had burned most of the houses. 
 All the young men, and those not needed 
 for the protection of thek own homes, were 
 called to meet at a certain point, then to 
 go out upon the track of those fiends 
 and, if possible, cut them in pieces. 
 
 Goodwife Bowman with her own hands 
 cleaned the musket and fastened Dan's belt 
 around his waist, while Farmer Bowman 
 got ready the horse and brought him to 
 the door. There was a kiss and a bless- 
 ing — and our dear, brave boy was gone. 
 
 I cannot, even now, after the snows of 
 a lifetime have drifted upon the graves 
 of all the friends most concerned in the 
 
68 The Teapot. 
 
 sorrows of that time, go over the days 
 that passed. I can only say that Farmer 
 Ehodes and his family came over to our 
 place to stay for the better protection of 
 all, going every morning to his place to 
 care for his live creatures, and gleaning 
 what news was possible on the way. 
 
 We heard that the pursuers had come 
 up with the savages, and had killed some 
 of them; then nothing, till one day, nearly 
 a month after that, one rides up to our 
 door to tell us that we need have no 
 further fear; the Indians were all killed, 
 or driven far into the northern wilderness. 
 But when we did pray for some news of 
 our Dan, he could only look troubled, 
 and stammer that several of the young 
 men had laid them down in death upon 
 the battlefield. Yet he could say, indeed, 
 that none had seen Dan's body, though 
 
The Teapot. 69 
 
 they ha'l seen him fall in a place where 
 the wood was most dense; and they had 
 searched long and faithfully for him, but 
 he did never again appear before them. 
 
 Then, indeed, there was sobbing and 
 wailing, the bride upon her mother's 
 bosom, and we all convulsed and torn 
 by our dreadful grief. 
 
 No one doubted that Dan was dead. 
 The neighbors, far and near, came to speak 
 comfortingly to us, or to mingle their tears 
 with ours. 
 
 So the days dragged on, and the Ehodes 
 family went back to their farm, leaving 
 Nan — now so quiet and sad, but dearer 
 to us than ever — with us. 
 
 As time passed, we all fell into our old 
 habits ; I at my place by the fire did brew 
 the most comforting drink, but I could not 
 sing as of old. 
 
70 The Teapot. 
 
 One evening in November, wiien Farmer 
 Bowman liad come in from the barn with 
 his pails of foaming milk, and the goodwife 
 was busy with her supper, and I was set on 
 my bed of live coals, there was a wild cry, 
 and I looked at Nan, who had been sitting 
 by the fire, with her face in her hands, 
 weeping, but who was now standing in the 
 fire-glow, with her hands pressed to her 
 bosom and her face all white and quiver- 
 ing, and her great eyes were staring at the 
 open door. And there I saw, standing in 
 the black opening, something, — was it man 
 or ghost? — like nothing I had ever seen 
 before. It seemed scarcely man, it was so 
 haggard and corpse-like, and — "Oh, my 
 God ! it 's Dan ! " I heard Farmer Bowman, 
 in a sort of choking scream, say. 
 
 Then it staggered in, and such a moan- 
 ing and laughing and hugging I never 
 
' Farmer Bowman h:id come in Irom Ihe barn with his 
 pails of foaming milk." 
 
The Teapot. 73 
 
 witnessed, and mortal teapot never will 
 again ! 
 
 Well, I do truly believe I saved all those 
 dear friends from being downright insane 
 with joy. 
 
 I was so agitated that all at once I went 
 off into a fit of hysterics, blubbering and 
 crying and singing all together. So that 
 the tears and the fire made such a hissing 
 that Goodwife Bowman, hearing the noise 
 and smelling the wasting tea, did dart to 
 the rescue. 
 
 And never shall I so feel again the joy of 
 being even a servant as that moment when 
 Dan, seeing me in his mother's hands, did 
 beg a drink from me. 
 
 Well, " all's well that ends well." And 
 so our Dan escaped from the hands of the 
 Indians, who had held him in bondage and 
 were contemplating putting him to the 
 
74 The Teapot. 
 
 toi'tuve, was made well agaiD, but many 
 weeks had to pass before we could be so 
 assured. For it seemed at times as if all 
 our love and devotion would not avail to 
 keep the life in poor Dan's body, so en- 
 feebled by wounds and savage cruelty. 
 
 Nan, in her maidenly modesty, was for 
 returning soon to her father's house, but 
 we did make such outcry for her stay that 
 so it was. 
 
 The winter was passed in quiet content- 
 ment, in spite of the clouds that long over- 
 shadowed us. 
 
 But the wedding, once set for Farmer 
 Ehodes', of course, did actually come off at 
 our place. And well do I remember the 
 day — so different indeed from that former 
 one — a day that would have proved most 
 fitting in its flood of sunshine, with its 
 tokens of peace and plenty on every hand. 
 
Tlie Teapot. 75 
 
 but that had been passed by us in such 
 extreme of wretchedness. Now, however, 
 the world lay buried in snow, the icy wind 
 swept around the corners of the house and 
 set the branches of the oaks in front to 
 creaking. But within, all was warmth and 
 bustle and cheer. 
 
 But few of our distant friends could 
 break their way through the drifts to us, 
 and those who did, came in with a great 
 sound of stamping and laughter, followed 
 later by Parson Martyn of the West Parish, 
 drawn on a sled by two of his stout young 
 men. 
 
 Then, indeed, were we all most solemn 
 and circumspect, as become Christian folk, 
 while the good man, having got his breath, 
 and warmed himself at the blaze, prayed 
 long and earnestly, saying afterwards the 
 words that made our dear Dan and Nan one. 
 
76 The Teapot. 
 
 Then supper, with more laughter and 
 cheerful conversation, followed by prayer 
 and the singing of a psalm. 
 
 Finally, the departure of the whole com- 
 pany, under a clear heaven and through the 
 snow, the parson drawn again on his sled. 
 
 There is for me to add little more. 
 Farmer Bowman and his wife seemed to 
 grow younger with every year in their joy 
 and satisfaction in their chOdren, by whom 
 1 was ever treated as an honored and ap- 
 preciated friend. 
 
 It was, very possibly, a well-meant honor 
 for one of their descendants to place me 
 here, after my generations of service, an 
 object lesson to the ambitious and unfaith- 
 ful; but, to hear the consciousness of my 
 shabbiness and infirmity does at times over- 
 whelm me, I cannot but sigh, "Ah, if my 
 old friends could see me now ! " But, alas ! 
 
The Teapot. 77 
 
 they would not know me. In their hands I 
 was never anything but the pink of neat- 
 ness, the brilliant reflector of their own fond 
 faces. Even to their generous sympathies I 
 might now appeal in vain. In my enforced 
 leisure, as I gather dust and dulness here, I 
 may at least take some comfort from the re- 
 flection that I have been, at any rate, as 
 successful and happy as most of my race. 
 
THE SATIN SHOES. 
 
 "Well, this is truly delightful, to be again 
 in society after our long exile in a cam- 
 phor-wood chest in the garret. The eyes 
 of so many curious people, bent upon us, 
 thrill us strangely; but we like it. 
 
 This brings them all back again — the 
 gay times of the past, when we were 
 young, and so fond of flirting and tripping 
 the measure ; when our buckles were bright 
 and our heels were level ; when we could n't, 
 if our everlasting safety depended upon it, 
 keep still if there were fun abroad. 
 
 And how happy we were when we were 
 placed for the first time on the feet of the 
 
80 The Satin Shoes. 
 
 belle of Plymouth ! For that was what 
 Cynthia Holmes was called — the "Belle 
 of Plymouth." And she deserved the title, 
 too, for she was the prettiest girl — if we 
 do say it — in all the three colonies. O, 
 but you should have seen our Cynthia ! We 
 say " our" because our friendsliip for her 
 was, necissarily, of a very close kind. 
 Complexion like the inside of the big pink 
 conch-shell that Abe Stebbins biought her 
 from one of his voyages in the Atlantic. 
 And when she blushed, the shell was simply 
 nowhere. And her eyes were just as bright 
 as those in the face of the tortoise-shell eat 
 that lay in her grandame's la}) — only never 
 so cunning and cold and cruel, just merry, 
 and full of innocent laughter. And her 
 hair was so thick and long that she had 
 only to give it a twist or two, stick a high 
 comb in the knot, and pull out and turn 
 
'For that was what Cynthia Holmes was called — the 
 Belle of Plymouth." 
 
The Satin Shoes. 83 
 
 over her finger the locks at the side, and 
 there she was — the most bewitching, en- 
 chanting creature that ever turned the head 
 of an adorer ! 
 
 We could n't help wondering, more 
 than once, why some of the sparks that 
 haunted her steps did n't run off with her 
 in sheer desperation, she made them so 
 crazy by her aii's and graces. 
 
 But I remember she was always doing 
 queer, out-of-the-way things ; but if any 
 other girl had done them — well, no other 
 girl would have thought of doing them, 
 that 's certain ! 
 
 Why, there was one ball at the tavern 
 hall, and Cynthia was there, of course, 
 and a crowd of beaux 'round her as usual. 
 After a while she was missing, and people 
 began to say, "Where's Miss Cynthia?" 
 And they were beginning to look anxious 
 
84 The Satin Shoes. 
 
 when into the hall she walked, her hair 
 flying from the wind. "And," she says, 
 to some of the people who were nearest, 
 "where do you think I've been? G-uess, 
 now." 
 
 Well, one said: "I guess you've bren 
 down to the point to see Granny Flint, 
 to have your fortune told." And one 
 said: "I guess you've been to the grave- 
 yard, sitting on the tombstone of Elder 
 Brewster." And another said: "I guess 
 you have been to the parson to have you 
 and me cried next Sunday." 
 
 Then up came Lance Eicker, in his 
 slouching way, and drawled out: "Will 
 you marry the one that guesses right ? " 
 "Yes," says she, quick as lightniug. 
 "Then you've been down sitting on 
 Pilgrim's Rock," says he. At that she 
 turned red and then white, for she was n't 
 
The Satin Shoes. 85 
 
 a girl to go back ou her ^^ ord. And she 
 had been down to Pilgrim Rock, sure. 
 " How do you know? " asked she, to gain 
 time. " I can see the sand ou your boots," 
 says he. " O," says she, brightening up, 
 "I did go to the rock, but I never sat 
 down on it — so ! " And with that she 
 lifted her chin in the air, swept him a 
 low curtsy, and went off to dance with 
 Eeckon White. 
 
 Then there was another time when she 
 served all her beaux such a trick. They 
 had been proposing to her, one after 
 another, and to get rid of them she said 
 that the next time the wind blew hard off 
 shore she would get into a boat without 
 oars or anything, and when she had drifted 
 twenty-five minutes they were all to get 
 into separate boats and row out for her ; and 
 the man that first got her should marry her. 
 
86 The Satin Shoes. 
 
 But all the vest must promise never to pester 
 her with an offer again. Well, the clay 
 came, and the wind was awfully strong, 
 blowing straight out to Clark's island. 
 Cynthia came down to the shore, and 
 stepped on board her boat like a queen, and 
 was pushed off. All those young fellows 
 stood by their boats, ready, when the time- 
 keeper said " Go," to spring to their oars. 
 Well, when Cynthia was looking like a 
 speck, far away across the harbor, the word 
 was given, and away they all went. 
 
 And what do you think ! Just as the 
 foremost one got within a few fathoms of 
 Cynthia's boat, and when he was gasping 
 through his set teeth, "I've got you this 
 time, sure ! " and as Cynthia was drifted 
 close to the shore of Clark's island, 'round 
 the little point shot another boat, and be- 
 fore Luke Brewster could get his hands on 
 
The Satin Shoes. 87 
 
 her, Cynthia's own brother, William, who 
 was as big a joker as she was, had pulled 
 her into his boat, and shouted out: "We'll 
 excuse you, gentlemen, for this time! " It 
 made lots of hard feeling, and folks talked 
 a good deal, and all the beaux had a meet- 
 ing, after they recovered from their exer- 
 tions, and took a solemn oath — so it was 
 reported — never to notice Miss Cynthia 
 again : never to invite her anywhere, or ask 
 her to dance, or fetch her calash, or open 
 the spinet, — for she could sing like a night- 
 ingale. Just about that time, fortunately 
 for her, Cynthia's aunt in. Boston invited 
 her to spend the winter with her. And it 
 was in Boston that we slippers — we were 
 twins ! — first dawned upon society. That 
 was a gay winter — calls and parties all the 
 time, for Madame Johnson had married 
 an Englishman of wealth, and entertained 
 
88 The Satin Shoes. 
 
 royally, for that time. There were lots of 
 young fellows ashore from some of the 
 English ships, and it was the story of 
 the Plymouth beaux all over again. 
 
 One of them, a dashing young lieuten- 
 ant from the "Hornet," did actually steal 
 one of us, by bribing Madame Johnson's 
 maid, and carried us on board his ship ; 
 but madame found it out, and made such 
 a fuss that he brought it back and almost 
 went down on his knees to beg forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 It was a sad day for us when the " Hor- 
 net " sailed, as she did suddenly, in con- 
 sequence of orders from the admiralty 
 office, and without allowing our young 
 lieutenant to get a word with Miss Cynthia. 
 
 We went home to Plymouth soon after 
 that. All the beaux broke their oath, and 
 came crowding 'round again, but Miss 
 
'She would come and take us out and stand with 
 us in Iier hand." 
 
The Satin Shoes. 91 
 
 Cynthia's spirit seemed quite gone. When 
 she said •' No," this time, she said it very 
 gently, but in such a way that every beau 
 Ivuew it was of no nse. 
 
 Miss Cynthia never heard ' from the 
 lieutenant again, and she never introduced 
 us to Plymouth society, although we were 
 both very willing and anxious. But she 
 put us away in the chest with the dresses 
 that went with us, and once in awhile, 
 when no one was noticing, she would come 
 and take us out, and stand with us in her 
 hand, and then I knew she was thinking 
 of the lieutenant, because she cried and 
 stroked us gently, and when she put us 
 back there were always teardrops splashed 
 over our soles or insteps. 
 
 I don't know how old she was, exactly, 
 when one day she brought her niece, who, 
 by the way, was the living image of her- 
 
92 The Satin Shoes. 
 
 self, to the chest ; and taking us and all the 
 rest of the fine things out, gave them to her, 
 and told her to take and wear them and be 
 happy in them, because she should never 
 want them again. And then she burst 
 right out crying and ran off to her own 
 room. 
 
 And that night, when Parson Rogers, of 
 Duxbury, came to call, — for he'd been 
 hanging 'round for some time, — she told 
 him she thought she would be willing to 
 try the air of Duxbury as the minister's 
 wife, and live on the stipend his people 
 would vote them. 
 
 We heard that she did make a very 
 excellent heliimeet, and was greatly "es- 
 teemed for her vu-tues and her horror of 
 all frivolity. But, if I had had the mak- 
 ing of her tombstone, I would have carved 
 on it a pair of little shoes.