XIV
THE LOST NATION
The four families on Mount Hunger were known to the towns about as The Lost Nation. Two of them, the Blossoms and the Spillkinses, were, in reality, lumber-dealers rather than farmers. The third, Lemuel Wood, had a sheep farm, and Aunt Tryphosa Little with her granddaughter, Maria-Ann, was the fourth. The two women owned a spruce wood-lot and let it out to men who cut the bark. They cultivated a small garden-patch of corn, beans, and squash, kept a cow and a few hens, and eked out their scanty income with a day's work here and there in fine weather.
Every two weeks they did the washing and ironing for the Blossom family, as Mrs. Blossom's cares were too heavy for her, and she felt that not only could she afford it this year, but that in putting it out she was giving a little help to her poorer neighbors.
Chi or March took the huge basket of linen over on the wagon or sledge, and always left with it a neighborly gift–a peck of fine russets or greenings, a bunch of celery, a pound or two of salt pork, a bunch of delicious parsnips, or a dozen eggs when the old dame's hens were moulting. Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann were not to be outdone in neighborly kindnesses, and, regularly, the willow basket, full to overflowing with snow-white clothes, was returned with something tucked away under the square covering of oil-cloth–a tiny bunch of sage or summer savory, an ironing-holder made of bits of bright calico or woollen rags, a little paper-bag of spruce gum, a pair of woollen wristers for Mr. Blossom or Chi, a new recipe for spring bitters with a sample of the herbs–sassafras, dockroot, thoroughwort, wintergreen, and dandelion–gathered by Aunt Tryphosa herself.
They had one cow which they regarded as the third member of their family. She had been named Dorcas, after Aunt Tryphosa's mother, and proved a model animal of her kind. She gave a more than ordinary amount of creamy milk; presented her mistress with a sturdy calf each year; never hooked or kicked; never, during the bitter winter weather, grew restless in her small shed which adjoined the woodshed, and never broke from pasture in the sweet-smelling summer-time.
Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann vied with each other in petting her. They brushed her coat as regularly as they did up their own back hair. They gave her a weekly scrubbing as conscientiously as they took their Saturday bath. For cold nights Aunt Tryphosa had made for her a nightdress of red flannel (although she had never heard of "Cranford"), which she and Maria-Ann had planned to fit the cow-anatomy, and it had proved a great success.
For the midsummer fly-time they had contrived a wonderfully fashioned garment of coarse fish-netting, into which they had knotted a cotton fringe. They claimed, and rightly, that freedom from chill and irritation, incident upon zero weather and August dog-days, affected the milk most favorably, both in quantity and quality; and, as it all went to make delicious small cheeses, which sold at Barton's River for twenty-five cents apiece and were renowned throughout the county, people had ceased to laugh at the cow's appearance.
It had become one of Hazel's great treats to be permitted to go with March or Chi to the little house–not much more than a cabin–on the east side of the Mountain; and when she knew that the two were to be guests for Thanksgiving, but not for Christmas, she began to lay plans accordingly.
The Spillkinses were an aged set, not one was under seventy.
There were the Captain and his wife, who had celebrated their Golden Wedding, and his wife's two maiden sisters, Melissa and Elvira, of whom he always spoke as the "girls." They were funny old maidens of seventy one and two, who did up their hair in curl-papers, precisely as they did a half a century ago; wore black cotton mitts when they went to church, and white silk ones when they went out to tea; called each other "Lissy" and "Elly," and were still sensitive in regard to their ages.
In addition to these, the old, gray-shingled, vine-covered farmhouse on the lower mountain-road, sheltered the Captain's elder brother, Israel, who was just turned ninety-three, hale and hearty, and Israel's eldest son, Reuben, a youth of seventy, who in our North Country parlance "was not all there," but harmless, kindly, and generally helpful.
All these, together with Lemuel Wood and his wife, and the new teacher, were to be Thanksgiving guests, and wonderful preparations went on for days beforehand.
Such a sorting and paring and chopping of apples! Such a seeding of raisins, and whipping of eggs, and compounding of cakes! Such a tucking away of chickens beneath the flaky crust of the huge pie! Such a moulding of cranberry jelly, so deeply, darkly, richly red! Such a cracking of butternuts, and a melting of maple sugar! Such a stuffing of an eighteen-pound turkey, and such a trussing of thin-linked sausages! Such a making of goodly pies, pumpkin, mince, and apple! Such a quartering of small cheeses contributed by Aunt Tryphosa! Such an unbottling of sweet pickles, and unbarrelling of sweet cider;–and, on the final day, such a general boiling, and baking, and roasting, and basting, and mashing, and grinding, and seasoning, and whipping, and cutting, and kneading, and rolling, as can occur only once a year in an old-fashioned, New England farmhouse.
Hazel was in her glory. Arrayed in a checked gingham apron, which she had made herself, she beat eggs, whipped cream, helped Rose set the table, wiped the dishes and baking-pans, basted the noble Thanksgiving bird once, as a great privilege, although in so doing, she burned her fingers with the sputtering fat, scorched her apron, and parboiled her already flushed face with the escaping steam. But she was happy!
"Oh, papa!" she wrote the day after the party, "I never had such a good time in my life! If only you could see the things we made!–apple and lemon tarts, and mince and cranberry 'turnovers,' and doughnuts all twisted into a sort of French bow-knot such as Gabrielle used to make of her back hair, and a queer kind of cake they call 'marble,' all streaky with chocolate and white, and butternut candy made with maple sugar, and an Indian pudding, and little bits of nut-cakes with a small piece of currant jelly inside and all powdered sugar out; and–oh, I can't begin to tell you, for this is only a part of the dessert.
"I 'll try to paragraph this letter in the right places so you 'll understand about the party.
"All the Lost Nation was invited; Captain and Mrs. Spillkins, Miss Melissa and Miss Elvira, Uncle Israel and Poor Reub, Mr. Lemuel Wood and his wife, and Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and– Oh, I forgot Miss Alton. She 's awfully sweet; she is Budd and Cherry's teacher in the district school at the Mill Settlement. She's more like a city person than the others. I wish you 'd been here! for I can't tell it half as nice as it was; but I 'll do my best because you wrote you wanted me to tell you everything.
"We were already for the party at eleven o'clock–in the morning, I mean–(I can't remember the sign for forenoon). We don't have any lunch up here, as you know, but the dinner comes between 12 and 1, so everything was ready then. I got up at five o'clock! and worked hard till it was time to change my gown.
"It was awfully cold. Chi said the thermometer was shivering when he looked at it just after breakfast; he means by that, it's below zero–a good deal; and I couldn't help thinking how cosy and warm and deliciously smelly it would be for the Lost Nation when they came in out of the cold into the long-room and saw the table (it looked beautiful, with baskets of red apples, and nuts and raisins, and a big centre-piece of red geranium) just loaded with goodies.
"March had driven over for Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and they arrived first–Mrs. Blossom says they always do. (I want you to go over and call on them when you are up here Christmas; it's just like a story in Hans Andersen; they keep a cow, Dorcas, who wears a kimono on very cold nights.)
"March helped Aunt Tryphosa out just as if she had been Queen Victoria. (I forgot to tell you she and Maria-Ann do our laundry work.) March is perfectly splendid about such things–and Maria-Ann sort of bounced out, although Chi held out his hand to help her. It's so funny to see them together! Aunt Tryphosa is so small and wrinkled and thin that, sometimes, Chi says he has known a good wind to knock her right over; and Maria-Ann is almost as tall as Chi, and stout and rosy-cheeked, with nice brown eyes that talk to you.
"And, oh, papa!–I'll tell you, but it's a confidence–I saw Aunt Tryphosa shiver hard when she came into the house, and I 'm afraid she did not have enough warm things on. I know her shawl was n't very thick, for I went into the bedroom afterwards and felt of it; and she had no furs at all! Think of that with the thermometer way down below zero, papa! I 'll tell you all about it when you come.
"Well, after Mrs. Blossom had given the old lady a cup of hot tea, she felt better and began to talk; and, honestly, papa, she never stopped talking all day long! March said he timed her. She lives away over on the east side of the Mountain away from everybody, and yet she knows everything that is going on, on the Mountain, and at the Mill Settlement, and at Barton's River, and that, as you know, is quite a large place.
"She told us all about the new neighbors in the seven-gabled-house; how they had their dinner at bed-time, and what 'help' they have, and whom they are going to have for hired man, and how they have music every night after dinner, and how the lights were n't put out in the north-east chamber till one o'clock. She even knew the pattern of lace on the underclothes that were hung out to dry! and Maria-Ann was trying to crochet some in imitation; I saw it myself.
"And she said that one of the chambers was all lined with books, and another just covered, floor and walls, with pictures–what can she mean, papa? and that down stairs off the living-room in what used to be old Mrs. Morris's milk-room, there were ropes, and weights, and pulleys, and a stretcher, and iron balls, and that every one said it did n't have the right look. But she said she meant to stand up for them, because the young man had come over to call just two or three days ago and said, as she was his nearest neighbor, they ought to become acquainted before winter set in; and he ordered a half a dozen cheeses and brought word from his mother that she would like them to come over and see her daughter, for she thought Maria-Ann might be able to do something for her. Now, what do you suppose it all means?
"Of course, it makes us all wild to go over there, and I hope we shall go soon.
"But, oh! if you could see the Spillkinses! I had to go off up stairs and bury my face in Rose's feather bed so I could laugh without being heard. They 're the funniest lot of people I ever saw. They all came over in a big wagon filled with straw, and before they came in sight, Chi said, 'They 're coming, I know by the cackle;' and, papa, that is just what it was.
"They are all awfully aged, but they act just like young people, and Mrs. Blossom says it's their young hearts that keep them so young.
"Uncle Israel, he's ninety-three, but he wears a dark brown wig and looks younger than his son, Poor Reub, who is seventy and has snow-white hair. Mrs. Spillkins wears what they call up here a 'false front;' it's just the color of Uncle Israel's, so she looks more like his sister. But her two sisters, Miss Melissa and Miss Elvira, are perfectly comical. They're just as small as Aunt Tryphosa, but they don't talk; only nod and smile and bow as if they were talking. They have little corkscrew curls, three on each temple, and they bob and shake when they nod and smile and sort of chirrup; it's the Captain and his wife and Uncle Israel who cackle so when they laugh. Poor Reuben does n't say much either, only he looks perfectly happy, and always sits by his father when he can get a chance. Chi was just lovely to him all the afternoon.
"Well, after Mr. Wood and his wife and the new teacher came, we all sat down to dinner, and Mr. Blossom said 'grace,' and all the Spillkinses said 'Amen,' which surprised us all very much.
"We don't have courses up here, because there is nobody to serve us; so everything is put on your plate at once, except, of course, dessert, and papa!–I would n't say it to any one but you, but I never saw any one eat so much as Aunt Tryphosa for all she is so small and thin. Mr. Blossom piled her plate up twice with turkey, and squash, and onion, and potato, and turnip, and then she helped herself to cranberry jelly and sweet pickles three times; and yet she managed to talk all the time; and the queer part of it was that she did n't cut herself once, they all eat with their knives–except, of course, our family and Miss Alton.
"Rose and Cherry and I removed the dinner plates, and that was all the waiting there was.
"We sat till half-past three at the table; then Uncle Israel said another 'grace'–'after-grace,' he called it,–and Mr. Blossom and Chi took the–the gentlemen part out to see the horses and cows, and all the rest went to work to clear off the table and do up the dishes. There were so many of us it did n't take long, and then we lighted the lamps, and all the–the ladies took out their knitting and began to work as fast as they could.
"Then in a little while all the–the gentlemen came in, and the ladies put up their work, and they all sat round the room and sang Auld Lang Syne. Rose led, and Miss Alton sang a lovely alto. It was lovely, and I longed to have you with me. Then Captain Spillkins said it was time to hitch up, and Chi said it was time to be going as it was very dark and cold. He drove Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann home, and Mrs. Blossom filled a large basket with all sorts of goodies, and Mr. Blossom set it in behind in the apple-green cart without their knowing it; so now they can have a surprise party of their own and Thanksgiving for a whole week.
"There! This is the longest letter I ever wrote in all my life. I 've written it at different times during the day. I ate so much yesterday, that I don't feel very bright to-day, so you must excuse any mistakes, although I've used the dictionery as you wanted me to.
"Always your loving, and now your dreadfully sleepy
"DAUGHTER HAZEL.
"P.S. I think I shall feel better, if I tell you that we all had a very unhappy time two weeks ago. I had a really dreadful heartache, papa, and, for the first time, was homesick for you.
"You see, March and Rose are very proud of spirit, and I don't think they liked it in me because we are rich–but you and I understand each other, don't we? and know that being rich does n't mean anything to us, does it? and then, too, Chi says we 're poor because we have n't so much family to love as the Blossoms have, and that's true, too, is n't it?–and I think that kind of poorness ought to balance our riches, don't you? And–well, I can't explain how it all came about, but now they are willing to let me give them things when I want to, and that makes me very happy, and we are all a great deal happier than we were before, and I'm going to call Mrs. Blossom, 'Mother Blossom,' after this, she says she wants me to, and she takes me in her arms just as she does Rose and Cherry, and we talk things over together; so everything is all right now.
"Please send up my violin by express when you receive this. There is a very good-looking young man, the new neighbor at the seven-gabled-house, and he plays the violin, too, and his mother the piano. Love to Wilkins and Minna-Lu. I 'll send him a present from here–Oh, I forgot! don't forget to write Chi within a week sure, to inform you about the Wishing-Tree, and don't buy any presents for anybody till you hear from him. H.C."
When Mr. Clyde read this long letter at the breakfast table, his face was the despair of Wilkins, who hovered about, seeking, ineffectually, for an excuse to ask about Miss Hazel.
"Doan know what kin' er news Marse John get from little Missy," he told Minna-Lu, the cook; "but he laffed pow'ful part de time, an' den he grow pow'ful sober, an' de fust ting I know, de tears come splashin' onto de paper, an' he speak up rale sharp, 'Wha' fo' yo' hyar, Wilkins?' an' sayin' nuffin', I jes' makes tracks, case I see he wan's nobuddy see dem tears.– Fo' Gawd, I 'se be glad when little Missy come home."
Mr. Clyde took this manuscript, as he called it, over to the Doctor.
"There, Dick, read that," was all he said.
After the Doctor had read it, he whisked out his handkerchief in a remarkably suspicious manner, and Mr. Clyde busied himself with a medical journal without reading one word, till the Doctor spoke:
"I say, Johnny, let's get up a theatre party of us two for the Old Homestead to-night; it's the nearest thing we can get to this of Hazel's."
"You always hit the right thing, Dick, I 'll call for you at eight."
XV
WISHING-TREE SECRETS
All-hallow-e'en had come.
The exercises about the tree had been carried out with great success–tom-toms, war-whoop, song and dance. After supper, the apples had been roasted, and the whole family "bobbed" for them in the wash-tub; father, mother, Chi, and even little May joining heartily in the fun. Then they had melted lead, sailed nutshells freighted with wishes, and finally "loved their Loves" with all the letters of the alphabet.
When all were off to bed and sound asleep, Chi took his lantern, and went up again to the old butternut tree in the corner of the pasture.
It was preparing to snow. A chill wind drew through the bare branches, and caused a wild commotion among the roosters' tail feathers that dangled from one of the lower ones.
Chi unlocked the little door, and from the hollow took out a handful of notes. He thrust them into the side pocket of his coat, relocked the door, and went back to his room over the shed. There, by the light of the lantern, he read them and rejoiced over them; re-read them and cried a little over them, nor was he ashamed of his tears; for in the precious missives, Rose and Hazel, March and Budd and Cherry, had shown, as in a mirror, the workings of their loving hearts.
All-hallo w-e'en.
MY DEAR MOTHER,–I have a great favor to ask of you and father. Will you hang up your stockings this year and let us children fill them instead of your filling ours? I don't want you to take one cent of the money you are earning by having Hazel here to buy me anything. I want every penny of it to go to pay off that mortgage you told us of–for I feel just as you do about it, and only wish I had known it last Hallow-e'en when I asked for the paints and brushes. It makes me sick just to think of all we asked for, and you not having any money to buy them with–and never telling us! Oh, mother!
Your devoted son,
MARCH BLOSSOM.
All-hallow-e'en.
MY DEAR POPSEY,–Me and Cherry want to help you and Martie pay off that morgige she told us about. March says it is a dreadfull thing that we must get rid of just as soon as we can. So Cherry and me are going to give you 2 dollars apeace out of our $3 we saved for ourselves out of the jam and the chickens as we voted in the N.B.B.O.O. That will make four dollars and March says it will be just 1/300 of what you owe and will help a great deal. I think the other $1 we have left will be enough to buy presents for the rest of the famly, don't you?
Your Son,
BUDD BLOSSOM.
P.S. I meant to say I don't expect anything this year 'cause last year I asked for a double-runner and a bat and a new cap with fir on the edges like the boys at Barton's and 20 cents to buy marbles with and I didn't get them 'cause you were sick and I 'm sorry I asked for so much to bother you when you were sick. B.B.
DEAR FRIEND CHI,–Do you think you can find out in some way what March and Budd would like for Christmas? And if you know anything special that Rose wants very specially, please let me know at your earliest convenience so I can send to New York for it. I should like to consult you about some gifts for Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and if you could get a chance to take me down to the Barton's River shops all alone by myself, I should esteem it a great favor.
Your true friend,
HAZEL CLYDE.
All-hallow-e'en.
P. S. I 'm rather anxious about the note I put in the Wishing-Tree for papa.
All-hallow-e'en.
DARLING PATER NOSTER,–When I think of last year, my heart aches for you and my precious Martie. Oh, why did n't she tell us before! I never should have asked for that dress and the French grammar and dictionary and the cheap set of Dickens', if I had only known.
Do, Pater dear, let us know in the future if you are in trouble, and let us help share it. Would n't that make it easier for you?
Now a favor; I want you and Martie to play boy and girl again this year and hang up your stockings for a change; and please, please, father dear, don't give us anything this year–we don't want anything but you and Martie, and besides, we have money of our own! Chi calls us "bloated bond-holders," and says we have formed a "combine."
Your loving daughter,
ROSE BLOSSOM.
DEAREST COUSIN JACK,–I have n't answered your letter because I 've been having too good a time. This is only a Wishing-Tree note; I want you to do me a favor, please; find out what I can buy nice for papa with a dollar. I 've earned it myself (and a great deal more, Jack, you would be surprised if you knew how much the preserves and chickens came to) and want him to have a present out of it. Then, I would like to buy something for Doctor Heath, about fifty cents' worth, and another fifty cents' worth for Mrs. Heath. I want to give Aunt Carrie a little something, too, out of my own earnings; (I've all my two quarterly allowances besides,) I can afford fifty cents for her; and then I would like to remember Wilkins with a little gift out of my earnings for mamma's sake as well as my own, and then I shall have twenty-five cents left of the money I worked for. The rest we all voted to put aside for March to help him through college. He wants to be an architect, you know, and he draws beautifully. I shall be glad of your advice.
In haste, yours devotedly,
HAZEL.
All-hallow-e'en, MOUNT HUNGER.
DEAR CHI,–May wants a doll the kind she saw last summer down at Barton's River. I ve got only a doller to spend for all the famly, so will you plese ask the pris for me as I am afrade it will be to high. There is a big french one in the right hand window at Smith's store with a libel on it 7$, and I play it's mine when I am down there and you are buying horse-feed. I have named her Emilie Angelique. Rose spelt it for me.
Your loving CHERRY BOUNCE.
DEAR OLD CHI,–If you can find out what Hazel would like specially for Christmas, just let me know.
MARCH.
DEAR CHI,–Can you manage to get us all down to Barton's some Saturday to do some Christmas shopping?
Your ROSE-POSE.
All-hallow-e'en.
DEAREST PAPA,–Will you please ask Aunt Carrie to please help you buy these Christmas things? I enclose fifty dollars; (your check.)
A white serge dress pattern, like mine.
A book of lovely foreign photographs of buildings and pictures for March.
2 pairs of white kid gloves, number 6.
2 pairs of tan kid gloves, number 6-¼.
1 pair fur-lined gloves for March.
1 pair ditto for Mr. Blossom.
A year's subscription for the Woman's Hearthstone Journal for Maria-Ann.
A small shirt waist ironing-board for Aunt Tryphosa.
1 pair brown woolen gloves and one pair of those fleece-lined beaver gauntlet driving gloves like those of yours, for Chi.
1 blue Kardigan jacket for Chi.
The other things I think I can get at Barton's River.
Your devoted daughter,
HAZEL CLYDE.
"Well," said Chi, thoughtfully, as he finished reading them a second time, "I 've got more than one string to my bow this year. Beats all, how Chris'mus limbers up a man's feelin's! Guess 't was meant for all of us children of a lovin' Father." So saying, Chi knelt beside his bed, and, dropping his face in his hands, remained there motionless for a few minutes, while his loving, gentle, manly "soul was on its knees."