"I? No!" cried Hildegarde, wondering. "I left nothing at all in it.
What is there?"
All cl.u.s.tered eagerly round Martha, who with provoking deliberation took out two small parcels which lay in the bottom of the basket, and looked them carefully over before opening them. They were wrapped in dirty sc.r.a.ps of brown paper.
"Oh! there is writing on them!" cried Hildegarde. "Martha dear, _do_ tell us what it says!"
Martha studied the inscriptions for some minutes, and then read aloud: ""The fly-away gal" and "the pail gal." Well, of all!" she cried, "it"s presents, I do believe. Here, Miss Hilda, this must be for you."
Hildegarde opened the little parcel eagerly. It contained a small s.h.a.green case, which in its turn proved to contain a pair of scissors of antique and curious form, an ivory tablet, yellow with age, a silver bodkin, and a silver fruit-knife, all fitting neatly in their places; the whole case closing with a spring. "It is the prettiest thing I ever saw!" cried Hildegarde. "See, Cousin Wealthy, isn"t it delightful to think of that poor old dear--But what have you, Rose-red? You must be the "pail gal," of course, though you are not pale now."
Rose opened her parcel, and found, in a tiny box of faded morocco, an ivory thimble exquisitely carved with minute Chinese figures. It fitted her slender finger to perfection, and she gazed at it with great delight, while Miss Wealthy and Martha shook their heads in amazement and perplexity.
"Galusha Pennypacker, with such things as these!" cried one.
"Galusha Pennypacker making presents!" exclaimed the other. "Well, wonders will never cease!"
"The thimble is really beautiful!" said Miss Wealthy. "He was a seafaring man in his youth, I remember, and he must have brought this home from one of his voyages, perhaps fifty or sixty years ago. Dear me!
how strangely things do come about! But, my dear Rose, you really _must_ go to bed at once, for I am sure you must be quite exhausted."
And the delighted girls went off in triumph with their treasures, to chatter in their rooms as only girls can chatter.
CHAPTER VII.
A "STORY EVENING."
The next evening was chilly, and instead of sitting on the piazza, the girls were glad to draw their chairs around Miss Wealthy"s work-table and bring out their work-baskets. Hildegarde had brought two dozen napkins with her to hem for her mother, and Rose was knitting a soft white cloud, which was to be a Christmas present for good Mrs. Hartley at the farm. As for Miss Wealthy, she, as usual, was knitting gray stockings of fine soft wool. They all fell to talking about old Galusha Pennypacker, now pitying his misery, now wondering at the tales of his avarice. Hildegarde took out the little scissors-case, and examined it anew. "Do you suppose this belonged to his mother?" she asked. "You say he never married. Or had he a sister?"
"No, he had no sister," replied Miss Wealthy. "His mother was a very respectable woman. I remember her, though she died when I was quite a little girl. He had an aunt, too,--a singular woman, who used to be very kind to me. What is it, my dear?" For Hildegarde had given a little cry of surprise.
"Here is a name!" cried the girl. "At least, it looks like a name; but I cannot make it out. See, Cousin Wealthy, on the little tablet! Oh, how interesting!"
Miss Wealthy took the tablet, which consisted of two thin leaves of ivory, fitting closely together. On the inside of one leaf was written in pencil, in a tremulous hand. "Ca-ira."
"Is it a name?" asked Rose.
Miss Wealthy nodded. "His aunt"s name," she said,--"Ca-iry[1]
Pennypacker. Yes, surely; this must have belonged to her. Dear, dear!
how strangely things come about! Aunt Ca-iry we all called her, though she was no connection of ours. And to think of your having her scissors-case! Now I come to remember, I used to see this in her basket when I used to poke over her things, as I loved to do. Dear, dear!"
"Oh, Cousin Wealthy," cried Hildegarde, "_do_ tell us about her, please!
How came she to have such a queer name? I am sure there must be some delightful story about her."
Miss Wealthy considered a minute, then she said: "My dear, if you will open the fourth left-hand drawer of that chest between the windows, and look in the farther right-hand corner of the drawer, I think you will find a roll of paper tied with a pink ribbon."
Hildegarde obeyed in wondering silence; and Miss Wealthy, taking the roll, held it in her hand for a moment without speaking, which was very trying to the girls" feelings. At last she said,--
"There _is_ an interesting story about Ca-iry Pennypacker, and, curiously enough, I have it here, written down by--whom do you think?--your mother, Hilda, my dear!"
"My mother!" cried Hildegarde, in amazement.
"Your mother," repeated Miss Wealthy. "You see, when Mildred was a harum-scarum girl--" Hildegarde uttered an exclamation, and Miss Wealthy stopped short. "Is there something you want to say, dear?" she asked gently. "I will wait."
The girl blushed violently. "I beg your pardon, Cousin Wealthy," she said humbly. "Shall I go out and stand in the entry? Papa always used to make me, when I interrupted."
"You are rather too big for that now, my child," said the old lady, smiling; "and I notice that you very seldom interrupt. It is better _never_ done, however. Well, as I was saying, your mother used to make me a great many visits in her school holidays; for she was my G.o.d-daughter, and always very dear to me. She was very fond of hearing stories, and I told her all the old tales I could think of,--among them this one of Aunt Ca-iry"s, which the old lady had told me herself when I was perhaps ten years old. It had made a deep impression on me, so that I was able to repeat it almost in her own words, in the country talk she always used. She was not an educated woman, my dear, but one of sterling good sense and strong character. Well, the story impressed your mother so much that she was very anxious for me to write it down; but as I have no gift whatever in that way, she finally wrote it herself, taking it from my lips, as you may say,--only changing my name from Wealthy to Dolly,--but making it appear as if the old woman herself were speaking.
Very apt at that sort of thing Mildred always was. And now, if you like, my dears, I will read you the story."
If they liked! Was there ever a girl who did not love a story? Gray eyes and blue sparkled with antic.i.p.ation, and there was no further danger of interruption as Miss Wealthy, in her soft, clear voice, began to read the story of--
CA-IRY AND THE QUEEN.
What"s this you"ve found? Well, now! well, now!
where did you get that, little gal? Been rummagin" in Aunt Ca-iry"s bureau, hev you?
Naughty little gal! Bring it to me, honey. Why, that little bag,--I wouldn"t part with it for gold! That was give me by a queen,--think o"
that, Dolly,--by a real live queen, "cordin" to her own idees,--the Queen o" Sheba.
Tell you about her? Why, yes, I will. Bring your little cheer here by the fire,--so; and get your knittin". When little gals come to spend the day with Aunt Ca-iry they allus brings their knittin",--don"t they?--"cause they know they won"t get any story unless they do. I can"t have no idle hands round this kitchen, "cause Satan might git in, ye know, and find some mischief for them to do. There!
now we"re right comf"table, and I"ll begin.
You see, Dolly, I"ve lived alone most o" my life, as you may say. Mother died when I was fifteen, and Father, he couldn"t stay on without her, so he went the next year; and my brother was settled a good way off: so ever since I"ve lived here in the old brown house alone, "cept for the time I"m goin" to tell ye about, when I had a boarder, and a queer one she was. Plenty o" folks asked me to hire out with them, or board with them, and I s"pose I might have married, if I"d been that kind, but I wasn"t. Never could abide the thought of havin" a man gormineerin" over me, not if he was the lord o" the land. And I was strong, and had a cow and some fowls, and altogether I knew when I was well off; and after a while folks learned to let me alone. "Queer Ca-iry," they called me,--in your grandfather"s time, Dolly,--but now it"s "Aunt Ca-iry" with the hull country round, and everybody"s very good to the old woman.
How did I come to have such a funny name? Well, my father give it to me. He was a great man for readin", my father was, and there was one book he couldn"t ever let alone, skurcely. "T was about the French Revolution, and it told how the French people tried to git up a republic like ourn. But they hadn"t no sense, seemin"ly, and some of "em was no better nor wild beasts, with their slaughterin", devourin" ways; so nothin" much came of it in the end "cept bloodshed.
Well, it seems they had a way of yellin" round the streets, and shoutin" and singin", "Ca-ira!
Ca-ira!" Made a song out of it, the book said, and sang it day in and day out. Father said it meant "That will go!" or somethin" like that, though I never could see any meanin" in it myself. Anyhow, it took Father"s fancy greatly, and when I was born, nothin" would do but I must be christened Ca-ira. So I was, and so I stayed; and I don"t know as I should have done any better if I"d been called Susan or Jerusha.
So that"s all about the name, and now we"ll come to the story.
One day, when I was about eighteen years old, I was takin" a walk in the woods with my dog Bluff. I was very fond o" walkin", and so was Bluff, and there was woods all about, twice as much as there is now. It was a fine, clear day, and we wandered a long way, further from home than we often went, "way down by Rollin" Dam Falls. The stream was full, and the falls were a pretty sight; and I sat lookin" at "em, as girls do, and pullin" wintergreen leaves. I never smell wintergreen now without thinkin" of that day. All of a suddent I heard Bluff bark; and lookin" round, I saw him snuffin" and smellin" about a steep clay bank covered with vines and brambles. "Woodchuck!" I thought; and I called him off, for I never let him kill critters unless they were mischeevous, which in the wild woods they couldn"t be, of course.
But the dog wouldn"t come off. He stayed there, sniffin" and growlin", and at last I went to see what the trouble was.
My dear, when I lifted up those vines and brambles, what should I see but a hole in the bank!--a hole about two feet across, bigger than any that a woodchuck ever made. The edges were rubbed smooth, as if the critter that made it was big enough to fit pretty close in gettin" through. My first idee was that "t was a wolf"s den,--wolves were seen sometimes in those days in the Cobbossee woods,--and I was goin" to drop the vines and slip off as quiet as I could, when what does that dog do but pop into the hole right before my eyes, and go wrigglin" through it! I called and whistled, but "t was no use; the dog was bound to see what was in there.
I waited a minute, expectin" to hear the wolf growl, and thinkin" my poor Bluff would be torn to pieces, and yet I must go off and leave him, or be treated the same myself. But, Dolly, instead of a wolf"s growl, I heard next minute a sound that made me start more "n the wolf would ha" done,--the sound of a human voice.
Yes! out o" the bowels o" the earth, as you may say, a voice was cryin" out, frightened and angry-like; and then Bluff began to bark, bark!
Oh, dear! I felt every which way, child. But "t was clear that there was only one path of duty, and that path led through the hole; for a fellow creature was in trouble, and "t was my dog makin" the trouble. Down I went on my face, and through that hole I crawled and wriggled,--don"t ask me how, for I don"t know to this day,--thinkin" of the sarpent in the Bible all the way.
Suddenly the hole widened, and I found myself in a kind of cave, about five feet by six across, but high enough for me to stand up. I scrambled to my feet, and what should I see but a woman,--a white woman,--sittin" on a heap o"
moose and sheep skins, and glarin" at me with eyes like two live coals. She had driven Bluff off, and he stood growlin" in the corner.
For a minute we looked at each other without sayin" anything; I didn"t know what upon airth to say. At last she spoke, quite calm, in a deep, strange voice, almost like a man"s, but powerful sweet.
"What seek you," she said, "slave?"