Chapter 16

Up at Merry's"Now fly round, child, and get your sweeping done up smart andearly.""Yes, mother.""I shall want you to help me about the baking, by and by.""Yes, mother.""Roxy is cleaning the cellar-closets, so you'll have to get thevegetables ready for dinner. Father wants a boiled dish, and I shallbe so busy I can't see to it.""Yes, mother."A cheerful voice gave the three answers, but it cost Merry an effortto keep it so, for she had certain little plans of her own whichmade the work before her unusually distasteful. Saturday alwayswas a trying day, for, though she liked to see rooms in order, shehated to sweep, as no speck escaped Mrs. Grant's eye, and only thegood old-fashioned broom, wielded by a pair of strong arms, wasallowed. Baking was another trial: she loved good bread anddelicate pastry, but did not enjoy burning her face over a hot stove,daubing her hands with dough, or spending hours rolling outcookies for the boys; while a "boiled dinner" was her especialhorror, as it was not elegant, and the washing of vegetables was ajob she always shirked when she could.

　　However, having made up her mind to do her work withoutcomplaint, she ran upstairs to put on her dust-cap, trying to look asif sweeping was the joy of her life.

　　"It is such a lovely day, I'd id want to rake my garden, and have awalk with Molly, and finish my book so I can get another," shesaid with a sigh, as she leaned out of the open window for a breathof the unusually mild air.

　　Down in the ten-acre lot the boys were carting and spreading loam;out in the barn her father was getting his plows ready; over the hillrose the smoke of the distant factory, and the river that turned thewheels was gliding through the meadows, where soon theblackbirds would be singing. Old Bess pawed the ground, eager tobe off; the gray hens were scratching busily all about the yard;even the green things in the garden were pushing through thebrown earth, softened by April rains, and there was a shimmer ofsunshine over the wide landscape that made every familiar objectbeautiful with hints of spring, and the activity it brings.

　　Something made the old nursery hymn come into Merry's head,and humming to herself,"In works of labor or of skillI would be busy too,"she tied on her cap, shouldered her broom, and fell to work soenergetically that she soon swept her way through the chambers,down the front stairs to the parlor door, leaving freshness andorder behind her as she went.

　　She always groaned when she entered that apartment, and got outof it again as soon as possible, for it was, like most countryparlors, a prim and chilly place, with little beauty and no comfort.

　　Black horse-hair furniture, very slippery and hard, stood againstthe wall; the table had its gift books, albums, worsted mat and uglylamp; the mantel-piece its china vases, pink shells, and clock thatnever went; the gay carpet was kept distressingly bright by closedshutters six days out of the seven, and a general air of go-to-meeting solemnity pervaded the room. Merry longed to make itpretty and pleasant, but her mother would allow of no changethere, so the girl gave up her dreams of rugs and hangings, finepictures and tasteful ornaments, and dutifully aired, dusted, andshut up this awful apartment once a week, privately resolving that,if she ever had a parlor of her own, it should not be as dismal as atomb.

　　The dining-room was a very different place, for here Merry hadbeen allowed to do as she liked, yet so gradual had been thechange, that she would have found it difficult to tell how it cameabout. It seemed to begin with the flowers, for her father kept hisword about the "posy pots," and got enough to make quite a littleconservatory in the bay-window, which was sufficiently large forthree rows all round, and hanging-baskets overhead. Beingdiscouraged by her first failure, Merry gave up trying to havethings nice everywhere, and contented herself with making thatone nook so pretty that the boys called it her "bower." Even busyMrs. Grant owned that plants were not so messy as she expected,and the fanner was never tired of watching "little daughter" as shesat at work there, with her low chair and table full of books.

　　The lamp helped, also, for Merry set up her own, and kept it sowell trimmed that it burned clear and bright, shining on the greenarch of ivy overhead, and on the nasturtium vines framing the oldglass, and peeping at their gay little faces, and at the pretty younggirl, so pleasantly that first her father came to read his paper by it,then her mother slipped in to rest on the lounge in the corner, andfinally the boys hovered about the door as if the "settin'-room" hadgrown more attractive than the kitchen.

　　But the open fire did more than anything else to win and hold themall, as it seldom fails to do when the black demon of an airtightstove is banished from the hearth. After the room was cleaned tillit shone, Merry begged to have the brass andirons put in, andoffered to keep them as bright as gold if her mother wouldconsent. So the great logs were kindled, and the flames wentdancing up the chimney as if glad to be set free from their prison.

　　It changed the whole room like magic, and no one couldresist the desire to enjoy its cheery comfort. The farmer'sthree-cornered leathern chair soon stood on one side, and mother'srocker on the other, as they toasted their feet and dozed or chattedin the pleasant warmth.

　　The boys' slippers were always ready on the hearth; and when thebig boots were once off, they naturally settled down about thetable, where the tall lamp, with its pretty shade of pressed autumnleaves, burned brightly, and the books and papers lay ready to theirhands instead of being tucked out of sight in the closet. They werebeginning to see that "Merry's notions" had some sense in them,since they were made comfortable, and good-naturedly took somepains to please her in various ways. Tom brushed his hair andwashed his hands nicely before he came to table. Dick tried tolower his boisterous laughter, and Harry never smoked in thesitting-room. Even Roxy expressed her pleasure in seeing "thingskind of spruced up," and Merry's gentle treatment of thehard-working drudge won her heart entirely.

　　The girl was thinking of these changes as she watered her flowers,dusted the furniture, and laid the fire ready for kindling; and, whenall was done, she stood a minute to enjoy the pleasant room, full ofspring sunshine, fresh air, and exquisite order. It seemed to giveher heart for more distasteful labors, and she fell to work at thepies as cheerfully as if she liked it.

　　Mrs. Grant was flying about the kitchen, getting the loaves ofbrown and white bread ready for the big oven. Roxy's voice cameup from the cellar singing "Bounding Billows," with a swashingand scrubbing accompaniment which suggested that she wasactually enjoying a "life on the ocean wave." Merry, in her neatcap and apron, stood smiling over her work as she deftly rolled andclipped, filled and covered, finding a certain sort of pleasure indoing it well, and adding interest to it by crimping the crust,making pretty devices with strips of paste and star-shapedprickings of the fork.

　　"Good-will giveth skill," says the proverb, and even particular Mrs.

　　Grant was satisfied when she paused to examine the pastry withher experienced eye.

　　"You are a handy child and a credit to your bringing up, though Ido say it. Those are as pretty pies as I'd wish to eat, if they bakewell, and there's no reason why they shouldn't.""May I make some tarts or rabbits of these bits? The boys likethem, and I enjoy modelling this sort of thing," said Merry, whowas trying to mould a bird, as she had seen Ralph do with clay toamuse Jill while the bust was going on.

　　"No, dear; there's no time for knick-knacks to-day. The beets oughtto be on this minute. Run and get 'em, and be sure you scrape thecarrots well."Poor Merry put away the delicate task she was just beginning tolike, and taking a pan went down cellar, wishing vegetables couldbe grown without earth, for she hated to put her hands in dirtywater. A word of praise to Roxy made that grateful scrubber leaveher work to poke about in the root-cellar, choosing "sech as waspretty much of a muchness, else they wouldn't bile even"; so Merrywas spared that part of the job, and went up to scrape and washwithout complaint, since it was for father. She was repaid at noonby the relish with which he enjoyed his dinner, for Merry tried tomake even a boiled dish pretty by arranging the beets, carrots,turnips, and potatoes in contrasting colors, with the beef hiddenunder the cabbage leaves.

　　"Now, I'll rest and read for an hour, then I'll rake my garden, or rundown town to see Molly and get some seeds," she thought toherself, as she put away the spoons and glasses, which she liked towash, that they might always be clear and bright.

　　"If you've done all your own mending, there's a heap of socks to belooked over. Then I'll show you about darning the tablecloths. I dohate to have a stitch of work left over till Monday," said Mrs.

　　Grant, who never took naps, and prided herself on sitting down toher needle at 3 P.M. every day.

　　"Yes, mother"; and Merry went slowly upstairs, feeling that a partof Saturday ought to be a holiday after books and work all theweek. As she braided up her hair, her eye fell upon the reflectionof her own face in the glass. Not a happy nor a pretty one just then,and Merry was so unaccustomed to seeing any other, thatinvoluntarily the frown smoothed itself out, the eyes lost theirweary look, the drooping lips curved into a smile, and, leaning herelbows on the bureau, she shook her head at herself, saying, halfaloud, as she glanced at Ivanhoe lying near,"You needn't look so cross and ugly just because you can't havewhat you want. Sweeping, baking, and darning are not so bad asbeing plagued with lovers and carried off and burnt at the stake, soI won't envy poor Rebecca her jewels and curls and romantictimes, but make the best of my own."Then she laughed, and the bright face came back into the mirror,looking like an old friend, and Merry went on dressing with care,for she took pleasure in her own little charms, and felt a sense ofcomfort in knowing that she could always have one pretty thing tolook at if she kept her own face serene and sweet. It certainlylooked so as it bent over the pile of big socks half an hour later,and brightened with each that was laid aside. Her mother saw it,and, guessing why such wistful glances went from clock towindow, kindly shortened the task of table-cloth darning by doinga good bit herself, before putting it into Merry's hands.

　　She was a good and loving mother in spite of her strict ways, andknew that it was better for her romantic daughter to be learning allthe housewifery lessons she could teach her, than to be readingnovels, writing verses, or philandering about with her head full ofgirlish fancies, quite innocent in themselves, but not the stuff tolive on. So she wisely taught the hands that preferred to pickflowers, trim up rooms and mould birds, to work well with needle,broom, and rolling-pin; put a receipt-book before the eyes thatloved to laugh and weep over tender tales, and kept the young headand heart safe and happy with wholesome duties, useful studies,and such harmless pleasures as girls should love, instead of lettingthem waste their freshness in vague longings, idle dreams, andfrivolous pastimes.

　　But it was often hard to thwart the docile child, and lately she hadseemed to be growing up so fast that her mother began to feel anew sort of tenderness for this sweet daughter, who was almostready to take upon herself the cares, as well as triumphs anddelights, of maidenhood. Something in the droop of the brownhead, and the quick motion of the busy hand with a little burn onit, made it difficult for Mrs. Grant to keep Merry at work that day,and her eye watched the clock almost as impatiently as the girl's,for she liked to see the young face brighten when the hour ofrelease came.

　　"What next?" asked Merry, as the last stitch was set, and shestifled a sigh on hearing the clock strike four, for the sun wasgetting low, and the lovely afternoon going fast,"One more job, if you are not too tired for it. I want the receipt fordiet drink Miss Dawes promised me; would you like to run downand get it for me, dear?""Yes, mother!" and that answer was as blithe as a robin's chirp, forthat was just where Merry wanted to go.

　　Away went thimble and scissors, and in five minutes away wentMerry, skipping down the hill without a care in the world, for ahappy heart sat singing within, and everything seemed full ofbeauty.

　　She had a capital time with Molly, called on Jill, did her shoppingin the village, and had just turned to walk up the hill, when RalphEvans came tramping along behind her, looking so pleased andproud about something that she could not help asking what it was,for they were great friends, and Merry thought that to be an artistwas the most glorious career a man could choose.

　　"I know you've got some good news," she said, looking up at himas he touched his hat and fell into step with her, seeming morecontented than before.

　　"I have, and was just coming up to tell you, for I was sure youwould be glad. It is only a hope, a chance, but it is so splendid Ifeel as if I must shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two, to letoff steam.""Do tell me, quick; have you got an order?" asked Merry, full ofinterest at once, for artistic vicissitudes were very romantic, andshe liked to hear about them.

　　"I may go abroad in the autumn.""Oh, how lovely!""Isn't it? David German is going to spend a year in Rome, to finisha statue, and wants me to go along. Grandma is willing, as cousinMaria wants her for a long visit, so everything looks promising andI really think I may go.""Won't it cost a great deal?" asked Merry, who, in spite of her littleelegancies, had a good deal of her thrifty mother's common sense.

　　"Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can--I know I can, for I've savedsome, and I shall work like ten beavers all summer. I won't borrowif I can help it, but I know someone who would lend me fivehundred if I wanted it"; and Ralph looked as eager and secure as ifthe earning of twice that sum was a mere trifle when all thelonging of his life was put into his daily tasks.

　　"I wish 1 had it to give you. It must be so splendid to feel that youcan do great things if you only have the chance. And to travel, andsee all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and places inItaly. Flow happy you must be!" and Merry's eyes had the wistfullook they always wore when she dreamed dreams of the world sheloved to live in.

　　"I am--so happy that I'm afraid it never will happen. If I do go, I'llwrite and tell you all about the fine sights, and how I get on.

　　Would you like me to?" asked Ralph, beginning enthusiasticallyand ending rather bashfully, for he admired Merry very much, andwas not quite sure how this proposal would be received.

　　"Indeed I should! I'd feel so grand to have letters from Paris andRome, and you'd have so much to tell it would be almost as goodas going myself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, as theypaused a minute on the hill-top to get breath, for both had walkedas fast as they talked.

　　"And will you answer the letters?" asked Ralph, watching theinnocent face, which looked unusually kind and beautiful to him inthat soft light.

　　'Why, yes; I'd love to, only I shall not have anything interesting tosay. What can I write about?" and Merry smiled as she thoughthow dull her letters would sound after the exciting details hiswould doubtless give.

　　"Write about yourself, and all the rest of the people I know.

　　Grandma will be gone, and I shall want to hear how you get on."Ralph looked very anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised shewould tell all about the other people, adding, as she turned fromthe evening peace and loveliness to the house, whence came theclatter of milk-pans and the smell of cooking,"I never should have anything very nice to tell about myself, for Idon't do interesting things as you do, and you wouldn't care to hearabout school, and sewing, and messing round at home."Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory perfume of hamwhich saluted them, and paused with her hand on the gate, as ifshe found it pleasanter out there than in the house. Ralph seemedto agree with her, for, leaning on the gate, he lingered to say, withreal sympathy in his tone and something else in his face, "Yes, Ishould; so you write and tell me all about it. I didn'tknow you had any worries, for you always seemed like one of thehappiest people in the world, with so many to pet and care for you,and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hateful to do. You'dthink you were well off if you knew as much about poverty andwork and never getting what you want, as I do.""You bear your worries so well that nobody knows you have them.

　　I ought not to complain, and I won't, for I do have all I need. I'm soglad you are going to get what you want at last"; and Merry heldout her hand to say good-night, with so much pleasure in her facethat Ralph could not make up his mind to go just yet.

　　"I shall have to scratch round in a lively way before I do get it, forDavid says a fellow can't live on less than four or five hundred ayear, even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and on Crusts. Idon't mind as long as Grandma is all right. She is away to-night, orI should not be here," he added, as if some excuse was necessary.

　　Merry needed no hint, for her tender heart was touched by thevision of her friend in a garret, and she suddenly rejoiced that therewas ham and eggs for supper, so that he might be well fed once, atleast, before he went away to feed on artistic crusts.

　　"Being here, come in and spend the evening. The boys will like tohear the news, and so will father. Do, now."It was impossible to refuse the invitation he had been longing for,and in they went to the great delight of Roxy, who instantly retiredto the pantry, smiling significantly, and brought out the mostelaborate pie in honor of the occasion. Merry touched up the table,and put a little vase of flowers in the middle to redeem thevulgarity of doughnuts. Of course the boys upset it, but as therewas company nothing was said, and Ralph devoured his supperwith the appetite of a hungry boy, while watching Merry eat breadand cream out of an old-fashioned silver porringer, and thinking itthe sweetest sight he ever beheld.

　　Then the young people gathered about the table, full of the newplans, and the elders listened as they rested after the week's work.

　　A pleasant evening, for they all liked Ralph, but as the parentswatched Merry sitting among the great lads like a little queenamong her subjects, half unconscious as yet of the power in herhands, they nodded to one another, and then shook their heads as ifthey said,"I'm afraid the time is coming, mother.""No danger as long as she don't know it, father."At nine the boys went off to the barn, the farmer to wind up theeight-day clock, and the housewife to see how the baked beans andIndian pudding for to-morrow were getting on in the oven. Ralphtook up his hat to go, saying as he looked at the shade on the tallstudent lamp,"What a good light that gives! I can see it as I go home every night,and it burns up here like a beacon. I always look for it, and ithardly ever fails to be burning. Sort of cheers up the way, youknow, when I'm tired or low in my mind.""Then I'm very glad I got it. I liked the shape, but the boys laughedat it as they did at my buirushes in a ginger-jar over there. I'd beenreading about 'household art,' and I thought I'd try a little,"answered Merry, laughing at her own whims.

　　"You've got a better sort of household art, I think, for you makepeople happy and places pretty, without fussing over it. This roomis ever so much improved every time I come, though I hardly seewhat it is except the flowers," said Ralph, looking from the girl tothe tall calla that bent its white cup above her as if to pour its dewupon her head.

　　"Isn't that lovely? I tried to draw it--the shape was so graceful Iwanted to keep it. But I couldn't. Isn't it a pity such beautiful thingswon't last forever?" and Merry looked regretfully at the half-fadedone that grew beside the fresh blossom.

　　"I can keep it for you. It would look well in plaster. May I?" askedRalph.

　　"Thank you, I should like that very much. Take the real one as amodel--please do; there are more coming, and this will brighten upyour room for a day or two."As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding two or three of thegreat green leaves, put the handsome flower in his hand with somuch good-will that he felt as if he had received a very preciousgift. Then he said good-night so gratefully that Merry's hand quitetingled with the grasp of his, and went away, often lookingbackward through the darkness to where the light burned brightlyon the hill-top--the beacon kindled by an unconscious Hero for ayoung Leander swimming gallantly against wind and tide towardthe goal of his ambition.