PREFACE: The average home today has conveniences to meet the demands of comfortable living. The heating and lighting are good. In nearly every home may be found a living room where the family assembles for rest and recreation. Here they read, sew, chat, and discuss the news. Similar scenes occurred in the colonial days, but in quite a different room. The kitchen took the place of our modern living room. The life of the colonists centered in it, for in the kitchen was the fireplace, often the one source of heat in the whole house. Its warmth and cheer and its use as a place for cooking made it the heart of the home. Here it was that the family interests and activities were centered; all the family group collected here to share the joys and sorrows of life.
HOW THE STORY CAME TO BE WRITTEN: A father came into the Newark Museum to ask help of the educational adviser.
"I cannot get my children interested in their ancestors," said he. "They don't feel any pride in being descended from a lady who came over in the Mayflower. They say, "Oh, Charlie's uncle came over in a private yacht, and Mike's brother is going over in an airplane.'' What shall I do? If we were living at the old homestead, I could show them the hole in the shutter through which the native shot their great-uncle, and the oven by the fireside where their great-grandmother cooked for the continental soldiers, and the wedding dress of their grandmother. But the old place was sold, and everything is scattered."
"Bring your children to the Museum," said the educational adviser. "We will show them colonial costumes and candle-molds and Native American arrows."
"I'll try it," said the father, "but it won't be the same."
Then came a teacher.
"I wish," said she, "that I could make history alive to my pupils. They don't care how many men were killed in the battle of Monmouth, or what the date was when Washington crossed the Delaware."
"We will send you some dolls in colonial costume and an old wool-carder," said the educational adviser.
"Thank you," said the teacher. "Of course, those things will be better than nothing."
It was this need to see the real things that caused the Museum to build in its big hall at the top of the Newark Library a colonial kitchen, and fill it with colonial furnishings. Then the students from the Normal School dressed up in colonial clothes and went to work in the kitchen, spinning, making candles, and sewing carpet rags, and explaining these things to the children who flocked in to visit them.
Next Miss Prescott began to play with the children who flocked there, and then the Andrews children of this story were born.
The six or eight thousand children who were taken by their teachers to see this kitchen during the ten weeks that it stood there, many of whom then took their parents to see it, will perhaps read this story about the labors, and the play, and the love-making of Mary Jane, with interest.
Any group of manual training boys and domestic art girls can put up such a kitchen, dress the characters, and act out such a story, and in many American neighborhoods they can borrow real things, for their stage properties.
Of course, the story was not written to stimulate handwork or theatricals. Nor was it written to Americanize, or re-Americanize anybody. But simple stories without ingenuity of plot or striking incident have always been told by parents and grandparents and maiden aunts to the delight of children. "Tell us what happened when Grandpa was a miller‚" "Tell us about when you went to school through the woods"; "Tell us how the bear frightened Great-Aunt." These are the demands of children of all nations. The peculiarity of our situation is that so many of our children are step-children, half-children, adopted children. It is a mercy that there is an inheritance not only of blood, but of memories, of ideas, and of hopes.
If this story stimulates emulation of the real virtues of our forefathers, who founded the country, and hence leads to real patriotism, it will have achieved the desire in the hearts of the authors and publishers.
A Day in a Colonial Home
Mary Jane awoke, startled. Had she overslept and not heeded her father's call? She jumped out of bed on to the strip of rag carpet laid on the cold floor. The chill of the early May morning made her shiver, and, with motherly care, she turned and straightened the patchwork quilt on her two sisters, mischievous Abigail and gentle little Dorothy, who were sleeping warmly in their feather bed. The world was a-quiver with life and sound. Mary Jane looked anxiously through the small-paned window. Surely, Providence would grant a pleasant day for the last of the housecleaning! Her mother was ill with the new baby brother and the kitchen must be cleaned before she was about again. It was not easy to do the work as well as her mother would have done it, but a bright, sunshiny day would help.
The sun was just rising and a cool, northwest breeze was blowing the mist from the pond and gully. The sunlight sparkled on the pond which lay across the foot of the field and the breeze blew it into dark blue ripples. Mary Jane dreamed a minute. John Lewis must be in port, she thought, and perhaps he would be home to-day. His father's whaler, the Breezy Belle , had reached Gloucester the first of the week. If she planned well and hurried the work she might be able to go down to Jenny Lewis's in the afternoon to see her new dresses. Jenny Lewis was John's sister, and she had more pretty clothes than any girl in town. It would be a welcome change to visit her before supper. The past week of housecleaning had been a busy one, for the girls had cleaned the dooryard and the entry as well as the back room and the loft bedroom. Their mother, before her illness, had cleaned and aired her best front room and put back in their places the few pieces of furniture which stood in this cold and little-used room.
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| Figure 1. Well and Well-Sweep. |
The well-sweep creaked in the breeze, and a whiff of the smoke of the kitchen fire, pouring out of the chimney, blew up the stairway. Mary Jane straightened her simple gray dress, folding a fresh white kerchief across her breast. The neighbors called her smart and comely. She was sixteen, and tall and strong, the oldest of eight children. Her brothers and sisters knew her to be gentle as well as firm and just. They never shirked Mary Jane's orders, but they carried to her their bruised toes and cut fingers, the stitches dropped in their knitting, the knots tied in their patchwork. She bound up their hurts and set them to work again.
"Daughter," called her father from the foot of the stairs, "the day comes on apace, and it promises a clear sky for your cleaning. Grandmother is tending your mother and the new babe, but John and I will need the porridge hot when we come back from foddering."
Mary Jane answered her father gravely and picked up the candle to take with her to the kitchen. She called the older of her sisters. The three all slept under the low ceilings in the upstairs chamber. "Come Abigail! You are in truth a sleepyhead. Come! Everything's awake, and we have much to do! Father has called and indeed you must hurry."
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In the kitchen a glowing bed of red-hot coals burned on the hearth, streaks of sunlight glanced through the eastern windows and touched the snowy, coarse cloth on the large dinner-table. Soft reflections shone from the pewter porringers hanging on the dresser; a sunbeam flecked with bright light the brass candlestick which Mary Jane set near its mate on the mantel over the hearth. In the south windows red geraniums blossomed and there was an atmosphere of homely cheer and comfort in the room. All winter, the family had gathered in the kitchen and, in its warm cosiness, Mary Jane had spun, darned mittens and knit stockings. She loved the kitchen, and she worked there happily and energetically, putting into her tasks that same heartfelt devotion to duty that her great-grandfather had brought across the sea to the Massachusetts colony more than a hundred years before.
Her mother called quietly from the nearby bedroom, and Mary Jane tiptoed in. The baby was asleep and the sight of him in his helplessness and of her mother, always so strong and active, lying now so quiet and helpless at the beginning of a busy day, stirred her strangely. She bent awkwardly and kissed them, and blushed as she straightened up. Kisses were rare in her home, and she was surprised at herself. Her grandmother came in, and a commotion from the kitchen warned her that the boys were awake. Her three younger brothers, steady Thomas, and the twins, Asa and George, slept in the turn-down bed in the corner of the kitchen. They tumbled out and helped and punched each other into their clothes.
"No shoes and stockings to-day, boys," Mary Jane called. "Housecleaning time, and shoes have barely lasted through the frost."
Going to the table in the corner, she poured water into the wash basin. She washed her face and hands in the cold water, newly drawn from the well, gasping with the shock of its coldness, and rubbed her face briskly with the linen towel which hung over a roller on the door.
Suddenly the back entry door swung open, and roly-poly Sam Dodd came in, swinging an iron pot.
"Good-morrow, neighbors! Can you lend us a coal? As the weather grows milder I fear we tend our fire none too carefully."
"Did you know John Lewis had come home?" he called to Mary Jane. "Some of us stopped to see him last night and Jenny came out and two or three of the neighbors. Mother says it is ungodly the way Cap'n Lewis dresses Jenny. "Fine feathers don't make fine birds," she says, and Jenny doesn't work enough to pay the Cap'n. She's a fair gad-about. He toils mightily to get the whale oil to buy her
gowns. John seems real pleased to be home, Mary Jane. He asked where you were."
Grandmother came into the kitchen as Sam started out with his borrowed fire.
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| Figure 3. Porringer or Shallow Bowl. |
"Pray tell thy mother, Sam, that the candles she helped us to make last fall are lasting well. We have treasured the choice green bayberry candles. Your mother will remember the day she helped me pick the bayberries for them. Now we do not need so much candle light, as the days grow longer. Thank her kindly for the bowl of rich soup she sent Daughter Andrews. Daughter will soon be up and about. Our new babe is six days old and strong and lusty. Hear how he cries."
Sam grinned and bore off his coals fallen from the burning sticks; while Grandmother took the bowl of porridge in to her daughter.
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| Figure 4. Cast-Iron Skillet. |
Drawing the settles up to the table Mary Jane placed her father's chair at one end and her mother's at the other for Grandmother. Abigail and Dorothy seized the small brothers and sisters and scrubbed them clean. Whereupon the children took their porringers and wooden bowls from the dresser and stood in their places behind the settles. Abigail strained into a pail the warm, frothy milk which John, the oldest brother, had brought in, and Dorothy filled the large pewter tankard with cool milk from the cellar way. Mary Jane bustled about. She dished up from the steaming kettle on the hearth the corn meal mush, or hasty pudding, and added a large, thin Johnny cake, which she had browned in the skillet.
The children folded their hands and bowed their heads. Grandmother had returned to the table. Father leaned over the high back of his chair and asked the Heavenly Father's blessing on home and family and sought guidance in the tasks of the day.
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| Figure 5. Tin Kitchen or Roaster. |
Mary Jane admired her father more than anyone else in the world. Wasn't he always right? She wandered. This morning while she sat with bowed head she asked herself, wistfully, if her father ever found it hard to decide between pleasure and duty. What would he say if he knew how much she wanted to see Jenny Lewis's new clothes? Would he think her frivolous? As she raised her eyes, she found her father looking quietly at her. Somehow, she seemed to feel as if he understood her better than she did herself and she sat up straight and proud because he was her father. She felt certain that he would choose his duty however hard he found it.
As Mary Jane ate her mush and milk, she planned her day and thought occasionally of Jenny Lewis. In Jenny's home they used a tin kitchen, or roaster, for their goose. But Mary Jane's family were poor, and they used a home-made device for roasting their goose. To a string hung in the fireplace Mary Jane would tie the goose's leg and Asa would sit in front of the fire and twist the string, so that the goose might become evenly browned. Jenny's mother used a plate-warmer, made with one side open to the heat, but Mary Jane would dip her plates into a kettle of hot water and never envy her friends their extra comforts and luxuries. However, Mary Jane did have a lively interest in new things and pretty clothes, and she said to herself that she would get through her work and have an hour or two before supper to visit Jenny whether or no.
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| Figure 6. Plate-Warmer |
Her father had set the churn near the hearth and the cream was warm enough for Thomas to beat. The brick oven was well heated, and she could bake apple pies, using the last of the dried apples. George should take down the few strings of apples which were left hanging on the kitchen rafters, and Dorothy should wash them at the well. It would not take long for Dorothy to clear away the dishes and fold the table-cloth and napkins. The family had few dishes and most of these were pewter bowls and porringers. A few blue dishes of Grandmother's, that she had brought from England, were left. These were used only on rare occasions. Mary Jane would wash them herself. The silver spoons and Mother's white-handled knives must be scoured with care. Abigail should attend to them and the pewter and the tin-lined copper kettles. Abigail liked to make them shine and Mary Jane knew that when one's heart is in a task the work goes quickly. There was always wool to card, and the small boys might do this in odd moments. When the fireplace was cleaned out, one of the boys must empty all the ashes into the leach barrel. Through the winter the family had saved the ashes and all grease from cooking and butchering and, in the fall, Mother would make soft soap. Mary Jane's mother and grandmother always had good luck with their soft soap, and in the clear jelly-like substance there remained little trace of the rancid grease and strong lye from which it had been made.
The simple but nourishing breakfast was soon over. Father spoke occasionally to John about the work of the day. "The flax patch must be harrowed and sowed and the sods turned for the corn," he said.
"This is a likely drying day, John; the wind and sun will draw the dampness from the earth, and take the dust from your rugs, too, Daughter," he added, as he rose and picked up his broad, soft hat.
"Remember, children, that your mother has taught you to work quickly and with care. Show that you have learned your lesson well. Boys, stand ready to handle the dasher, or turn the roast. Come, John."
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| Figure 7. Wool Spinning-Wheel |
Breakfast finished, all became bustle and stir. Grandmother slipped briskly to her large, wool spinning-wheel. She was white-haired and full of years, but still she plied her task of spinning energetically and skilfully. She had learned it long before in a shire of England where wool was raised and made into cloth. Grandmother was graceful and dignified in carriage; for many years of her life she had walked back and forth at her wheel, lightly poised and alert. She lifted her spinning-wheel, and, with awkward help from Thomas, carried it into Mother Andrew's room.
"I must needs be out of thy way, Mary Jane, and will spin in thy mother's room today."
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| Figure 8. A Cradle |
But Grandmother soon returned, holding the baby in the crook of her left arm. She seated herself near the fire and unwrapped many layers of soft woolen covers from little Samuel. Dipping her elbow into the basin of warm water at her side, she found it just right and bathed the baby quickly, wrapped him again in the folds of the flannel, and retied his little cap. She then put him in the cradle, and called Thomas to rock him to sleep.
Mary Jane told her brothers and sisters what she expected of each of them before she pulled out her rolling-board and started to make pie-crust.
Abigail banged the churn dasher up and down and thought eagerly of the pewter and brasses to be polished.
"Thomas, methinks the wee child must be asleep. Stretch up to this churn dasher and prove yourself a dashing knave," she said. "Abigail, teach not to children such play on words," chided Mary Jane.
Abigail frowned and said, "You were not always so proper in your speech, Mary Jane, before John Lewis came a-courting."
Mary Jane, flushed and flustered, knocked her cap awry, and accidentally wiped a floury hand across her cheek.
"Do you suppose that I shall be thus improved when someone comes a-courting me?"Abigail went on. "What do you think John Lewis may have made you? He has had time enough for many a turn of the hand. It is full three months since the whaler put out from Gloucester. Do you think that even a slow-witted fellow like your John may have speed in his fingers? Perchance he whittles faster than he talks?"
"Abigail," Mary Jane interrupted, "the butter must have come. Run out to the well for fresh water. I will gather the butter while you are gone. Curb your saucy tongue, sister. Mistress Dodd is coming up the road with her pot of beans, and I would not have her hear your foolish gossip."
"John wants the flint-lock, Mary Jane. Pass it down to me quickly. Oh hurry, kindly," Abigail called as she tumbled in at the doorway. The little boys followed close at her heels. "The dog has dug out a woodchuck in the stone wall, near the flax patch, and John thinks he can pot him. Do hasten, Mary Jane! Your fingers were not always thumbs."
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| Figure 10. Flint-Lock gun and pistol |
The gun was loaded, for when it was wanted it was wanted quickly, and loading was no quick matter. Throwing it over her shoulder as John would have done, Abigail ran from the house.
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| Figure 11. Warming Pan |
Dorothy could not bear to have killed even a woodchuck who ate the flax plants. Mary Jane knew how the child loved all dumb creatures, and she sent her out into the south door-yard, patchwork in hand. Dorothy sat down on the door-step and sewed. She was setting patchwork blocks for Mary Jane's new quilt. It was a Job's Trouble pattern and there were in it many hexagonal blocks of real India chintz, and French calicoes that Jenny Lewis had given Mary Jane. Dorothy sewed over and over with painstakingly small stitches. But the spring day enticed her, and she stole away from her stint. She poked with a stick among the roots and dried leaves in the garden border, and thought eagerly of the colors and sweet odors soon to awaken there: hollyhocks and purple stocks, candytuft and pinks, Sweet William, by the door-step, and love-lies-a-bleeding, Queen Margarets, larkspur, tiger lilies and bouncing-bet, and sunflowers to be planted here and there with corn. Dorothy played only a few minutes, for conscience urged her to pick up the unfinished square of patchwork, and she soon went back into the house. Mary Jane bade her show Mistress Dodd into their mother's room, for her own arms were deep in the butter-bowl.
After Abigail had helped dig out the woodchuck, she brought in the two pails of clear rinsing water for the butter, and hastened to start her own task of the day. The pewter and copper should be made to shine as never before. She arranged on the far end of the dinner-table, pewter porringers, solid silver spoons, the pewter tankard and one large pewter plate and several small ones, the long-handled brass warming pan, two tall brass candlesticks and the snuffers from the mantel. She even removed the flint-lock pistols from their holsters beneath the mantel. Their brass mountings were dull and lustreless. She looked longingly at the brass clasps of Father's large Bible. When Mary Jane was elsewhere it might be possible to make them shine as they should. "You have a lively way, Abigail, when your interest is taken. If we hasten, we may have the kitchen ordered by dinner-time."
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Figure 12. Snuffers |
"Who is this?" Abigail exclaimed.
Mary Jane looked up in consternation. Her father was bringing in two men; one was the minister and the other a stranger. She could hear them wiping their boots on the old rug on the porch. Abigail sprang helpfully forward to gather up and conceal her cleaning rags, and in doing so overturned the churn, half full of buttermilk! Mary Jane heard the crash, and saw the door open. Her father stepped right into the rushing stream of buttermilk before he saw there was an accident, and Mary Jane wondered stupidly why she had never noticed before how much the floor sloped toward the entry. The buttermilk ran over her father's shoes.
This is a sad state of affairs, Daughter,"her father said with grave reproof, "but we will go around by the other door. The minister has called to see your mother, and this good man, the indigo peddler, needs some breakfast. He has traveled far this morning. Attend to his needs and I doubt not he will
show his gratitude in some way that will help you."
Mary Jane looked ruefully at the confusion, but gratefully to her father for his forbearance. Abigail had meant well, and accidents would happen. Even if it was housecleaning time, the peddler must be fed. Father believed that all hungry people should be treated kindly. "Better to feed a dozen ungracious ones," he said, "than to turn away one deserving and needy." Mary Jane directed Abigail to bring out cold porridge and salt fish and milk for the peddler, while she mopped up the floor.
As Mistress Dodd finished her call and came out of their mother's room, Mary Jane looked up from the floor and asked her if she would not take home a pat of new butter.
"Twill not come amiss with hot Johnny cake, Mistress Dodd," she said, as she went on with her mopping.
"Yes, indeed, I will be glad to have it, Mary Jane, and thank you, too. What a bother to lose the good buttermilk," she added, looking at the floor. Then she slyly pinched Mary Jane's white arm.
"John Lewis came home last night, and they say he looks fine and hearty, Mary Jane. Think you he has learned to talk and ask questions? Have you an answer ready for him? Do not turn away your head, child, I mean naught by these bantering words. Later, I will send Sam for our baked beans. Thank you for letting us use your oven. Good-day, all."
Mary Jane finished cleaning up the floor and scattered the children who had gathered in the kitchen. Strangers were an event, and the young ones looked at the peddler eagerly and intently. The old man sat down and drew toward him the bowl of porridge, first taking a long draught of the buttermilk near at hand. Looking up from her task, Mary Jane reproved Dorothy for staring.
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Figure 13. Reel for Winding Thread |
"Take this flagon of buttermilk up to the flax patch. We saved this much in the churn.'Tis ten o'clock and Father and John must be hungry. The drink will help them through the next hour."
Turning to Abigail, she suggested that she put out of doors the rocking-chair and small table. The Bible and work-basket and mother's reel might go into mother's room. Perhaps the peddler would help her move the settles out on the grass. Mary Jane herself knelt down on the hearth to take up the ashes.
The peddler jumped up. "Willing hands make light work, Mistress Mary, and out go the tables and the chairs. Back again! and now, my dears, we are ready for the old settles. Came from the sturdy land of England, these did."
Mary Jane frowned and settled her cap with dignity. "I like not too much talk. If we save our breath it will help in the lifting. Be careful of the door, please, I would not have the wood scarred."
"Clear the ways, my hearties," the peddler called, not seeming to be disturbed by Mary Jane's dignified words, "I'm the man for that job. Up you get, Mistress Mary, and down goes Jake, the indigo peddler. I can holystone a deck, why not brush up the ashes?"
Mary Jane looked doubtfully at her helper, but she soon admitted that he used the shovel and the turkey wing with a neat hand. Father said that it was often more generous to accept help than to give it, and so thinking, she turned to other work.
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Figure 14. Kettle |
Directing Dorothy to take one kettle and Abigail the other, Mary Jane started them to cleaning the woodwork. There was plenty of hot water in the big pot which had been hanging on the crane, and there were soft soap and stout cloths. The girls were careful not to waste the soap, but they hunted for every speck and streak of dirt. Having answered a call from her mother, Mary Jane came back to the kitchen, bright-eyed, but demure. Mother had said that she wished Abigail to wash up the bricks in the fireplace, and Mary Jane would clean the windows. Master Jake had helped them generously, but they could finish up the rest of the work alone, their mother thought.
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| Figure 15. Swinging Crane |
"Just as the Mistress says. I'll be off. Indigo has gone a-begging this morning, but perhaps I can sell some cochineal up the road. Good-day and the Lord bless ye!" So saying the old man bent to his pack and trudged away.
Abigail stood and pondered. She was mischieviously interested in the change of plan. Mary Jane generally washed out the fireplace.
"What does it mean, Dorothy? Dost think John Lewis would notice if Mary Jane's hands were smutted and grimy? '
"Methinks 'tis best for us to stop talking and get to our work. Mother would have Mary Jane make a good impression. Mary Jane is comely, and John Lewis is not a-courting us." Dorothy's reproof was gently made, and she smiled at Abigail.
The three sisters worked steadily and swiftly. Mary Jane appeared not to hear the whispering of the younger girls. She polished the windows, and the warm sunshine filled the room. She soon relieved Dorothy of further cleaning, and sent her into the yard under the hickory tree to sew a long seam. The child fastened her work with a sewing-bird to a little table, and sewed industriously.
John came in just then, and took down the shoemaker's last. He wanted to get out an ugly nail from his mother's shoe. She would soon be up again. Mary Jane asked him if he would take the children out to hunt for hens' nests after he had finished. She hoped to have a custard for supper.
A little later her father followed John in from the flax patch, and the family gathered for dinner, eating cold boiled salmon and the dried-apple pie which Mary Jane had hurriedly made in the morning. These, with milk and Johnny cake, soon satisfied the hungry workers and each was back at his task.
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| Figure 16, sewing-bird |
Father and John predicted a thunder shower in the late afternoon, and Mary Jane looked anxiously at the clouds. Perhaps the shower would go round? She was not much tired, she thought, and the work, in spite of accidents, was going well. It would be too hard if she finished the kitchen in time and then had to give up her visit to Jenny because of a thunder-shower. But after dinner the work went more slowly. It seemed as if she could not get things all finished and the kitchen looking just right. She was more tired than she had realized. But her determination to get away for a little time before supper grew with her weariness. She worked desperately to put the finishing touches on the room, and, after a while, it suited her.
Abigail and Dorothy had gone out with John and the little boys to hunt for eggs, before they washed and changed their dresses. Mary Jane's mother and the little baby brother were sleeping and her grandmother's spinning-wheel made the only sound in the afternoon's stillness. The room darkened with the coming storm. The leaves of the red geraniums moved in the rising wind, and the white, sash curtains blew out into the room. Mary Jane picked a dried leaf out of the basket of freshly laundered caps and straightened the blue calico cushion in the rocking chair. She opened the door of the brick oven where Mrs. Dodd's beans and their own had been baking since morning. The beans were baked perfectly in the round, brown pots, and their fragrant, appetizing odor filled the room. Looking about, before she went upstairs, Mary Jane felt that her mother would be satisfied with the appearance of the kitchen. The brass and irons in the fireplace and the shovel and tongs glowed from Abigail's honest rubbing. The black pots and copper kettles had been cleaned inside and out and hooked on to the swinging frame. The waffle-irons and toaster hung on the side of the fireplace and the gridiron stood on its three slender legs beside the hearth. A small fire burned red on the hearth and a gentle cloud of steam rose from the bubbling kettle. The brass
warming-pan made a blob of light against the dull red bricks.
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| Figure 17. andirons or fire-dogs |
The dresser was white from its recent scrubbing and the pewter on it shone brightly. Grandmother's blue plates and saucers had been rearranged on the plate rail and the spoons and white-handled knives laid back in the mahogany boxes on the dresser. John had whittled and smoothed those boxes for his mother in the winter evenings. The Bible, and the New England Primer and Father's horned spectacles lay on the small table in the corner, and the cradle, with its new pink and white checked cover, stood near the fireplace. When Mother got up, the baby would lie in that all day. The floor looked nice and clean. It had been freshly sanded and the braided rugs laid carefully in their usual places before the hearth and doorway. The old gray cat had stretched himself near the fireplace, and his friend, the dog, slept beside him.
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| Figure 18. Toasting-Rack |
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| Figure 19. A Gridiron |
Mary Jane noticed that the wind had blown awry Dorothy's framed sampler which hung on the wall. She straightened it and read again the words: "Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. Dorothy Ward Andrews." She read the words soberly, and thought of her own good father. Picking up her clean cap and a basin of water, she started upstairs. A sudden clap of thunder shook the house and, with the first sprinkle of rain, the kitchen door blew open and Jenny Lewis dashed in.
"Just in time, Mary Jane! I am glad you are through with your work! I have come to take you home to supper as soon as this shower blows over. John told me to tell you he would bring you home this evening. He has something pretty for you. I do not know what it is, but he made it and he feels sure that you will like it. You are too good, Mary Jane! I told John that you were kinder than I, but perhaps you would not like his homemade gift. I am very sure that I should not prefer it unless it were finer than you could buy in the shops." So talking on, Jenny pushed Mary Jane through the stairway door.
The storm drove her father out of the flax patch, and in a few minutes, he hastened into the warmth of the kitchen. His wife called from the inner room and told him that Jenny Lewis had come for Mary Jane and she hoped he would allow the girl to go down to Cap'n Lewis's for the evening. There could be no harm, the mother said, in Mary Jane having well-to-do friends. John Lewis was a sober, industrious youth, even though his sister Jenny was rather flighty. She would like to have Mary
Jane go more often to visit in Jenny's home. As the mother made her ambitious little plans, the girls came into the kitchen. Mary Jane glanced shyly at her father. She was wearing her best summer dress.
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Figure 20. Knife-Tray
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"Jenny has asked me down to her house for supper, Father. The storm has passed around, and the sun is coming out. I should like to go. Everything is ready to put on the table for children. Jenny says she and John will walk a piece with me when I come home."
"Why, Mary Jane Andrews, I never said anything of the sort!" Jenny exclaimed, "John sent word he wanted to bring you home."
Mary Jane's father looked at her searchingly and gravely. Mary Jane had not meant to tell a fib but she was always bashful when she spoke of John Lewis. Could there be a smile in her father's eye? She thought not. She dropped her own eyes and waited. In a minute her father spoke:
"Better not go out to-night, Daughter. Your mother will be up in a day or two, and then there will be more freedom for you. Responsibility will not hurt any lass and a small disappointment is better than a pleasure taken at the wrong time."
"Tell John," her father added as he turned to Jenny, "that we shall be glad to see him when he calls up here. I hear that your father has made another successful trip. It is a hard and dangerous life he lives on the sea. May the Lord prosper him." Then Mary Jane's father went out.
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| Figure 21. spectacles and Bible |
Jenny flung herself into the rocker and spoke angrily to Mary Jane. "I am glad indeed that my father is not a cross-patch! What does your father think? Just because he is one of the elders in the church must his daughter have no pleasure? He does not give you any gay dresses. Even your best dress is just this blue one with a white kerchief. It is not fair, and now he will spoil our little pleasure. I believe he likes to forbid you to do things, just because he knows you will obey. Why do you? Come with me and show your father you have a right to a few minutes in the day! Perhaps he does not approve of me! Well, I do not care. Come, Mary Jane. Come down and see my new dresses. Your father said, "Better not go out to-night‚" he did not forbid you to go. You can tell him that when you come back. Oh, what is the use of coaxing! You look just as stubborn as your father. Good-by, I am going home!"
