CHAPTER III.

NUMBER NINE.

LATE in April, Letty was married. Her house was all in order beforehand: so that, as she said, she had nothing to do but to begin living directly. John had bought good and substantial furniture for kitchen and bedrooms. Mr. Trescott gave Letty, for her parlour, a carpet, some cane chairs, a chintz-covered sofa or couch, and—better than all—a neat little book-case, half filled with books, all of a kind to bear reading once and again.

Mrs. Trescott and Catherine went over, the evening before the wedding, to see that every thing was in order, and to make some little additions of sweetmeats and other good things to Letty's larder; while Catherine deposited in the little private drawer which John had contrived in the pantry, half a dozen silver teaspoons. There was no risk in leaving them there; for John was to sleep in the house, and Agnes promised to have an eye to it next day. Agnes had been housekeeping in Number Ten since the middle of March, and already considered herself a person of experience.

Letty had all along intended to go to church and be married, and from the church straight to her own home; but there had been a little change in the programme. Aunt Eunice, who lived on a farm in the country, sent Letty word that she expected her to come out and spend the day with her. She had always been kind to Letty; and, now that she was left alone in old age and infirmity, both Letty and John felt disposed to afford her every satisfaction in their power. She promised to send in for them, and bring them back at night. So it was settled that they should be married at nine in the morning, and set out from the church-door.

Letty had no bridesmaid but little Alice Trescott,—a pretty child seven years old,—who was delighted with the honour, and went through her duties with a dignity and gravity truly edifying.

Letty's dress was a brown checked India silk, with a bonnet and mantle of the same. Agnes laughed when she heard of it; and Mrs. Train said she really thought Mrs. Trescott might have done more than that, considering how rich she was. But they were obliged to admit that Letty looked perfectly like a lady, in her simple attire; and Agnes thought with something like disgust of her light blue silk dress, which was already too stained and shabby for evening, while it was not fit for any thing else.

Letty was pale and somewhat agitated, and John made two or three little mistakes; but, on the whole, the ceremony went off very nicely.

Mrs. Train lingered at the church-door, to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Trescott.

"I feel as though I wanted to thank you for all your kindness to Letty," she said. "You have, as she says, done every thing for her."

"I assure you, Mrs. Train, the obligation has been mutual," said Mrs. Trescott, kindly. "Letty has been my faithful friend for eight years. She has made my interest her own, and my sorrows as well." Mrs. Trescott's voice faltered, and she paused a little. "I feel as though I could easily be very selfish, when I think of losing her; but I am sure she is going to do well. Mr. Trescott has kept his eye on John Caswell ever since we first began to suspect how matters were going; and he is quite sure that there is not a better young man in town."

"His principles are excellent, and his practice is equally so," added Mr. Trescott. "He has been a member of our church for four years; and one more useful or more consistent it would be hard to find. He has been very economical, too: so that they have a nice little sum on hand with which to begin housekeeping. I assure you, Mrs. Train, that Letty's best friends could wish her no brighter prospects than she has before her. Of course, we do not know what calamities Heaven may see fit to send; but, after all, there is every thing in beginning well."

Mrs. Train sighed as she turned away. She began to fear that her own daughter had not begun in the best way. Agnes had expensive notions; so had Joseph; and she believed they had spent more than they could afford, all the time they were boarding. How would it be now that they were keeping house?

Agnes really knew very little about housekeeping. She had been kept in school till she was sixteen, and she had worked in the shop ever since. Mrs. Train herself had done every thing about the house, from cooking and marketing to sweeping and dusting, because, she said, Agnes must keep her hands nice for her work,—but really because it was less trouble to do things herself than to teach her daughter. She was afraid they would not be able to save much, if indeed they could avoid running into debt; and she did not see how she could help them, either. Her own income was very small, and barely sufficed for her daily wants, even when eked out by the profits of her sewing; and she had anticipated it for the expenses of Agnes's wedding outfit and party: so that, save as she would, she must be behind-hand for at least a year.

Mrs. Train sighed again, and passed the butcher's without going in, as she had intended, to buy a beefsteak,—but went home and made her solitary dinner on potatoes and a bit of cold pork, with a cup of tea without milk by way of dessert.

When our young friends arrived at the farm, they found Aunt Eunice standing at the door to receive them, dressed in her very best brown India satin, her crape kerchief and cap, and clear muslin apron. Aunt Eunice had been brought up among Friends, and, though she had married "out of meeting," she still adhered to her plain dress and habit of speech. She welcomed her guests with affectionate warmth.

"I hesitated," she said, "about asking thee to spend thy wedding-day with me; but, after all, I am growing an old woman. I have passed my fourscore years, and am living as it were upon borrowed time, which may be recalled at any hour. So I thought I would use the day while it was my own."

"I think you are looking very well, Aunt Eunice," said Letty. "Don't you feel as strong as usual?"

"Yes, my dear; I am very well for fourscore and two. Nevertheless, in the course of nature, I cannot continue much longer; and it is borne in upon my mind that my death may be sudden. But we won't talk of that now. Come into my room and take off thy bonnet. How nicely thou art dressed, my child!" she continued, when they were alone together. "So exactly in thy dear mother's taste. I could almost wish she were here to see thee."

"I have felt all day as though she did see me, Aunt Eunice," said Letty, in a low tone.

"It may be so, my dear, for all we know. I suppose thou dost not remember her?"

"Sometimes I think I do," said Letty; "but it may be only because mother Esther used to tell me so much about her. Am I like her?"

"Very much," replied Aunt Eunice. "Thou hast just her complexion and eyes,—though thy hair is not so dark,—and very much her expression. I hope thou mayest be like her in other things. She possessed, in greater perfection than any one I ever saw, the 'ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.' From the time that she was ten years old, I hardly ever heard an impatient word pass her lips; and, though she had many things to try her at home, nothing ever seemed to ruffle the sweet inward peace of her spirit. She appeared as one who walked, like Enoch, with God. She was always ready to promote and sympathize with the innocent merriment of others; but it was in the presence of sickness and sorrow that she shone pre-eminent. I used to think she was well called 'Comfort.'"

"I am afraid I am not much like her in meekness," said Letty. "Mother Esther used to call me a little tinder-box, sometimes."

"That comes from thy father," said Aunt Eunice, "and may perhaps be accounted for in other ways. Esther, though I verily believe meaning to be a true Christian, was something of a tinder-box herself. She had not the knack of going smoothly through the world. She was like an unshorn sheep in a brier-patch: every thorn gave her a pull. But she was always kind to thee, in her way; and I am glad thou hast been able to return her kindness, in some measure, by thy care of her orphan child. It must be pleasant for thee to think on, now that thou art setting up in life for thyself."

"Yes, indeed!" said Letty, warmly. "Aunt Train used sometimes to scold about my keeping myself so poor for Sally's sake; but I always told her I should never miss it."

"If I had been situated then as I am now, I should have offered to take the care of her off thy hands, at least so far as to give her a home. But thou knowest I have had my hands more than full till very lately. I must not keep thee here any longer, however, or John will be jealous. Let us go and see what he is about."

The day passed off very pleasantly. Aunt Eunice was a woman of a good deal of reading and experience, and her conversation was as agreeable and lively as it was instructive. She entertained the young people greatly by giving them an account of the way in which weddings were managed down on the Hudson among the Dutch colonists, where she had passed the first years of her married life.

Then John and Letty rambled all over the farm, looked at the cows and sheep, admired the early chickens and ducks (for which Aunt Eunice was quite famous), petted the new kittens, and searched the grove for early hepaticas.

Just before it was time to go home, Aunt Eunice called Letty into her bedroom.

"I have laid by a few things for thee, such as I think thou wilt prize," said she. "Thy grandmother and I had each a large stock of home-spun linen to begin housekeeping with. Thy grandmother's was mostly worn out and scattered in the second marriage; but I have always been careful of mine, and I have the best of it now, besides my own spinning. I have laid out for thee three pairs of my linen sheets, and the same of pillow-cases, and half a dozen napkins, all spun by my own hands,—and—now, thou needn't laugh—a bundle of old linen, both coarse and fine."

"Indeed, I don't laugh, Aunt Eunice. I know how useful old linen is, and how hard is to get it, too; for almost every one cotton now-a-days. But I am afraid you will rob yourself, Aunt Eunice."

"I have plenty more," said Aunt Eunice smiling. "I fell heir to all my husband's mother's spinning; but I thought thou wouldst prefer the work of my own hands."

"Yes, indeed," said Letty. "I never aspired to have linen sheets,—though I have plenty of cotton ones, which I bought myself. I shall keep these for grand occasions, I assure you."

"That is what I would advise. It is always a good plan to have a reserve put away to fall back upon in case of emergency. Linen sheets are much more grateful than cotton to a sick person in a fever. Indeed, I have never brought myself to using any other though I know cotton is considered wholesome. Well, to go back to thy bundle. Here are a couple of table-cloths which thy great-grandmother spun. Thou must take great care of them, and leave them to thy eldest daughter. Here is something else,—a bag of holders for thee. I dare say thou hast never thought of providing that."

"Indeed I have not," said Letty. "I wonder at it, too; for I always use them at home,—I mean at Mrs. Trescott's."

"Then it is well I thought of them. Now thou wilt not burn thy hands with thy new teakettle. Finally, I have knitted thee three or four dish-cloths of linen twine which thou wilt find far superior to the common sort. I want to trouble thee with a little bundle for Agnes. I have put up for her the same number of sheets and pillow-cases as for thee. I thought at first I would not give them to her unless she came for them; but, after all, she is my sister's grandchild; and, though she is rather giddy at present, I hope she will mend. And now, children, I must bid you farewell. I have not troubled you with much advice. I have never found it do so very much good. People must mostly find out for themselves as they go along. I hope, John, that thou intendest to set up thy household in the fear of God?"

"I mean to do so, Aunt Eunice. It is the way in which I was brought up myself; and I hope to train up my children, if God them to me, in the same course."

"That is right. I have lived a longer life than is allotted to most people, and, though I do not mean to complain, I have had my share of this world's sorrows and troubles; but, now that I look back, as it were, from the opening of another world on the road I have been over, I can see much more sunshine than shadow upon it. Try, children, to live close to God, and he will be close to you. You must expect now and then to find some roots of bitterness springing up to trouble you, even between yourselves; though I dare say you think that is impossible. Keep it to yourselves, and it will die the quicker.

"Never allow yourselves to talk of each other's faults to any one else. Letty, thou lookest indignant at the very idea; but I can tell thee, my child, that it is the rock on which many married woman wrecks her happiness. Whatever troubles thee, be the same great or small, take it at once to God. Don't fall into the mistake of thinking that any grief is too small for prayer, or any pleasure too little for thankfulness. Never run into debt. If you have not the money to pay for what you want, do without till you get the money. A debt is an ever-increasing leak. Is thy house paid for, John?"

"Not entirely," replied John. "About a third of the purchase-money remains as mortgage."

"Then thou wilt have an object in saving. Let that be thy first worldly care, so that, whatever happens to thee, thy wife will have a home. Don't, however, be so set upon saving as to go without the reasonable comforts of life or the pleasure of assisting others poorer than thou art. That is bad economy. Finally, if trouble comes, meet it with courage, and trust in God. I am glad to have had thy company for this day; and I hope it may be a pleasant remembrance to thyself as long as thou livest. Now, once more, farewell, and God bless you!"

"Won't you come and see us, some time, Aunt Eunice?" said Letty.

"Why, I am growing rather old to travel, dear; but perhaps I may some day look in upon thee, if I am spared till warm weather comes. Give my love to Agnes and Joseph, and tell them I shall be glad to see them whenever they can make it convenient to come."

"How good and kind she is!" said Letty, as they drove away. "I should love to be just like her when I am as old."

It was nearly dark when they reached Number Nine. Agnes had promised to have a fire for them; but there were no signs of any such thing, and the door was fastened. Fortunately, however, John had the key of the side door in his pocket. A light was soon obtained, and he set about making a fire, Letty changed her dress and prepared to get their supper. Presently Letty came out of the pantry.

"Where have you put the flour or the bread, John? I cannot find any."

John laid down the coal-shovel and looked aghast. "I declare, Letty, I forgot all about it! I meant to order some yesterday; but, somehow, it went out of my head. How stupid! What shall we do?"

"I can step over to Agnes's and borrow some bread," said Letty, smiling at John's expression of consternation. "She will have a fine laugh at us."

"I would rather go up street and buy some bread," said John. "There is a bakery not far off."

"I think that will be the best way,—unless you mean to make your supper on cake alone. There is some one coming in. Who is it?"

There was a gentle knock at the door as she spoke. John opened it, and saw a small, middle-aged woman, plain, and plainly dressed, but with an expression of kindness and gentleness which made Letty like her at once. In one hand she held a bouquet of early flowers, and in the other a large plate full of something neatly folded in a white napkin.

"Good-evening, Mrs. Caswell,—I suppose it is Mrs. Caswell?" said the stranger. "My name is De Witt, and I live next door. I hope you will excuse my taking such a liberty, but I thought may-be you hadn't made any calculations for supper: so I just baked some short-cakes and brought them over. I hope you won't be offended, now."

"No, indeed," said Letty, cordially. "I am very much obliged to you. I was just wondering what we should do; for we forgot to order any flour."

"There! That's just what I thought," said Mrs. De Witt, setting down the plate. "I says to Mr. De Witt, says I,—

"'Mr. De Witt, I don't believe them young things have thought to get any flour;'—for, you see, I sit right by the front window with my work, and I hadn't seen no flour-wagon come here.

"And Mr. De Witt, he says, 'Oh, Ruth, you are always so observing.'

"'I don't care,' says I. 'I'm going to bake 'em some biscuits; and if they don't like 'em they needn't eat 'em,' says I—"

Mrs. De Witt stopped for want of breath.

"You were right," said John. "I did forget the flour at last,—though I thought of it time enough beforehand. It was very kind in you to remember us."

"Well, I think it is best to do kind things when one has a chance," replied Mrs. De Witt. "Not that a plate of biscuits is any thing. I've brought a bunch of flowers, too. Flowers make a room look kind of cheerful: don't you think so? Though I'm sure you look cheerful enough already. I noticed your things when they was coming in. I do like to see furniture neat and substantial to begin with. A great many young folks begin very grand, and then kind of taper off, you know. I don't believe you will do that way. Well, I must go. Now, if there's any thing I can do for you, you must just let me know: won't you?"

Letty promised she would; and Mrs. De Witt departed, putting her head in at the door, a moment afterwards, to ask if they had milk for their tea. Agnes had thought of that; and Mrs. De Witt bade them goodnight.

"What a nice woman!" said Letty.

"She lives next door, where I told you they had so many flowers," replied John. "I cannot help being amused at her finding out that we had no flour, when I did not think of it myself. She must have observed our affairs pretty carefully."

"After all, it is natural enough to speculate on one's new neighbours, especially when they are just married," remarked Letty. "She knows how to make biscuits; that is plain to be seen," she continued, lifting the napkin and disclosing the delicate little flaky tea-cakes. "See here what a treat! Now I am going to give you another treat, in the shape of some of Miss Catherine's plum-cake; but you must not expect that every day. I mean to keep it, like Aunt Eunice's linen, for grand occasions."

They sat down to tea, and, with a thankful heart, almost too full for utterance, John said grace at his own table.

Before the tea was poured out, the front door was unlocked, and Agnes appeared, out of breath, and considerably fluttered.

"Dear me!" she began. "What a start you gave me! When I saw a light in the window, I thought the house must be on fire. So you had to make your own fire on after all! I fully intended to have the kettle boiling and the table all set for you; but I ran into a neighbour's for a minute, and the time get away so, it was seven o'clock before I dreamed of such a thing. How nice and home-like you look! Why, dear me, Letty! You have not baked biscuit already?"

"No: these came from next door," replied Letty. "It occurred to Mrs. De Witt that we were new beginners at housekeeping; and so, out of the kindness of her heart, she baked a plate of biscuits and brought them over by way of introduction."

"How very unceremonious!" said Agnes. "Carrying biscuits to a perfect stranger!"

"Doing an act of kindness is a good way of getting acquainted," said John. "Won't you sit down and have some tea with us, Agnes? The biscuits are very good, notwithstanding they came without ceremony."

"Oh, no, thank you. I must hurry home and get tea for Joe. If he comes before it is ready, there will be such a fuss! How did you find Aunt Eunice?"

"As well as one could expect at her age," replied Letty. "She sent you her love, and something else. That smallest bundle belongs to you."

"Of course the smallest bundle belongs to me. That is always the way," said Agnes. "However, I don't blame Aunt Eunice for being offended. I want to go out and see her; but I cannot get Joe started. Well, goodnight. I expect to get my head taken off when I get home."

While Letty washed up her few tea-dishes, John went up street to order his flour and meal to be sent the first thing in the morning.

"What a busy day this has been!" said he, as he hung up his hat and coat. "Let us remember what Aunt Eunice said about beginning in the right way, and have prayers, Letty."