Chapter VI: The Distinguished Stranger

HENRIETTA had fully determined to employ every spare moment during the week upon her knitting. She flattered herself that, by so doing, she would be able to finish the socks upon which she was engaged, and, perhaps, to complete another pair before they should be called for. But she found that, as usual, she had overrated her own powers. She was not a fast knitter at best, and her eagerness to get on with her work sometimes defeated her own purpose, for in her haste, she dropped stitches and made other mistakes which it took a long time to rectify. Thus, she narrowed off her heel before it was nearly long enough, and her mother decided that it must come out.

"What difference does it make, mother?" asked Henrietta, impatiently. "It is only for the soldiers; and I am sure they need not be so very particular. They ought to be thankful to get any, I think!"

Cecy, who was laboriously knitting on her sock in the corner of her sofa, opened her eyes wide at this speech. "I think the soldiers ought to have the best of any one," said she, much more promptly than usual. "I'm sure they work the hardest!"

"True, my dear," said her mother, "and their socks come to much harder wear than those of ordinary people. Socks with short heels will be worn through in a day's march, while those which have abundance of room around the foot will be perfectly whole. But, my dear Hetty, your patriotism seems to have cooled very decidedly. When you began, you thought nothing too good for the poor soldiers."

"I think there is a great deal more fuss made about them than there is any need of," said Henrietta, not very well pleased at being reminded of her patriotic zeal in the beginning of the work she now found so disagreeable. "I am sure they are paid for all they do, and I suppose they expected it, or they wouldn't have gone."

"Do you think Uncle David's pay as captain will make up to him for the business he gave up for the sake of going into the army?" asked Mrs. Laurens.

"Uncle David is a lawyer: of course it is different with him," replied Henrietta. "I was talking about the common soldiers."

"The remark applies not less to them," said Mrs. Laurens. "Many a man has given up a lucrative trade or left a fertile farm to go into the ranks as a common soldier, simply from a sense of duty. I could name a dozen such among my own acquaintance. No doubt people have enlisted in the cities who would not have done so unless they had been out of employment; but think of the country regiments, and especially those of the new States, where every man has his place and is missed when he leaves it. Think of the long marches through mud and rain; think of standing on picket duty on the edge of the woods, or perhaps without even that shelter, all night, in such a storm as this, for instance, liable to be shot down at any moment by an unseen enemy!"

"But do the soldiers have to stay out in the rain, mother?" asked Cecy, very much shocked at the idea. "I should think they would go in the house when it rained."

"Oh, you little goose!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Don't you know that the soldiers have to stay out in all sorts of weather? Go in the house, indeed! I guess they would soon be turned out if they did!"

"Hetty is right,—though she does not speak very properly," said her mother. "A soldier must do his duty without regard to his personal comfort. If the camp or the road were left unguarded on such a night as this, for instance, the enemy would be sure to take advantage of it, and make an attack."

"Then I should think Hetty would want them to have very nice stockings indeed, because their feet must be so cold," observed Cecy, deeply impressed with the hardship of standing out in the rain all night.

"Of course I do!" said Hetty, indignantly. "But I don't see the need of making such a fuss about shaping them just right, as though they were gentlemen."

"Gentlemen could go and buy some more if theirs were worn out or did not fit," said Cecy; "but soldiers couldn't, because I suppose they don't have any shops to go to."

"And not much money to spare," added her mother.

"And, besides, some soldiers are gentlemen. Are they not, mother?"

"A great many, my dear."

"But about the heel, mother?" said Hetty, impatiently. "I am sure it is long enough now. See how it stretches!"

"My dear, it is hardly long enough for you," replied her mother, shaking her head. "I am sorry, but it must come out. If you will do it, I will take up the stitches for you, and you will soon make it up. Take care! You are pulling out more than is necessary," she added. "You need only go to where you began to narrow."

But Henrietta had already got nearly to the top of the heel. Her impatient jerks first entangled the yarn, and then broke it, and thus more time was wasted. At last, however, it was fairly in progress once more.

"When do you think my socks will be done?" asked Cecy, laying down her work to stretch her cramped little fingers. "Only think, mother! I have done three rounds without stopping!"

"Very soon, I hope, if they progress as nicely as they have done already," replied her mother, examining the sock. "You have done these last rows very nicely, Cecy."

"I don't see why Cecy calls them hers," said Henrietta, who seemed possessed by the spirit of contradiction. "She hasn't knit more than a dozen rounds in all."

"True; but that is a great deal for one situated as she is. And, moreover, she has given up many hours of her favourite amusements, that I might employ my time upon these same socks: so that I think she has every right to call them hers."

"You never will knit a stitch on mine," said Henrietta.

"I thought it was part of the original compact that you were to knit them all yourself," replied her mother. "If I recollect rightly, you would not have any one touch them on any account."

"Then, if you don't knit on mine, I don't see why you should on Cecy's," persisted Henrietta. "I don't think it is quite fair."

"The cases are entirely different," said Mrs. Laurens, "as I am sure you must see if you look at them for a moment. As I understand, you agreed with all your companions not to accept assistance from any one, and, having done so, it would be very wrong to break your word, and would, besides, give you an advantage over the rest. But Cecilia has made no such agreement. It was very doubtful whether she would be able to knit at all. Her property in the work consisted, as I said, in giving up her favourite amusements that it might be done; and a considerable sacrifice it was for a little girl in her circumstances. It gave me a great deal of pleasure to see her capable of so much self-denial."

"A great self-denial, to be sure!" said Henrietta, scornfully. "To give up a few paper parrots and monkeys! It ought to be put in the paper:—'Wonderful patriotism of a young lady.'"

"You are in a strange humour to-night, my daughter," said Mrs. Laurens. "I advise you not to talk any more till you are in a better temper, and, meanwhile, to consider seriously what manner of spirit you are in."

But Henrietta did not choose to consider any such thing. She preferred to consider herself very ill used by the world in general and by her mother in particular. She worked on in sullen silence till bedtime, and then put away her knitting and went up-stairs without a word. She had always been used to reading a short lesson in the Bible before saying her prayers; but, as may be supposed, she now felt in no humour for any such occupation. She picked up one of the magazines she had brought down, and read till after ten o'clock; and then, as she thought, hearing her mother coming up-stairs, she hastily put out her light and crept to bed in the dark.

This said pile of magazines proved a sad snare to Henrietta. Not that there was any harm in the papers themselves. On the contrary, they were full of entertaining and instructive matter, and might have afforded her a great deal of harmless pleasure. But the bringing them down in the first place was an act of direct disobedience, since she had been ordered not to leave her room, and she was constantly taking them up when she knew that she ought to be doing something else. Then she would read and read all the time with an under-current of uneasiness of conscience, and leave off at the last moment dissatisfied with herself and ready to quarrel with every one else. It may be imagined that the knitting suffered in consequence of these stolen moments and half-hours of reading.

At the end of the week, the second stocking was not more than three inches long, and Henrietta saw that she must give up the idea of having it ready to send with the rest unless she gave up to it the whole of Saturday.

This was not very pleasant; but any thing was better than having to meet again the laugh of her companions. Henrietta went up-stairs after breakfast, fully determined to sit down at once to her knitting, and not leave it till dinner-time. She persevered very steadily for an hour, making famous progress, when, happening to glance out of the window, she saw Peter coming in with a large basket in his hand, carefully covered and tied down.

"What in the world has Peter got now?" she exclaimed. "Look, mother: he is carrying a great basket, all tied up, as if there were something alive in it. What can it be?"

"Whatever it is, you will soon know; for he is coming up-stairs," said her mother.

And at that moment Peter entered the room. He set the basket down and opened it,—when out stepped a magnificent, bushy-tailed, long-haired Japanese cat, with as much dignity as a gentleman alighting from his own carriage.

"Oh, the splendid eat!" exclaimed Hetty, dropping her work and jumping up. "Where did you get it, Peter? Whose is it?"

"It is Cecy's," replied Peter. "It was sent her by that soldier to whom she gave her little red book. I met him coming to the house, and he begged me to take charge of it, as he was in a great hurry. He told me that his brother, who is mate of a ship, brought him two of these kittens, and that he should be very much pleased if Miss Cecy would accept of this one."

Cecy's delight was too unbounded for words. She loved all sorts of living creatures, and would have liked to make pets of the very flies on the wall. Her last pussy met with a tragical end by the fall of a slate from the roof, and its place had not hitherto been supplied by any new favourite. And now, to think of having such a rare and superb animal, brought all the way from Japan, and given her "by her soldier," as she always called him,—the pleasure was almost painful.

The illustrious stranger conducted himself with great dignity and discretion. Probably his sea-faring life had overcome the usual feline prejudices as to change of place, for he showed no uneasiness at his new situation, but walked around the parlour, examining the different articles of furniture with the eye of a connoisseur, and, the survey completed, accepted the refreshment of a saucer of milk, smoothed his fur and whiskers, and prepared to make himself agreeable. Like all sailors' pets, he was very accomplished, would stand on his hind legs an incredible length of time, and, as he grew better acquainted, performed such antics that the little girls were quite exhausted with laughing at him. Various names were suggested for him; but none seemed to suit exactly, till Peter proposed to call him Corporal.

"Your soldier is a corporal, now, Miss Cecy, and it wouldn't be more than polite to call the gift after the giver."

"Very true," said Mrs. Laurens; "and these dark marks on his face and paws may very well represent the stripes on the corporal's arm."

Though all these matters were readily adjusted, the present proved rather unfortunate for the progress of Hetty's work. Perhaps it was not to be expected that she should resist the pleasure of playing with the Corporal. At any rate, she found it impossible to do so; and thus it came to pass that at bedtime the new stocking was but little advanced, after all.

"It is all the fault of that hateful cat!" said Hetty to herself, by way of excuse. "I wish I had never seen him! I mean to sit up a couple of hours and knit."

But sitting up to knit was found to be rather sleepy work; and, after she had nearly put her eyes out with the needles once or twice, she concluded to abandon the effort and go to bed.

The next day was Sunday, and, of course, there was nothing to be done on that day.

"Oh, dear!" said Henrietta. "How I wish I never had touched it! If I had only worked harder at first; but then I did work till my finger got sore, and after that, I could not bear the sight of it. If ever any one catches me in such a piece of work again—"

Sunday morning was stormy, and as Hetty had a slight cold, her mother did not think it best for her to go out. But the weather cleared up about noon, and Mrs. Laurens thought it would do her no harm to attend afternoon service. She herself always remained at home with Cecy at that time.

It was a lovely afternoon. Henrietta had been reading quietly all the morning; and, as she walked soberly along, she felt in better tune than she had done for some days. Presently she was overtaken by Minny.

"Why are you going to church alone, Hetty? So am I. How lucky! We can sit together in one pew, and have it all to ourselves."

Henrietta demurred a little. "Mother always tells me not to sit in any pew but our own."

"Oh, well, of course she couldn't mean ours. She wouldn't want you to sit with strangers; but with us you know that's very different. Besides, she won't know it. So, what harm will it do?"

Such an argument ought to have been enough for Hetty; but she was very much changed from the open-hearted girl of six months before. She had learned to think that there was something rather grand in having a "secret." She suffered herself to be overruled: and the two girls seated themselves in Mrs. Granger's pew.

Henrietta had been taught, upon entering a place of public worship, to offer a silent prayer for a blessing on the services. And, as a matter of course, she did so on the present occasion.

But as she put her head down, Minny bent hers, also, and whispered,—

"What saints we are! Almost as good as Saint Elsie herself!"

"Minny, for shame!" said Henrietta. But the words had their effect, and she rose without any prayer.

They were quite early, and Minny amused herself with making remarks upon the people who entered:—

"Look at Mrs. Langford's bonnet,—clear off her head! It must have been made before the flood. Rich as they are, I should think she might afford a new one. Oh, do see the bride! In a 'red' shawl, of all things!—But I suppose Mrs. Becket must show that she had real cashmere if she died for it. To be sure, she is as old as the hills. Mother says she might be a grandmother instead of a step-mother. Don't you pity Lizzy Becket? See how 'proper' she looks, as though she hardly dared to breathe, for fear her mother should hear her."

"Does Lizzy call her 'mother'?" asked Hetty. "I am sure I wouldn't."

"Nor I. And Lizzy said, before her father was married, that she would die before she would call Miss Palmer 'mother;' but her spirit is quite broken already. I said something about Mrs. Becket the ether day, and she took me up as sharply as could be, and said she did not choose to hear her dear father's wife spoken of in that way."

"Hush, Minny; don't talk so loud," whispered Hetty. "She will certainly hear you."

"Who cares?" said Minny, lowering her voice a little, however. "She isn't my step-mother, thank goodness!"

"Who sits in the pew before this?" asked Henrietta. "How nicely it is fitted up!"

"Madam Wentworth has taken it," answered Minny. "She has just come home from the country, somewhere. Her house was opened yesterday for the first time this season, and I saw the carriage at the door last night,—a beautiful little coupée, with gray horses."

"Last night?—Why, it rained pitchforks!" said Hetty.

"Yes, I know, and we thought it odd. But I believe she had some one spending the day with her,—a young lady, I should think, by the glimpse I had of her in the carriage. It seems singular that she should have company the very first day. I should think she would have wanted to put her house in order and get settled: shouldn't you?"

"I dare say it was all in order before she came," said Henrietta, feeling all the time that she was doing very wrong to indulge in such gossip in church, but afraid to incur Minny's ridicule by saying so. "You know she has a housekeeper who has been with her for years."

"And no end of servants, besides. I know she has two men-servants, and, I believe, a boy; and she has a French maid—"

"Oh, Minny," said Henrietta, laughing, "her maid is old Philly, who has lived with her years and years. She is a yellow-mulatto, and as wrinkled as a monkey. She is a good old soul, too, and has made many a bonnet for my doll."

"Dear me!" said Minny. "I heard she had a Frenchwoman, direct from Paris, who could not speak a word of English. Then you knew her, Hetty? Does your mother visit her?"

"Yes, indeed: they are connected by marriage, some way,—I don't exactly know how," replied Henrietta, with an air of superiority. "We go there a great deal."

"I wish we did! I wonder whether she will call on mother? You know we moved into the neighbourhood while she was away. I would give any thing to be acquainted with her. Mother says the Wentworths are among the nobility."

"I didn't know we had any nobility," said Henrietta; "but I don't believe she will call. She hardly ever goes to see strangers nowadays."

"But we are not strangers in town, only in that neighbourhood," said Minny, anxiously. "Can't you take me there some time, Hetty? I would give any thing to go."

"I will see about it," said Henrietta, rather consequentially, feeling her dignity considerably increased by knowing a more distinguished person than Minny. "But, Minny, do stop talking. Mr. Warren is looking straight at us."

"Who cares if he is?" said Minny, boldly. "I am not afraid of him, I hope." She continued to whisper, till Henrietta, really alarmed, withdrew to the other end of the seat.

"The Lord is in his holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before him."

Henrietta had often listened to these words with pleasure, thinking how appropriate they were to the beginning of public worship, but now they seemed to sound like a reproach. Her mind was out of tune, and she felt as though she would rather be anywhere else than within hearing of those solemn words.

As the congregation kneeled in worship, she was conscious that some one entered the pew before her, but she did not look up till Minny whispered in her ear,—

"Henrietta, here is Madam Wentworth, and some one with her."

"What of it?" retorted Henrietta. "Do be quiet, can't you?"

"I do believe it is Elsie!" said Minny, in a tone of the utmost amazement that a whisper could express. "I wish I could see her face. It is Elsie, as sure as you are alive! Well, if that isn't beyond any thing!"

"Hush, I tell you! She will hear you," said Henrietta, in real terror.

"Don't be such a goose! You are very good all at once, seems to me!"

Henrietta would have given any thing to be safely in her mother's pew. She refused to answer Minny, who whispered with a scarcely suppressed giggle,—

"Do look, Hetty! Here's Mrs. Noah herself come to church!"

Hetty looked up, and had much ado not to laugh aloud. A little woman stood in the aisle, dressed in black, but in a very odd fashion. She wore a black straw bonnet of the smallest dimensions, such as were fashionable several years ago. It had no cape to speak of, and, as if in an effort to make all the atonement possible for its limited size, the poor lady had drawn it down over her eyes till it covered no more of the back of her head than a soldier's cap would have done. Her short hair, tinged with gray, was arranged in prim little curls all round; and she wore a very long, bright-green veil. The rest of her dress was in the same style, and in her hand she carried a large book and a handkerchief about the size and thickness of a dinner-napkin. She stood quite still, looking about her, and seemed waiting for some one to give her a seat. The sexton, however, was not to be seen, and no one else made a move to do so.

"I wonder some one doesn't ask her to sit down," said Minny. "She must be a distinguished stranger, I am sure,—perhaps some foreign princess in disguise."

Just at that moment, Mrs. Wentworth caught sight of the unconscious cause of all these remarks. She whispered something in a very low tone to Elsie, who immediately opened the pew-door and beckoned the stranger to a seat.

The poor woman accepted it very simply, and with a devout propriety which might have put to shame the two silly girls behind her.

Between Minny's whispers and her own disordered thoughts, Hetty hardly heard a word of the sermon. She had been taught to behave properly in church, and that nothing could be more unladylike (to say nothing worse) than irreverent behaviour in the house of God; and she could not help thinking what her mother would have said if she had seen her this afternoon. To add to her discomfort, she thought she caught a glimpse of Peter in the gallery,—though she could not be sure.

"It would be just like him to tell," she said to herself; "and then what would become of me?"

Minny's astonishment was quite irrepressible, and, almost before they were out of church, she attacked Henrietta on the subject.

"Well, if ever I expected to see Elsie Probert coming to church with Madam Wentworth, of all people in the world! I wonder if she is going to live there?—If Madam Wentworth has taken her for a companion or something? It would be a great thing for her, wouldn't it?" she continued. "Though I suppose she would be only a kind of servant,—not an equal, at all."

"What are you talking about?" asked Henrietta, who had not attended to the words of her companion, being intent upon seeing if Peter was among the people. She could see no one at all like him, however; and her mind being thus relieved, she had leisure to attend to Minny.

"How stupid you are!" said Minny, with her usual politeness. "I say, how odd that Elsie Probert should be in church with Madam Wentworth!"

"Not at all," replied Henrietta. "Elsie goes there a great deal. Madam Wentworth is her great-aunt."

"Why, Hetty Laurens, what 'do' you mean?" exclaimed Minny, incredulously. "I should like to know how that can be. I don't believe it."

"It is true, whether you believe it or not,"' said Hetty, not very well pleased by the tone and manner. "Mr. Probert is Madam Wentworth's own nephew; and he married Judge Wentworth's cousin. So, you see, they are connected both ways."

"Well, if ever!—If I had known that.—But are you sure?"

"I tell you I have known them all my life," said Hetty, angrily. "I have spent days and days there with Elsie, playing with our dolls. Madam Wentworth had a beautiful doll's house in her little dressing-room, all furnished for us, and she very often makes little parties for Elsie, and asks all the girls. Sometimes we have tableaux and charades, and she lends us all her beautiful things to dress our characters,—shawls and jewels and all. I wore all her diamonds once, when I was Mary Queen of Scots."

"Did you, really? How splendid!"

"Yes, indeed! They are worth thirty or forty thousand dollars," said Henrietta, yielding to the temptation of making a good story, and exaggerating considerably.

"But does she stay in the room all the time?" asked Minny. "I shouldn't like that. When I have a party, I always make mother stay up-stairs. I don't think there's any fun in playing with grown-up people in the room."

"Oh, she isn't a bit of a spoil-sport,—not like Miss Armitage," said Henrietta. "But never mind that now. I want to talk about something else. Do you know I haven't touched my composition yet? I was so busy all day yesterday knitting, and playing with Cecy's new cat, that I never once thought of it till this afternoon in church it popped into my head. What shall I do?"

"Do without," said Minny, "or use some old one."

"But I haven't any,—because I never went to any school but this; and it is so near the end of the term that I can't afford to lose any credits."

"Can't you write it to-night?"

"No: mother won't let me. She never will let me do any school-lessons on Sunday."

"What a bother!" exclaimed Minny. "I don't see but you will have to 'hook' something."

"What do you mean?" asked Henrietta.

"Take something out of a book, you little goose. Haven't you some old annual or magazine, or something? You needn't look so shocked," she continued, laughing. "Lots of girls do it, and no one is any the wiser."

"But it is so mean!" objected Henrietta.

"Why is it any meaner than writing down the names and dates in history and geography?" asked Minny. "You know you did that yourself last week, and so did Louise Sutherland. But you can take your own way, of course," she added,—rather offended at Henrietta's look of horror. "I suppose you will run and tell Miss Armitage about it. That's all one gets by being good-natured and trying to help people."

"I shall do no such thing," replied Henrietta, almost crying. "And you have no business to say such things, Minny."

"Well, well, don't make a fuss! Of course, you can do as you please. I only mentioned it to help you. Good-by."

Henrietta had always been accustomed to give her mother some account of the sermon; but, as may be guessed, she was not very well prepared to do so on this occasion. She blundered sadly in repeating the text, and could not even tell where it was to be found. She excused herself by saying that the church was so warm and close that it made her sleepy and gave her the headache.

"Was there a fire?" asked her mother, in surprise.

"Yes,—mother; at least, I suppose so; for it was very hot."

Now, Hetty had no idea whether there was a fire or not, or even whether the church was warm or cold; but she seized upon the first excuse that presented itself.

"And do you know, mother, Madam Wentworth has come home, and she invited such a queer-looking woman into her pew! Minny said she looked like—"

"Minny! Why did Minny sit with you? You know I have told you never to ask any of the school-girls into our pew unless I am there. Some of them are very giddy. Did you invite Minny to sit with you, or did she ask herself?"

"She didn't sit with me, mother. I saw her coming out of church."

"I didn't tell a lie," said Hetty to herself, as she went up-stairs. "For she didn't sit with me: I sat with her. And I certainly did see her coming out of church, as I said."

"You did tell a deliberate lie!" said conscience.

"Well, I don't care: mother needn't be so dreadfully particular. At any rate, it is not so bad as getting some one else to do my work, as Elsie did. I wonder what Madam Wentworth would say to that if she knew it?—She thinks Elsie so specially good. Oh, dear! What shall I do about that hateful composition? I wish I dared take Minny's way! I wonder if it would do any harm just for once?"