Chapter I

"WELL, Miss Kitty, so you are really going into the country, to stay with your aunt Sarah all summer? I expect you will get yourself tanned as brown as a butternut, and as freckled as a toad, running about the fields and woods without your bonnet, and very likely getting yourself poisoned with ivy or something. I suppose your mother knows best; but it does seem to me that it would have been much more sensible to send you to some good school, where you could be taken care of, than out into the country to run wild all day long. Do stand still a minute, can't you?"

All this, and more, was rapidly said by a tall, thin, prim-looking person,—about fifty, as nearly as could be guessed. She was fitting a white tunic upon a little girl about thirteen years old, and talking to her at the same time.

"I do stand still, Huldah," replied Kitty, rather pettishly,—"only you pull me about so. I do believe your own arms are made of cast iron, or you would have some feeling for other people's. As for going into the country, I am sure it will be a great deal pleasanter than going to boarding-school through all the pleasant weather. There are other things to be learned in the world besides lessons out of books."

Kitty made this last remark with quite an air, as if she thought she had said something which few could say as well, and wished to have the credit of it. It was not original with her, however, but was part of a conversation she had overheard between her father and mother the night before.

Huldah laughed good-naturedly.

"Well done, little Miss Consequence. But suppose you should find yourself going to school, after all?"

"What nonsense, Huldah! As if I should go to school out there! I don't believe there is any school, in the first place."

"I dare say there are plenty of them. There are district-schools all over the country."

"As if I should go to a district-school!" said Kitty, in a tone of the profoundest contempt. "I think I see myself going to one! I wonder what you think I should study?"

"Humph!" exclaimed Huldah, dryly. "I have known younger girls than you at a district-school,—better scholars than you are, too. I have known girls twelve years old who had been through the English grammar, and that is more than you can say,—with all your boasting."

Kitty looked a good deal displeased. "I don't believe I shall go to school, for all that," said she, after a moment's consideration. "I mean to ask mother about it." And being released from the penance (for so she considered it) of standing still, she was running off, when Huldah called her back:—

"I thought you were going to hem these frills for me. Didn't you promise to do so if I would mend your stockings for you?"

"Well," said Kitty, "I will. Give them to me, and I will do them now."

Huldah was proceeding to give her some instructions, but Kitty interrupted her:—"Dear me! I know how to hem, I hope. Let me have them,—do!"

And snatching the cloth, she was soon busily at work, trying to make her fingers fly as fast as Huldah's much more experienced ones.

Kitty Maynard was the only daughter of a merchant in one of the smaller cities of New York. Her mother was a very lovely and excellent woman, but she had no very great force of character, and she had been an invalid almost ever since Kitty was born. For the last four or five years especially, she had been so ill as to be confined to her bed most of the time; so that she had been obliged to leave her little girl very much to the care of others. Mr. Maynard was deeply engaged in his business, and spent almost all his time (when not in his counting-room) by the side of his wife's sick-bed, where Kitty could not always be allowed to come; so that, though he was very fond of his daughter, he knew in reality very little about her.

As Mrs. Maynard's increasing illness kept him more and more at home, however, he could not help seeing that Kitty had some pretty serious faults, and that she greatly needed a firm hand and watchful eye over her. And this led him to propose (when it was decided that the family must be broken up for the summer) that Kitty should be sent to his sister in the country, in whose judgment and kindness he had great confidence.

Kitty was delighted with the idea of a whole summer in the country. She had several times spent a few days at her aunt Sarah's, and she thought nothing could be more charming. She felt a little disappointed, at first, when she found that Huldah was not going with her. But she soon reconciled herself to the idea, and even thought she should enjoy having the care of her own clothes for a little while.

Huldah had lived with Mrs. Maynard ever since Kitty was born. She had taken care of her from her infancy, and often said she could not love her more if she were her own child. She was a most excellent person in her way,—honest, conscientious and kind-hearted,—and no doubt she intended to do exactly her duty by Kitty. But it was naturally difficult for her to exercise much authority over the child, and perhaps she made this an excuse for not trying to use any.

Even Huldah, however, had come to see that Kitty was growing a great girl, and needed some more decided rule than her own, to make her do what she ought and refrain from doing what she ought not to do. She hoped Kitty might be sent to boarding-school; and she did not entirely approve of her being delivered over to Mrs. Evelyn, of whom she felt, perhaps, some little jealousy. She had ventured to express her opinion pretty plainly. But Mr. Maynard was a very decided man when he once made up his mind, and there was nothing to be done but to make the best of it.

Kitty sewed busily for some time, talking all the while, and asking Huldah many questions of her own life in the country, of which she was never weary of hearing. Huldah, on her part, liked to recall her early days, when the country was new. And she was just finishing her favourite story of the bear in the corn, when she interrupted herself with,—

"But let me look at your work, Kitty."

"No, no! I am doing it right. Go on. 'And so—'"

"And so I set down my pails, and ran up to the house as hard as I could go, thinking that the bear was after me. It was quite a ways from the house to the barn. And when I got there, I was so out of breath and all, that I dropped right down on the floor and fainted away. But I won't tell you another word till you let me see your work."

Kitty brought it, rather unwillingly.

"But you have not done it as I told you. See how you have puckered it up! That won't do at all. And, besides, you have soiled it so that it will have to be washed. Why didn't you wash your hands first, as I told you?"

"My hands were not dirty," replied Kitty, very much vexed; "and I am sure I did the hem as well as I knew how."

"You did not do it as I told you," returned Huldah. "I said you should pin it down as you went along and match every stripe."

"I cannot sew with my work pinned down," said Kitty. "And I should think you needn't scold so, when I was trying my best to help you. I cannot do any more than I can."

"You might do as you were told," replied Huldah, "and then you would not make mistakes. But that is always the trouble with you: you know so much that nobody can ever tell you any thing."

"Very well, Huldah," said Kitty, walking to the door with great dignity; "I shall not try to help you again in a hurry: you may depend upon that. That is all the thanks I ever get for doing any thing for you."

"I think you might at least pick out what you have done wrong," said Huldah. "It will take me three times as long to rip it and do it over as it would have done to hem it myself."

"If I should pick it out, you would be sure to say I had done it wrong in some way. I am going up to mother."

So saying, she closed the door and went up-stairs to her mother's room, feeling very much abused indeed,—as she always did when any one found fault with her.

"Mother," said she, as she entered, "'must' I go to school in the country?"

"That will be just as Aunt Sarah thinks best, my dear," replied her mother, who was sitting up in bed. "I shall leave you entirely to her management. And I hope you will be a very good girl and do all she tells you, so that I may hear good accounts of you."

"How long shall I stay there, mother?"

"I do not know, my dear. It will depend on circumstances. You will stay till I come home, at any rate,—if I ever do. And if I should be taken away from you, you will have to look to Aunt Sarah to supply my place."

"What makes you say that, mother? I wish you would not talk so. You are not worse, are you?"

"I am not so well this year as I was last, Kitty. Don't you remember how I used sometimes to walk down-stairs and into the garden last spring? I cannot do that now."

"But you will get better, mother; I am sure you will. Dr. Moore said he should not wonder if you were to come home from this journey quite well and strong. Oh, please don't talk so!" And Kitty burst into tears.

"Hush, Kitty! You must not cry," said Mrs. Maynard,—her own voice trembling. "I want to say some things to you very much; and if you are not quiet, I shall have to send you away."

Kitty bit her lip and tried to suppress her sobs, and Mrs. Maynard continued:—

"You will find many things at Aunt Sarah's very different from what you have been used to at home. You know she keeps only one servant, and you will have to do many things for yourself,—such as putting and keeping your own room in order, and taking care of your own clothes. And I hope, too, you will try to help Aunt Sarah all you can. You have many things to learn, which she will be better able to teach you than I have been. And I hope, Kitty, you will show a teachable spirit, without which it is impossible to learn any thing. You are quite apt to say, 'Oh, I know!' when any one tries to instruct you; and so you make a great many blunders that you need not."

Kitty thought of the frills, and she made an effort to turn the conversation:—

"But about my going to school, mother. Do you think there will be any use in it?"

"Why not there as well as here?"

"But what should I study there? I suppose they don't teach any thing but geography and arithmetic and such things."

"And those are the very branches that you need to attend to, my daughter. You are behindhand in both of them,—to say nothing of grammar. You have read a good deal for a girl of your age, it is true," she continued, "and some books, I fear, which you would have done better to let alone. But you must not think you are forward in your education upon that account, or that you are naturally studious because you like to read. When I was at your age, I could do almost any sum in the rule-of-three, and parse any English sentence."

Kitty looked very discontented. "Mother thinks I don't know any thing," was her reflection. "I don't see why she should."

"But, mother," she continued, "Josephine Powers says that the children at district-schools read through their noses, and say 'hain't' and 'ain't,' and wear calico sunbonnets dropped down over their faces, and carry their dinners to school in little tin pails—"

"That will do, Kitty," interrupted Mrs. Maynard. "If Josephine found children in a district-school, or in any school whatever, using more awkward and unladylike expressions than she does herself, she has been unfortunate indeed. As to their carrying their dinners in tin pails, or wearing calico sunbonnets, I do not see any great harm in that. There will be nothing to hinder your taking yours in a basket, and wearing a straw hat, just as you do at home. I am sorry to see you taking up such foolish prejudices. Your father, Kitty, never went to any but a district-school, nor did I, except that I was two years at a country academy, which, I presume, Miss Josephine would consider equally ungenteel. Pray, put all, such ideas out of your head at once. And if your aunt thinks it best for you to attend school, make up your mind to derive all the advantage you can from it. But I cannot talk to you any more just now. I hope—I have some hope—that I may come back from this journey so much better as to be able to take more care of you than I have ever done. And if I should never return, Kitty, you must strive to be a comfort to your father and supply my place to him. Do you say your prayers every day, Kitty?"

"Yes, mother,—almost every day,—when I don't forget."

"But you must not forget, my dear. What would become of you if your heavenly Father should forget you even for one moment?"

"Sometimes I am in such a hurry, mother, for fear I shall be late at breakfast," Kitty began,—ever ready to justify herself, and forgetting that it was her own fault if she was ever hurried. She was always called in time, but she was sadly apt to turn over and take another nap when Huldah went out of the room.

"You must not be hurried," said Mrs. Maynard, leaning back as if she were very tired. "I cannot say any more now: only remember, Kitty, if I should not be able to talk to you again,—remember that you never omit your prayers, night or morning, whatever your hurry may be."

Kitty went slowly away, feeling very serious indeed. Her mother had been sick so long that she began to think it a matter of course to see her pale and suffering and the household affairs going on without her. But to-day she seemed for the first time to realize that a great change might be hanging over her,—that she might soon be left without any mother!

She went up-stairs to her own quiet room, and shutting the door, she kneeled down by the bedside and said the prayers she had forgotten in the morning. Then she went down to look for Huldah, whom she found sewing busily.

"Can I help you, Huldah?" she asked.

"No, thank you, Miss Kitty," returned Huldah, rather dryly: "your help costs rather more than it comes to. I have been more than half an hour picking out your hem and doing it over. People's assistance is not worth much when they are so wise that they cannot be told any thing."

"Very well, Huldah," replied Kitty, proudly. "I shall never trouble you by helping you again, you may depend." And she walked very haughtily out of the room, thinking to herself, "That's all the use it ever is for me to try to do any thing. Mother says I ought to be obliging, but I don't see how I can be when people won't be obliged."

A few days more completed the preparations for Kitty's departure. And one pleasant evening in the beginning of June, she found herself in the pretty little room which Aunt Sarah had always been accustomed to call hers when she visited the farm.

Mrs. Evelyn was a widow, and lived about a mile from the little village of Barton upon a beautiful farm which she managed all herself,—for her two sons were married, and lived at the West upon farms of their own. Her only surviving daughter was also married, and lived in a large town some twenty miles off. She had quite a family of little ones, some of whom were almost always at their grandmother's. Mrs. Evelyn was still a very pretty woman. Her hair was gray, and there were some wrinkles about her forehead, but her still fresh complexion, her fine teeth, her beautiful soft eyes, and, above all, the lovely expression of her face, made every one look at her with pleasure. She had seen a good deal of trouble in one way and another, besides the loss of her husband and two of their children, but nothing had ever been able to depress permanently her cheerful spirits or make her forgetful of her duties to others.

Except her mother, Kitty loved her aunt Sarah better than any one else in the world, while at the same time, she stood a little in awe of her. In the few days at a time which she had more than once spent at the farm, she had discovered that her aunt was not a person to be trifled with. She could not be set at open defiance, like Huldah, nor could her authority be evaded, as her father's sometimes was. If she gave a command, that command was to be executed, sooner or later. And it was decidedly the most comfortable policy to obey at once. For Kitty had discovered that, though Aunt Sarah was extremely indulgent, she could upon occasion be very stern.

But Kitty liked to be with persons whom she could heartily respect; and she did respect her aunt Sarah. It was therefore with no particular misgiving that she found herself left under her charge for a whole summer. Her room was a very pleasant one, though rather small and plainly furnished. Her window had nice green blinds and white curtains, and commanded a beautiful prospect of fields and woods. A plain dark set of bookshelves, hung against the wall, served very nicely to hold the dozen or two of volumes selected by Kitty from her large juvenile library, and a little writing-table accommodated her pretty new workbox and writing-desk,—both parting presents from her mother. There was a convenient closet for her dresses, and drawers for her other clothes, and upon the bureau stood a curious little old-fashioned China bowl filled with flowers.

"There!" said Kitty to herself, as she put the last book into its place. "That looks something like." She turned as she spoke, and saw Mrs. Evelyn standing at the door. "Don't you think my room looks pretty, Aunt Sarah?" she asked.

"Very pretty," replied Mrs. Evelyn. "You seem to have every thing in nice order. I hope you may keep it so."

"Oh, yes!" said Kitty, confidently: "I mean to put things to rights every morning and never leave any thing out of its place."

"Have you been used to take care of your own things, Kitty?"

"Yes, aunt,—that is, almost always. Huldah put my room in order sometimes, and she always made the bed. She said I was not strong enough."

"You are a pretty stout girl for one of your age, too," remarked her aunt. "I should think you might be able to make up a single bed."

"I know I could, but Huldah never thinks I can do any thing. She is the greatest old fuss-maker that ever lived."

"That is not a very proper way to speak of her," said Mrs. Evelyn, gravely. "Huldah has shown you more kindness than you can ever repay. And I do not know what your mother would have done without her."

"Well, I know she is good, aunt, but she does make such a fuss about every thing; and no one wants to be made a baby of forever. She acts as if I were no more than five years old."

"You shall not be made a baby of, in that respect, any longer, my dear. I shall expect you to take all the care of your own room, and you will have an opportunity of showing how skilful you are in such matters."

"And may I fix it just as I want to, aunt?"

"I do not know about that, but I will promise not to interfere with your arrangements unless I see some very good reason to do so. Now, if you have finished, you may wash your hands and come down to tea."

Kitty slept soundly all night in her little white bed, and did not wake until her aunt came to call her in the morning.

"You will have just about time to dress comfortably before breakfast," said she, as Kitty sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Another morning I shall call you earlier, but I thought you must be tired with your journey. And next week we will try to begin our regular duties: but you will want a little time to become accustomed to your new home."

The day was spent very pleasantly in renewing her acquaintance with the farm, the barns and orchards, in helping her aunt about various little matters, and in writing to her mother,—which was to be a regular Saturday's duty. The next day was Sunday; and they went to church in the carriage, arriving earlier than most of the people that lived in the village.

Kitty, as it happened, had never been to church in Barton before; and she saw so many things which were new to her that she had very little attention to spare for the service. There was no organ in the choir, and the little melodeon which did duty in its place was only used to accompany the psalms and hymns. The singing was not at all like what Kitty had been accustomed to, and she thought it very strange that all the congregation should join in it. The clergyman did not read like their own minister, and his sermon was much shorter; and Kitty thought it remarkable that he should be so sunburnt,—"sunburnt as a farmer," as she said.

In Sunday-school she found still greater matter for comment. A great many of the children were very oddly dressed, though she could not but own that,—take them together,—they looked very neat and comfortable. Two or three of the girls in her aunt's class wore calico dresses and very thick shoes, and one of them had a necklace of large glass beads. She could not but allow that their lessons had been well learned; and it was with some feeling of mortification that she heard questions, which she could not answer, readily replied to by one of the youngest and plainest-looking girls in the class.

As soon as they were seated in the carriage, her tongue was unloosed. "What a funny-looking bonnet that lady wore who spoke to you coming out of the church, aunt! I should think she must have had it ever since she was married; and her dress had a long point, like a bird's bill. I am sure she must be the mother of that girl in your class with the blue glass beads and green calico frock."

"The one who answered the question that you missed, I suppose you mean?" said her aunt, dryly.

"I had not studied it," returned Kitty, rather annoyed. "If I had, I should have answered the questions, of course. I think you must have queer milliners here, aunt," she continued, after a little pause: "I saw one woman with something upon her bonnet like a little asparagus-bed; and another had a blue bonnet lined with pink, and green flowers inside. I never saw so many queer-looking figures together."

"You seem to have made an active use of your eyes," said Aunt Sarah: "whether it was a very good way of employing them in service-time, I should very much doubt."

"I cannot help seeing what is before my eyes," said Kitty, rather pertly.

"Were all these things before your eyes, Kitty?" asked Mrs. Evelyn. "I did not see any of them; and I rather think if your eyes had been where they should have been, and your attention given to proper objects, you would not have seen them either. Don't you know how to find the places?"

"Of course I do," replied Kitty, a good deal offended at the question: "I have known that ever since I was six years old,"—the date to which Kitty referred all her knowledge and experience.

"I did not observe that you looked for them, however," replied her aunt. "Perhaps, if you give your attention to them this afternoon, you will be less disturbed by the bonnets of the congregation."

Kitty pouted all the rest of the way home. But her aunt seemed to trouble herself very little about it, and she forgot her ill-humour herself as soon as she saw that it was not noticed.

The evening service commenced at five o'clock, and Aunt Sarah advised her to spend part of the interval upon her Sunday-school lesson. Kitty was quite willing to do so, for she had been considerably mortified at missing several questions which the rest of the class seemed to consider very easy, and she meant to show herself on the next Sunday in such a way as should make the girls forget her first failure, in admiration of her acquirements.

She was much more attentive at evening service than she had been in the morning. And her aunt perceived that she at least understood the service, whether she appreciated it or not.

The evening was spent in reading to her aunt, and in hearing from her stories of her younger days, when the country was new and the nearest place of worship was eight miles off.

The next morning Kitty was up almost with the sun, and had put her room in nice order before her aunt came to call her,—for which she received due praise. After breakfast, she dusted the parlours and arranged bouquets of flowers in the vases. And then her aunt found various little matters to do about house, which kept her till dinner-time. The school which she was to attend did not begin till the next Monday, and the week passed off without any adventure worth relating at length.

"I wonder if any eggs have been brought in to-day," said her aunt, on Thursday morning.

"Shall I go out to the barn and see it there are any?" asked Kitty,—ever ready to offer her services.

"You may, if you please," replied her aunt; "only ask Harvey to show you where the nests are, so that you need not make any mistake. And don't disturb the hens that are sitting."

"I won't," said Kitty, tying on her bonnet and running out to the barn.

"I don't see what is the use of my asking Harvey," she said to herself. "I cannot bear him. He laughed at my big straw hat, and said that my dress looked like a balloon. I know where the nests are as well as he does."

So saying, she set diligently about her errand, and very soon returned with her basket quite full of eggs. Her aunt had been called into the parlour to see some company. So she put her eggs all together into the vessel where they were usually kept, and set herself about something else. The ladies stayed so long that Mrs. Evelyn had no time left for her cooking, and concluded to put it off till afternoon.

"What a fine parcel of eggs you have found, Kitty!" she said, as she collected together the materials for her cake. "I hope they are all fresh ones."

"Oh, yes; I know they are," returned Kitty, confidently; "some of them were quite warm. I think it is good fun to hunt eggs," she continued; "they look so pretty and white lying in the nest."

"I used to think so at your age," replied Mrs. Evelyn, "but I have grown rather too stout to be climbing into hay-lofts or creeping into corn-bins, or else I dare say I should enjoy it as well as ever. But, Kitty, these eggs are not fresh: they have been set on some time," she continued, as she broke two or three, one after the other. "Where did you get them?"

"In the barn," replied Kitty,—beginning to feel rather confused.

"Did you ask Harvey to show you where to look, as I told you?"

Before she had time to reply, Harvey himself entered. He was a big, good-natured "hired boy," about eighteen or nineteen, very much disposed to be good friends with the little city miss. But she had taken offence at him because he had laughed at her big straw hat, and would not speak to him if she could help it.

"Somebody has broken up my speckled hen's nest," said he, as he entered. "Her eggs are all gone, and she is making the greatest fuss in the world. Who could have done it?"

"Where did you get the eggs you brought in this morning, Kitty?" asked her aunt,—at once seeing through the whole mystery.

Kitty coloured deeply. "I got them under the manger," she replied, trying to speak quite indifferently.

"All in one nest?" asked Harvey.

Kitty did not reply.

"So much for not doing as you were told!" said Mrs. Evelyn, in a tone of displeasure. "If you had asked Harvey, as I bade you, you would not have made such a mistake. Now you have spoiled all Harvey's nice Dorking eggs, which he took so much pains to bring all the way from the city that he might have some nice fowls to give to his mother,—and my cake besides; for I see that some of the egg has fallen into the sugar, so that I will have to throw it all away. People that cannot be told any thing are always doing mischief and making themselves ridiculous."

"It won't do to set Miss Kitty to hunting hens' nests,—that's clear," said Harvey, who was naturally annoyed at the loss of his chickens. "I should think any one would have known that so many eggs together could not all be fresh."

"They were all warm," said Kitty.

"So much the worse," replied Harvey. "Did you suppose twelve or fifteen hens were all going to lay at once in the same nest? But never mind, Kitty," he added, good-naturedly, as he saw that Kitty was just ready to cry: "you will know better next time. And I dare say I can get some more eggs somewhere. Come out to the barn with me, and I will show you the right place, and we will see if we cannot have some cake without any chickens in it! They are very nice roasted, you know; but they don't beat up well in the batter."

Kitty turned and went out of the kitchen, shutting the door after her with very unnecessary violence. She did not come down when the tea-bell was rung, and Mrs. Evelyn, going to look for her, found her crying violently. If Huldah had found her in such a state, she would have spared no pains in comforting and coaxing her, but Mrs. Evelyn thought differently.

"Come, Kitty," she said. "This is all nonsense. You should have obeyed, and then you would not have done the mischief. But there is no use in crying about it now. Wipe your eyes and come down to tea."

Aunt Sarah spoke as though she meant to be obeyed, and Kitty followed her, sullenly enough. She hardly spoke during the meal, and rejected with contempt all Harvey's good-natured attempts at a reconciliation. She seemed to consider herself the aggrieved party entirely. And though he tried in several ways to show that he wished to be good friends again, she treated him with great dignity, and never spoke to him if she could possibly avoid it.