Painted Windows
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Elia W. Peattie >> Painted Windows
What amazed me was that the car
should be full of people. I could not
imagine where they all could be going.
It was all very well for me, who be-
longed to a family of travellers -- as wit-
ness Aunt Cordelia -- to be going on a
journey, but for these others, these
many, many others, to be wandering
around, heaven knows where, struck me
as being not right. It seemed to take
somewhat from the glory of my adven-
ture.
However, I noticed that most of them
looked poor. Their clothes were old
and ugly; their faces not those of pleas-
ure-seekers. It was very difficult to
imagine that they could afford a jour-
ney, which was, as I believed, a great
luxury. At first, the people looked to
be all of a sort, but after a little I be-
gan to see the differences, and to no-
tice that this one looked happy, and
that one sad, and another as if he had
much to do and liked it, and several
others as if they had very little idea
where they were going or why.
But I liked better to look from the
windows and to see the world. The
houses seemed quite familiar and as if
I had seen them often before. I hardly
could believe that I hadn't walked up
those paths, opened those doors and
seated myself at the tables. I felt that
if I went in those houses I would know
where everything was -- just where the
dishes were kept, and the Bible, and the
jam. It struck me that houses were
very much alike in the world, and that
led to the thought that people, too, were
probably alike. So I forgot what the
conductor had said to me about keeping
still, and I crossed over the aisle and
sat down beside a little girl who was
regrettably young, but who looked
pleasant. Her mother and grand-
mother were sitting opposite, and they
smiled at me in a watery sort of way
as if they thought a smile was expected
of them. I meant to talk to the little
girl, but I saw she was almost on the
verge of tears, and it didn't take me
long to discover what was the matter.
Her little pink hat was held on by an
elastic band, which, being put behind
her ears and under her chin, was cut-
ting her cruelly. I knew by experience
that if the band were placed in front of
her ears the tension would be lessened;
so, with the most benevolent intentions
in the world, I inserted my fingers be-
tween the rubber and her chubby
cheeks, drew it out with nervous but
friendly fingers, somehow let go of it,
and snap across her two red cheeks and
her pretty pug nose went the lacerat-
ing elastic, leaving a welt behind it!
"What do you mean, you bad girl?"
cried the mother, taking me by the
shoulders with a sort of grip I had
never felt before. "I never saw such a
child -- never!"
An old woman with a face like a hen
leaned over the back of the seat.
"What's she done? What's she
done?" she demanded. The mother
told her, as the grandmother comforted
the hurt baby.
"Go back to your seat and stay
there!" commanded the mother. "See
you don't come near here again!"
My lips trembled with the anguish I
could hardly restrain. Never had a
noble soul been more misunderstood.
Stupid beings! How dare they! Yet,
not to be liked by them -- not to be un-
derstood! That was unendurable.
Would they listen to the gentle word
that turneth away wrath? I was in-
clined to think not. I was fairly pant-
ing under my load of dismay and de-
spondency, when a large man with an
extraordinarily clean appearance sat
down opposite me. He was a study in
grey -- grey suit, tie, socks, gloves, hat,
top-coat -- yes, and eyes! He leaned
forward ingratiatingly.
"What do you think Aunt Ellen sent
me last week?" he inquired.
We seemed to be old acquaintances,
and in my second of perplexity I de-
cided that it was mere forgetfulness
that made me unable to recall just
whom he was talking about. So I only
said politely: "I don't know, I'm sure,
sir."
"Why, yes, you do!" he laughed.
"Couldn't you guess? What should
Aunt Ellen send but some of that white
maple sugar of hers; better than ever,
too. I've a pound of it along with me,
and I'd be glad to pry off a few pieces
if you'd like to eat it. You always
were so fond of Aunt Ellen's maple
sugar, you know."
The tone carried conviction. Of
course I must have been fond of it;
indeed, upon reflection, I felt that I had
been. By the time the man was back
with a parallelogram of the maple
sugar in his hand, I was convinced that
he had spoken the truth.
"Aunt Ellen certainly is a dear," he
went on. "I run down to see her every
time I get a chance. Same old rain-
barrel! Same old beehives! Same old
well-sweep! Wouldn't trade them for
any others in the world. I like every-
thing about the place -- like the 'Old
Man' that grows by the gate; and the
tomato trellis -- nobody else treats to-
matoes like flowers; and the herb gar-
den, and the cupboard with the little
wood-carvings in it that Uncle Ben
made. You remember Uncle Ben?
Been a sailor -- broke both legs -- had
'em cut off -- and sat around and carved
while Aunt Ellen taught school. Happy
they were -- no one happier. Brought
me up, you know. Didn't have a father
or mother -- just gathered me in. Good
sort, those. Uncle Ben's gone, but
Aunt Ellen's a mother to me yet.
Thinks of me, travelling, travelling,
never putting my head down in the same
bed two nights running; and here and
there and everywhere she overtakes me
with little scraps out of home. That's
Aunt Ellen for you!"
As the delicious sugar melted on my
tongue, the sorrows melted in my soul,
and I was just about to make some in-
quiries about Aunt Ellen, whose per-
sonal qualities seemed to be growing
clearer and clearer in my mind, when
my conductor came striding down the
aisle.
"Where's my little girl?" he de-
manded heartily. "Ah, there she is,
just where I left her, in good company
and eating maple sugar, as I live."
"Well, she hain't bin there all the
time now, I ken tell ye that!" cried the
old woman with a face like a hen.
"Indeed, she ain't!" the other
women joined in. "She's a mischief-
makin' child, that's what she is!" said
the mother. The little girl was look-
ing over her grandmother's shoulder,
and she ran out a very red, serpent-
like tongue at me.
"She's a good girl, and almost as
fond of Aunt Ellen as I am," said the
large man, finding my pocket, and put-
ting a huge piece of maple sugar in it.
The conductor, meantime, was gath-
ering my things, and with a "Come
along, now! This is where you
change," he led me from the car. I
glanced back once, and the hen-faced
woman shook her withered brown fist
at me, and the large man waved and
smiled. The conductor and I ran as
hard as we could, he carrying my light
luggage, to a stage that seemed to be
waiting for us. He shouted some di-
rections to the driver, deposited me
within, and ran back to his train. And
I, alone again, looked about me.
We were in the heart of a little town,
and a number of men were standing
around while the horses took their fill
at the watering-trough. This accom-
plished, the driver checked up the
horses, mounted to his high seat, was
joined by a heavy young man; two gen-
tlemen entered the inside of the coach,
and we were off.
One of these gentlemen was very old.
His silver hair hung on his shoulders;
he had a beautiful flowing heard which
gleamed in the light, the kindest of
faces, lit with laughing blue eyes, and
he leaned forward on his heavy stick
and seemed to mind the plunging of
our vehicle. The other man was mid-
dle-aged, dark, silent-looking, and, I
decided, rather like a king. We all
rode in silence for a while, but by and
by the old man said kindly:
"Where are you going, my child?"
I told him.
"And whose daughter are you?" he
inquired. I told him that with pride.
"I know people all through the state,"
he said, "but I don't seem to remember
that name."
"Don't you remember my father,
sir?" I cried, anxiously, edging up
closer to him. "Not that great and
good man! Why, Abraham Lincoln
and my father are the greatest men
that ever lived!"
His head nodded strangely, as he
lifted it and looked at me with his
laughing eye.
"It's a pity I don't know him, that
being the case," he said gently. "But,
anyway, you're a lucky little girl."
"Yes," I sighed, "I am, indeed."
But my attention was taken by our
approach to what I recognised as an
"estate." A great gate with high
posts, flat on top, met my gaze, and
through this gateway I could see a drive
and many beautiful trees. A little boy
was sitting on top of one of the posts,
watching us, and I thought I never had
seen a place better adapted to viewing
the passing procession. I longed to be
on the other gatepost, exchanging confi-
dences across the harmless gulf with
this nice-looking boy, when, most unex-
pectedly, the horses began to plunge.
The next second the air was filled with
buzzing black objects.
"Bees!" said the king. It was the
first word he had spoken, and a true
word it was. Swarming bees had set-
tled in the road, and we had driven un-
aware into the midst of them. The
horses were distracted, and made blind-
ly for the gate, though they seemed
much more likely to run into the posts
than to get through the gate, I thought.
The boy seemed to think this, too, for
he shot backward, turned a somersault
in. the air, and disappeared from view.
"God bless me!" said the king.
The heavy young man on the front
seat jumped from his place and began
beating away the bees and holding the
horses by the bridles, and in a few min-
utes we were on our way. The horses
had been badly stung, and the heavy
young man looked rather bumpy. As
for us, the king had shut the stage door
at the first approach of trouble, and
we were unharmed.
After this, we all felt quite well ac-
quainted, and the old gentleman told me
some wonderful stories about going
about among the Indians and about the
men in the lumber camps and the set-
tlers on the lake islands. Afterward I
learned that he was a bishop, and a
brave and holy man whom it was a
great honour to meet, but, at the time,
I only thought of how kind he was to
pare apples for me and to tell me tales.
The king seldom spoke more than one
word at a time, but he was kind, too, in
his way. Once he said, "Sleepy?" to
me. And, again, "Hungry?" He
didn't look out at the landscape at all,
and neither did the bishop. But I ran
from one side to the other, and the last
of the journey I was taken up between
the driver and the heavy man on the
high seat.
Presently we were in a little town
with cottages almost hidden among the
trees. A blue stream ran through
green fields, and the water dashed over
a dam. I could hear the song of the
mill and the ripping of the boards.
"We're here!" said the driver.
The heavy man lifted me down, and
my young uncle came running out with
his arms open to receive me. "What a
traveller!" he said, kissing me.
"It's been a tremendously long and
interesting journey," I said.
"Yes," he answered. "Ten miles
by rail and ten by stage. I suppose
you've had a great many adventures!"
"Oh, yes!" I cried, and ached to tell
them, but feared this was not the place.
I saw my uncle respectfully helping the
bishop to alight, and heard him inquir-
ing for his health, and the bishop an-
swering in his kind, deep voice, and
saying I was indeed a good traveller
and saw all there was to see -- and a lit-
tle more. The king shook hands with
me, and this time said two words:
"Good luck." Uncle had no idea who
he was -- no one had seen him before.
Uncle didn't quite like his looks. But
I did. He was uncommon; he was dif-
ferent. I thought of all those people in
the train who had been so alike. And
then I remembered what unexpected
differences they had shown, and turned
to smile at my uncle.
"I should say I have had adven-
tures!" I cried.
"We'll get home to your aunt," he
said, "and then we'll hear all about
them."
We crossed a bridge above the roar-
ing mill-race, went up a lane, and en-
tered Arcadia. That was the way it
seemed to me. It was really a cottage
above a stream, where youth and love
dwelt, and honour and hospitality, and
the little house was to be exchanged for
a greater one where -- though youth de-
parted -- love and honour and hospital-
ity were still to dwell.
"Travel's a great thing," said my
uncle, as he helped me off with my
jacket.
"Yes," I answered, solemnly, "it is
a great privilege to see the world."
I still am of that opinion. I have
seen some odd bits of it, and I cannot
understand why it is that other jour-
neys have not quite come up to that
first one, when I heard of Aunt Ellen,
and saw the boy turn the surprised
somersault, and was welcomed by two
lovers in a little Arcadia.