The ghosts of their ancestors Part 2

Soon the daylight's eyes were wide open, and the door-knockers, across the church-yard, began to glow like miniature suns. Festivals and holidays always brought the housekeepers of York to market, followed by their faithful blacks carrying little wicker baskets. They tripped first to Mrs.

Sykes's booth, where one could find all the season's delicacies; then to the wintergreen-berry man, and on through the circle of venders. The mystical joy of Eastertide that flooded the heart of Mrs. Rumbell in the dawn swept through the concourse at the market. The perfume of the southern lilies, the merry cries of hucksters, and the shrill calls of gutter-waifs as they tugged at the skirts of c.o.c.k-a-nee-nae Bess were all permeated with it.

The prattling groups about Mrs. Sykes ofttimes broke away to take sly looks across the green at the distant Broadway. "Will she come?" "Shall we extend our hands to her, or just curtesy?" These and many like questions went for naught that morning. The blinds of Snogra.s.s house were parted; a turbaned negress came out and washed the entry. Once the opening of a door thrilled the curious dames. But the newcomer was waiting to enjoy her full triumph in the afternoon.

No one looked toward the house on Vesey Street. The Knickerbockers never frequented the market--Jonathan Knickerbocker forbade his family's partic.i.p.ation in such vulgar customs.

Georgina did not descend to her sitting-room in as pleasant a humor as was to have been expected from her waking contemplations. She jangled her keys so ominously as she strutted through the halls and pantries that Julie was afraid to venture out. On the day before Easter the little woman was in the habit of stealing away to a by-lane near the market. From a discreet distance she directed her purchases. Children would run for her oranges, the c.o.c.k-a-nee-nae necessary to her happiness, the boxes of Poppleton sweets and foreign nuts. When they were very swift she would reward them with as much as a dime apiece, so great was the delight she felt in providing a secret store of goodies.

To-day there was no escaping. The market was sold out and the booths carried away before she finished helping her sister tie up the Easter presents. It was a custom among the ladies of York to exchange chaste and useful gifts of their own handiwork. Worsted hat-bag covers and silk mittens were the favorites. Mrs. Rumbell was the one exception to the rule. She still cut up her father's brocade vests into small squares, which she filled with dried rose-geranium leaves and distributed among her acquaintance. Three generations had received these fragrant marks of her regard, and the wits accused her relative of having been a Hollander, addicted to the habit of swarthing himself in superfluous garments.

Members of the Scruggins set went further, and hinted maliciously that he was a dealer in old clothes.

Miss Georgina preferred silk mittens, and gave and received no less than a dozen pairs a season. If the ones sent to her were of a color she did not like, she kept them for a year or two, and then packed them off again.

This was quite permissible in York. On one occasion Georgina's own mittens were returned to her, but far from being angry, she smiled a grim welcome at them, and remarked to her household that she was glad to see them back for they were at least fashioned of pure silk, and that was more than she could say of many pairs that had been sent to her.

Quaint little ladies of Gothamtown--quaint little old-time figures!--flitting in and out of your ancient homes like shadows!--who cares to-day for your petty gifts, your plans, and jealousies? Only one or two remember you. The walks you trod are vanishing, the water-front gardens where you smiled and languished at sedate gentlemen are mostly hidden 'neath bricks and mortar, and the very buildings you were born in, that stood so long impervious to the rude hands of progress, are being demolished. Those musty garments of Juma's "ole Miss," the friend of Mrs.

Rumbell, are now folded in some attic trunk with your own pet vanities.

What would the haughty Miss Georgina have said if she could have gazed through the door of the future and seen a Scruggins brat grown into a leader of fashion and carrying her own tortoise fan--sold with other Knickerbocker effects at the last vendue?

[Ill.u.s.tration]

If one had loitered in Vesey Street that afternoon before Easter so many years past, one would, no doubt, have joined the stragglers about the gates of Snogra.s.s House, and watched the members of St. Paul's Easter Guild mince up Broadway, carefully keeping to the pave. The Flying Swan from Elizabethtown was due at four o'clock, and those timid ladies of the long ago knew that the swaying, swaggering bedlam of a coach would enjoy spattering them as it rattled up to the City Hotel. On the porch of that fine hostelry, where Mr. Clarke once wooed his muse and scores of thirsty throats the wine-cup, stood the host, Davy Juniper, whose very name was synonymous with cheer. Through the half-opened door came loud gusts of unceremonious laughter as the portly innkeeper, curveting on tiptoe, swung his garland of Easter green over the sign-board. Davy's eyes were riveted on the flashing colors of feminine gear across the street. Now Mrs.

Rumbell tottered by and bobbed to him; now a bevy of the Scruggins set pa.s.sed the house opposite, and gazed in, like forbidden Peris at the door of Paradise. Sometimes the street was covered with pedestrians. The quality abroad affected the good man's spirits. He began to pipe some merry verses from a tap-room ditty:

Major Macpherson heav'd a sigh, Tol, de diddle, dol, dol; And Major Macpherson didn't know why, Tol, de diddle, dol, dol; But Major Macpherson soon found out, Tol, de diddle, dol, dol; 'Twas all for Miss Lavinia Scout, Tol, de diddle, dol, dol.

The night was creeping on, clear and cold, and there would be full settles about his waggish fires. In the sky, puffs of fleecy clouds were hurrying away like sheep eager to reach the fold of mother-dusk. Off in the west, where twilight parted her curtains, glowed faint streaks of yellow and rose color, promises of daffodil meadows and flower-strewn lands to come.

He was turning for a parting survey of the street when his ears caught the tremulous motion of some vehicle. Dashing out of Vesey Street came the Knickerbocker chariot, creaking protestations as it swung up to the Snogra.s.s stile.

Out popped Miss Georgina, followed by her sister. Never had Miss Georgina seemed so like a man-of-war's man in a flounce. Miss Julie shrunk into insignificance beside her. Tavern maids, attracted by the noise and heedless of the cold, poked their heads out of dormer windows. The pa.s.sengers on the Flying Swan just turning the pike slipped cautiously from the seats behind the guard to find out the cause of the excitement.

Juma, hurrying home to the mansion, paused for a moment to see the sisters of his master step down. "Ramrods--old Ramrods," jeered Mr. Juniper, as he flung a last defiant "tol, de rol," at the gaping street.

The door of the tavern had no more than swung to when that of Snogra.s.s House opened. Every inmate of the room eyed Miss Georgina as she greeted the mistress. There was an element of hostility in their ceremonious handshake. As the sister of the autocrat of York viewed the rich furnishings of the apartment, the gold-legged piano and the silk-covered furniture, her lips straightened into a sinister line. Her own possessions shrunk into insignificance compared with this elegance. Even the long shut-up state parlor in Knickerbocker Mansion could hardly vie with it.

Lady Tyron, the last lady of York, had fitted that room with heirlooms from her English home. Jonathan was in the habit of calling it the finest apartment in the State. He prated of its mouldering beauties often, forgetting that it was lauded by his townsmen long before the Knickerbockers entered its portals.

The contents of the Snogra.s.s parlor had given other Gothamites momentary uneasiness that afternoon. Of course no one felt they possessed the Knickerbocker right to feel deeply aggrieved over them. Mrs. Rumbell, spying the oil-painted views of Trenton by the entrance door, hurriedly shut her eyes, vowing the calm feeling in her heart should not be disturbed. As penance for the pain which the pictures of the hated capital gave her she seized a dish of quince scones and ran with them to Dr.

Slumnus. Refreshments had not been pa.s.sed about, and the rector of St.

Paul's signalled to his mother-in-law not to approach. Thinking that he preferred the gooseberry tarts on an opposite table she hastened over for them, until Samuel, visibly embarra.s.sed by her attentions, left his comfortable cushioned chair and took refuge in the hall.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

If any one had imagined that Mrs. Snogra.s.s would forgive the various slights put upon her in York, she or he was doomed to disappointment. All the pleasant things they said to her about her costly egg-sh.e.l.l china, the gla.s.s aviary with the artificial tree, and other luxuries, failed to soften her vindictive mood. Each timidly expressed compliment recalled to her a covert sneer, a deprecating smile, or a garment hastily drawn aside.

As Miss Georgina, on behalf of the presiding committee, counted up the Easter gifts the church would give to the poor, the Trenton widow whom she feared as a rival was musing on past insults.

"Ten tin trumpets," called the loud voice.

"I can humble her," thought the Snogra.s.s woman.

"Ten surprise packages," continued the other.

"I'll give the Knickerbocker family a surprise," spoke the indignant Trentonian half aloud.

She was naturally an amiable person, but the aristocratic congregation of St. Paul's had impaired her temper, proffering her vinegar when she had sought the wine of good-fellowship. She stared at the bedizened figure of the sister of the autocrat of York a moment longer, then turned meaningly to the only member of the Scruggins set who happened to be present. There was already a look of triumph in her eyes. "She shall bend to the dust soon," she whispered. Then she arose from her sofa, clashing the folds of her tilter until the room was full of l.u.s.tring mockery. Everything was in readiness for Mrs. Snogra.s.s's climax of the afternoon. Revenge spread out its hands and gave her tongue.

"Have you ever heard of 'The School for Scandal,' Miss Knickerbocker?" she asked, wreathing her face in an inscrutable smile.

Glad of an opportunity for displaying her knowledge, Georgina rose eagerly to the bait. "I saw the play at the Park in the twenties. 'Twas a prodigious fine cast, if I remember."

"They say a new Sheridan has come to our city." Every Gothamite loved that phrase, "our city," and Mrs. Snogra.s.s dwelt on the words with the nicest shade of mimicry. "He is preparing a little comedy I might dub the same name," she snickered.

"An author man?" asked the Knickerbocker voice that always filled the room. "What does he want here?"

A sudden silence fell upon the company. Eyes were turned on the Turkey carpet before the fireplace where the great ladies stood. Ears were c.o.c.ked in their direction. The pirouetting woodland fay embellishing the tambour firescreen, worked by the Trentonian when she attended Madame de Foe's Academy for gentle children, wore a more conscious smirk than usual. Even the twin Bow dogs which had held their tufted tails erect through the stormiest family fracases seemed agitated.

"He plays the organ at our church," she answered with forced deliberation; then in a whisper loud enough to have done credit to a lady on the boards, she added, "and when away from that instrument spends his time making love to your niece Patricia."

Mrs. Snogra.s.s gave a hysterical laugh and retreated a few rods.

A thunder-bolt falling at Miss Georgina's feet could not have created more consternation. For a moment she glared at the creature before her as if she were a b.u.t.terfly or a beetle--something to be crushed and killed--then remembering that politeness is always a trusty weapon, she roared in as soft a fashion as she could, "You are mistaken, madam!"

"My Julie saw them kissing less than an hour ago on the Marine Parade!"

"Ladies who make confidants of their servants are often misinformed," the other hissed.

By this time all Vesey Street was on its feet. The plans of the day were forgotten. Every one was too stunned to speak. A Knickerbocker openly insulted--the thought was appalling! Miss Julie, who was fingering some Snogra.s.s ambrotypes, let them slip to the floor in her excitement. She had not been so much agitated for years--not since a certain ship sailed out of Amboy for the Indies bearing a youthful captain whom Judge Knickerbocker had bidden her forget.

"Oh, oh!" she gasped--and there were those who afterward declared she looked almost pleased. "My niece has a lover!" But in another breath, "Oh, what will her father say?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_My Julie saw them kissing less than an hour ago on the marine parade_"]

"Jerusalem, restrain yourself," called her sister. That lady was sweeping proudly from the room.

"Impudence!" she said, thrusting her sister out of the hall. When the cold air of the street touched their hot faces, she spoke again. Her anger was fast engulfed in a wave of bitter humiliation.

"We are disgraced, Jerusalem! The Knickerbocker name dishonored! The man is a person of common family. I fear the Gobies and the Gabies are turning in their graves. What would Aunt Jane have thought?"

"They kissed in the shrubbery--My niece in love?" Miss Julie was whispering to herself unheeded. The faded leaves of the one flower in her heart were stirring gently.

Now and then the faint note of a bell drifted on the air. The old s.e.xton of St. Paul's was preparing his metal children for their long anthem.

"Oh, joyous night, make haste--make haste," they tinkled to the taper-like star above them.

"Disgraced!" muttered Miss Georgina.

[Ill.u.s.tration]