Part 2

"You have a lively way, Abigail, when your interest is taken. If we hasten, we may have the kitchen ordered by dinner-time."

"Who is this?" Abigail exclaimed.

Mary Jane looked up in consternation. Her father was bringing in two men; one was the minister and the other a stranger. She could hear them wiping their boots on the old rug on the porch. Abigail sprang helpfully forward to gather up and conceal her cleaning rags, and in doing so overturned the churn, half full of buttermilk! Mary Jane heard the crash, and saw the door open. Her father stepped right into the rushing stream of buttermilk before he saw there was an accident, and Mary Jane wondered stupidly why she had never noticed before how much the floor sloped toward the entry. The buttermilk ran over her father's shoes.

"This is a sad state of affairs, Daughter," her father said with grave reproof, "but we will go around by the other door. The minister has called to see your mother, and this good man, the indigo peddler, needs some breakfast. He has traveled far this morning. Attend to his needs and I doubt not he will show his gratitude in some way that will help you."

Mary Jane looked ruefully at the confusion, but gratefully to her father for his forbearance. Abigail had meant well, and accidents would happen. Even if it was housecleaning time, the peddler must be fed. Father believed that all hungry people should be treated kindly. "Better to feed a dozen ungracious ones," he said, "than to turn away one deserving and needy." Mary Jane directed Abigail to bring out cold porridge and salt fish and milk for the peddler, while she mopped up the floor.

As Mistress Dodd finished her call and came out of their mother's room, Mary Jane looked up from the floor and asked her if she would not take home a pat of new butter.

"'Twill not come amiss with hot Johnny cake, Mistress Dodd," she said, as she went on with her mopping.

"Yes, indeed, I will be glad to have it, Mary Jane, and thank you, too. What a bother to lose the good buttermilk," she added, looking at the floor. Then she slyly pinched Mary Jane's white arm.

"John Lewis came home last night, and they say he looks fine and hearty, Mary Jane. Think you he has learned to talk and ask questions? Have you an answer ready for him? Do not turn away your head, child, I mean naught by these bantering words. Later, I will send Sam for our baked beans. Thank you for letting us use your oven. Good-day, all."

Mary Jane finished cleaning up the floor and scattered the children who had gathered in the kitchen. Strangers were an event, and the young ones looked at the peddler eagerly and intently. The old man sat down and drew toward him the bowl of porridge, first taking a long draught of the buttermilk near at hand. Looking up from her task, Mary Jane reproved Dorothy for staring.

"Take this flagon of buttermilk up to the flax patch. We saved this much in the churn. 'Tis ten o'clock and Father and John must be hungry. The drink will help them through the next hour."

Turning to Abigail, she suggested that she put out of doors the rocking-chair and small table. The Bible and work-basket and mother's reel might go into mother's room. Perhaps the peddler would help her move the settles out on the grass. Mary Jane herself knelt down on the hearth to take up the ashes.

The peddler jumped up. "Willing hands make light work, Mistress Mary, and out go the tables and the chairs. Back again! and now, my dears, we are ready for the old settles. Came from the sturdy land of England, these did."

Mary Jane frowned and settled her cap with dignity. "I like not too much talk. If we save our breath it will help in the lifting. Be careful of the door, please, I would not have the wood scarred."

"Clear the ways, my hearties," the peddler called, not seeming to be disturbed by Mary Jane's dignified words, "I'm the man for that job. Up you get, Mistress Mary, and down goes Jake, the indigo peddler. I can holystone a deck, why not brush up the ashes?"

Mary Jane looked doubtfully at her helper, but she soon admitted that he used the shovel and the turkey wing with a neat hand. Father said that it was often more generous to accept help than to give it, and so thinking, she turned to other work.

Directing Dorothy to take one kettle and Abigail the other, Mary Jane started them to cleaning the woodwork. There was plenty of hot water in the big pot which had been hanging on the crane, and there were soft soap and stout cloths. The girls were careful not to waste the soap, but they hunted for every speck and streak of dirt. Having answered a call from her mother, Mary Jane came back to the kitchen, bright-eyed, but demure. Mother had said that she wished Abigail to wash up the bricks in the fireplace, and Mary Jane would clean the windows. Master Jake had helped them generously, but they could finish up the rest of the work alone, their mother thought.

"Just as the Mistress says. I'll be off. Indigo has gone a-begging this morning, but perhaps I can sell some cochineal up the road. Good-day and the Lord bless ye!" So saying the old man bent to his pack and trudged away.

Abigail stood and pondered. She was mischievously interested in the change of plan. Mary Jane generally washed out the fireplace.

"What does it mean, Dorothy? Dost think John Lewis would notice if Mary Jane's hands were smutted and grimy?"

"Methinks 'tis best for us to stop talking and get to our work. Mother would have Mary Jane make a good impression. Mary Jane is comely, and John Lewis is not a-courting _us_." Dorothy's reproof was gently made, and she smiled at Abigail.

The three sisters worked steadily and swiftly. Mary Jane appeared not to hear the whispering of the younger girls. She polished the windows, and the warm sunshine filled the room. She soon relieved Dorothy of further cleaning, and sent her into the yard under the hickory tree to sew a long seam. The child fastened her work with a sewing-bird to a little table, and sewed industriously.

John came in just then, and took down the shoemaker's last. He wanted to get out an ugly nail from his mother's shoe. She would soon be up again. Mary Jane asked him if he would take the children out to hunt for hens' nests after he had finished. She hoped to have a custard for supper.

A little later her father followed John in from the flax patch, and the family gathered for dinner, eating cold boiled salmon and the dried-apple pie which Mary Jane had hurriedly made in the morning. These, with milk and Johnny cake, soon satisfied the hungry workers and each was back at his task.

Father and John predicted a thunder-shower in the late afternoon, and Mary Jane looked anxiously at the clouds. Perhaps the shower would go round? She was not much tired, she thought, and the work, in spite of accidents, was going well. It would be too hard if she finished the kitchen in time and then had to give up her visit to Jenny because of a thunder-shower. But after dinner the work went more slowly. It seemed as if she could not get things all finished and the kitchen looking just right. She was more tired than she had realized. But her determination to get away for a little time before supper grew with her weariness. She worked desperately to put the finishing touches on the room, and, after a while, it suited her.

Abigail and Dorothy had gone out with John and the little boys to hunt for eggs, before they washed and changed their dresses. Mary Jane's mother and the little baby brother were sleeping and her grandmother's spinning-wheel made the only sound in the afternoon's stillness. The room darkened with the coming storm. The leaves of the red geraniums moved in the rising wind, and the white, sash curtains blew out into the room. Mary Jane picked a dried leaf out of the basket of freshly laundered caps and straightened the blue calico cushion in the rocking chair.

She opened the door of the brick oven where Mrs. Dodd's beans and their own had been baking since morning. The beans were baked perfectly in the round, brown pots, and their fragrant, appetizing odor filled the room. Looking about, before she went upstairs, Mary Jane felt that her mother would be satisfied with the appearance of the kitchen. The brass andirons in the fireplace and the shovel and tongs glowed from Abigail's honest rubbing. The black pots and copper kettles had been cleaned inside and out and hooked on to the swinging frame. The waffle-irons and toaster hung on the side of the fireplace and the gridiron stood on its three slender legs beside the hearth.

A small fire burned red on the hearth and a gentle cloud of steam rose from the bubbling kettle. The brass warming-pan made a blob of light against the dull red bricks. The dresser was white from its recent scrubbing and the pewter on it shone brightly. Grandmother's blue plates and saucers had been rearranged on the plate rail and the spoons and white-handled knives laid back in the mahogany boxes on the dresser. John had whittled and smoothed those boxes for his mother in the winter evenings. The Bible, and the New England Primer and Father's horned spectacles lay on the small table in the corner, and the cradle, with its new pink and white checked cover, stood near the fireplace. When Mother got up, the baby would lie in that all day. The floor looked nice and clean. It had been freshly sanded and the braided rugs laid carefully in their usual places before the hearth and doorways. The old gray cat had stretched himself near the fireplace, and his friend, the dog, slept beside him.

Mary Jane noticed that the wind had blown awry Dorothy's framed sampler which hung on the wall. She straightened it and read again the words: "Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. Dorothy Ward Andrews." She read the words soberly, and thought of her own good father. Picking up her clean cap and a basin of water, she started upstairs. A sudden clap of thunder shook the house and, with the first sprinkle of rain, the kitchen door blew open and Jenny Lewis dashed in.

"Just in time, Mary Jane! I am glad you are through with your work! I have come to take you home to supper as soon as this shower blows over. John told me to tell you he would bring you home this evening. He has something pretty for you. I do not know what it is, but he made it and he feels sure that you will like it. You are too good, Mary Jane! I told John that you were kinder than I, but perhaps you would not like his homemade gift. I am very sure that I should not prefer it unless it were finer than you could buy in the shops." So talking on, Jenny pushed Mary Jane through the stairway door.

The storm drove her father out of the flax patch, and in a few minutes, he hastened into the warmth of the kitchen. His wife called from the inner room and told him that Jenny Lewis had come for Mary Jane and she hoped he would allow the girl to go down to Cap'n Lewis's for the evening. There could be no harm, the mother said, in Mary Jane having well-to-do friends. John Lewis was a sober, industrious youth, even though his sister Jenny was rather flighty. She would like to have Mary Jane go more often to visit in Jenny's home. As the mother made her ambitious little plans, the girls came into the kitchen. Mary Jane glanced shyly at her father. She was wearing her best summer dress.

"Jenny has asked me down to her house for supper, Father. The storm has passed around, and the sun is coming out. I should like to go. Everything is ready to put on the table for your supper, and Abigail can attend to the children. Jenny says she and John will walk a piece with me when I come home."

"Why, Mary Jane Andrews, I never said anything of the sort!" Jenny exclaimed, "John sent word he wanted to bring you home."

Mary Jane's father looked at her searchingly and gravely. Mary Jane had not meant to tell a fib but she was always bashful when she spoke of John Lewis. Could there be a smile in her father's eye? She thought not. She dropped her own eyes and waited. In a minute her father spoke:

"Better not go out to-night, Daughter. Your mother will be up in a day or two, and then there will be more freedom for you. Responsibility will not hurt any lass and a small disappointment is better than a pleasure taken at the wrong time."

"Tell John," her father added as he turned to Jenny, "that we shall be glad to see him when he calls up here. I hear that your father has made another successful trip. It is a hard and dangerous life he lives on the sea. May the Lord prosper him." Then Mary Jane's father went out.

Jenny flung herself into the rocker and spoke angrily to Mary Jane.

"I am glad indeed that my father is not a cross-patch! What does your father think? Just because he is one of the elders in the church must his daughter have no pleasure? He does not give you any gay dresses. Even your best dress is just this blue one with a white kerchief. It is not fair, and now he will spoil our little pleasure. I believe he likes to forbid you to do things, just because he knows you will obey. Why do you? Come with me and show your father you have a right to a few minutes in the day! Perhaps he does not approve of me! Well, I do not care. Come, Mary Jane. Come down and see my new dresses. Your father said, 'Better not go out to-night'; he did not forbid you to go. You can tell him that when you come back. Oh, what is the use of coaxing! You look just as stubborn as your father. Good-by, I am going home!"

"Come back here, Jenny Lewis!" Mary Jane called after her. "I am glad I look like my father! He has a perfect right to keep me at home if he wants to. Folks feel sorry because your father has to work so hard and spend so much of his money on clothes for you. I like pretty clothes too, but if my father thinks I am putting too much thought on myself, he tells me so. He shows me my duty."

Mary Jane pulled her flax-wheel toward her and whirled the wheel rapidly.

"My father believes I will grow in grace and patience for big sorrows and disappointments if I bear little ones cheerfully. What kind of practice are you getting, Jenny Lewis? It is wicked to talk about a father as you have talked about mine. I am not disappointed one bit about not going to your house. I like my homespun dresses and I can make linen as fine as you get in your dresses from England. When I get the kitchen cleaned and the floor sanded and the white curtains in place I feel happy. It is my work and it pleases my mother and I like to do it. Father does not say much about our work, because he expects us to do it well. He knows work is good for us. But what are you doing, Jenny? All you think about is pretty dresses and looking gay. I am glad Father thought I was needed here at suppertime--but I will come down to your house some other night," Mary Jane said more gently.

"Perhaps you are right, Mary Jane, but you need not get so cross about it. I may be lazy, I suppose, but I do not see what there is about work that makes you like to do it, and in disappointment, even a little one, that makes you glad to bear it."

"Jenny, I cannot explain. I like to cook and clean and spin and knit. That's the way I feel. It isn't hard. I don't mean to be conceited or think myself better than other people, but somehow when my father is strictest with me something inside of me likes it. Here comes Dorothy with a bunch of pink and white arbutus. It grows late up in the woods. How pretty it is! Our Pilgrim grandmothers must have been glad to see it peeping up from the snow after their long, hard winters. Who is this coming in with the boys? Why, it is your brother John! Jenny, will you and John stay to supper with us?" Mary Jane turned to her friend eagerly.

"Yes, Mary Jane, and I will help you with the dishes and, after supper, John shall tell us stories about his voyage. It is just as well we were disappointed! I will try to be a more dutiful daughter, Mary Jane. I guess Father and Mother like to have me visit you. They chide me for my heedless ways."

The girls and boys came trooping in together and Mary Jane pushed aside her flax-wheel and stirred the embers on the hearth, laying on fresh sticks. John Lewis met her with awkward shyness and dropping a bulky package on the chair beside her said, "Open it later, Mary Jane. It is for you. I whittled it out in spare minutes aboard the _Breezy Belle_."

Jenny called across the room.

"Hurry up, John Lewis, and all of you boys wash while we help Mary Jane dish up the beans. It is supper time, and she has asked you and me to stay. Here is Sam Dodd, Mary Jane."

"Oh yes, he wants his mother's beans. They are the ones in the back of the oven, Jenny. Please help him."

"We shall be glad to help you while your oven is being repaired, Sam. Tell your mother to send in anything she wants to have baked.

"Do open the door for him, John. It would be a pity for him to drop the beans and spoil his mother's supper."

So, laughing and hurrying, Mary Jane and her helpers soon had on the table their supper of baked beans and brown bread, custards and cool drinks of milk. After supper, Father asked his family and the company to gather for prayers at once for he had an errand up the road and wished to get back early. The planting and housecleaning days were hard ones and he knew that his folks needed to get to bed in good season if they wanted to do good work the following day.

Mary Jane placed a candle on the table near the Bible and the children drew up their stools and Father's chair. Father read the twenty-third psalm and knelt to pray. He thanked the Lord for the blessings of the day, the fair weather and plentiful food and his helpful sons and daughters. He prayed that all young souls, untried in the furnace of life, should lean on the Lord and strive to do their duty nobly as He would show it to them. He prayed earnestly and rose from his knees weary but heartened. The young folks went gravely about the task of clearing away the dishes. But when Father Andrews departed, their solemnity gave place to mirth and jolly fun. John raked open the coals and brought out a little popcorn that had lasted through the winter. Thomas agreed to pop it for them, and John took down his powder-horn. He wanted to finish whittling the design on it. Dorothy coaxed Jenny down on the settle to tell about her visit in Boston and Mary Jane brought out a skein of soft, white wool.

"Perhaps you will hold this for me, John Lewis? I am going to knit a hood for the new babe Samuel, but the wool must first be wound in a ball."

"No, Mary Jane, there is a better way to hold that worsted than on a man's outstretched arms. Open the package I brought you and look within."

Mary Jane untied the hempen cord fastened about the bundle John had brought in and the boys and girls gathered near, with jest and laughing glances. So John Lewis had made their sister something! Well, he always looked as if he liked her, but this was proof indeed. What could it be, so bulky and strange looking? Would Mary Jane never get it out? She handled the string slowly (almost lovingly, John Lewis hoped). But at last the covers fell off on her lap, and she held out a dainty and beautifully polished swift. John took it from her, and, placing it on the table, dropped over the outspread spokes, her skein of white worsted. He quickly found the end of the skein, and placing it gently in Mary Jane's hand, bade her wind the ball. As the reel turned slowly and Mary Jane's ball grew large and soft, she lifted her eyes gratefully to John Lewis. The others had withdrawn to the settles and fireplace and John made bold to whisper as he leaned across the corner of the table:

"Mary Jane, will you walk out with me on the Sabbath? 'Twill be a long six months before we put to sea again, and, perhaps, in that time you may come to like a slow fellow like me. Maybe I can make you a chest to put your caps and linens in while I am home. That would make you think of me when you put things in it after I am gone. Will you walk with me, Mary Jane?"

Mary Jane twirled the reel and examined the cunningly wrought initials of her name on the side and flushed a lovely color when she discovered J. L.--John Lewis--just below them. She gazed laughingly at John and nodded her head, but her shy whisper left him speechless:

"I do not think you are a slow fellow, John, and I like you now. I have liked you a long time! I have a chest and it is half full of fine linen. I have been busy."

"Mary Jane, did you think of me as you spun the linen and dyed the wool?"

Mary Jane nodded again and picked up her knitting-needles. Her father came in and John jumped to his feet.

"Elder Andrews, may I have Mary Jane for my wife? She likes me, she says, and we need not wait? Will you let us have the banns published this Sabbath approaching? I am twenty, sir, and Mary Jane is sixteen. That is only a year younger than my father and mother were when they married and came to the colony."

"Daughter, is this your wish?" her father asked.

A solemn hush fell on the group in the kitchen. Grandmother stood in the doorway and gazed affectionately on the oldest daughter of their family. She knew the sterling worth of the girl John Lewis desired for his wife, and she knew that if these young people married, another home would be established in the colony which would be a power for righteousness and godly living.

Mary Jane looked steadfastly at her father, and tucked her hand under John's arm as she answered:

"Yes, Father."

"Then God bless you both, my children, and may you believe all that is required in this world is for you to live justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."

So saying, he walked quietly from the room. The brothers and sisters crowded about Mary Jane and John, and Jenny whispered as she put on her bonnet: "Mary Jane, I like your father."

Mary Jane smiled gently. A peace and happiness had come into her heart that knew no words. She turned to John to say good-night. Her father's blessing shone from her loyal, brave eyes, and John Lewis knew that he was truly fortunate among men.

HOW TO BUILD A COLONIAL KITCHEN IN SCHOOL, LIBRARY OR MUSEUM

Give to an intelligent carpenter the following directions:

Make the kitchen, if possible, as large as 16' x 20'. Put the fireplace in the center of one of the longer sides. On the opposite side make the wall the height of an ordinary table, 31", except for a space of 3' at each end, thus leaving an opening on that side about 14 feet long. Through this opening the kitchen will be chiefly viewed. At the right of the opening put a door, cut in half in the old Dutch fashion. (Plate I.)

Build the walls of "compo-board," a trade article easily obtained, and costing (January, 1921) about 8 cents per square foot. We have found nothing so serviceable as this for light and temporary interior construction. Make the walls not over 8' high. Construct rafters of thin boards--they may even be of compo-board and hollow, and lay them across from wall to wall. (Plate II.)