Eunice had finished her fringe and brought out some patchwork in the afternoon--a curious pattern, called basket-work. The basket was made of green chintz, with a small yellow figure here and there. It had a handle from side to side, neatly hemmed on a white half square. The upper edge of the basket was cut in points and between each one was a bit of color to represent or suggest a possible bud of some kind. One had pink, different shades of red, and a bright yellow. She had seven blocks finished and they were in the bottom of the box. Eunice took them out for the little girl, who spread them on the floor.

No one was thinking at that day of the mills that would dot New England, where cotton cloths, calicoes, and cambrics would be turned out by the bale. These things had to be imported and were costly. One could dye plain colors that were used for frocks and gowns, and some of the hand looms wove ginghams that were dyed in the thread beforehand.

"It will take forty-two blocks," said Miss Eunice. "Six one way, seven the other."

"Then what are you going to do with it?" asked the child eagerly.

"Why, quilt it. Put some cotton between this and the lining, and sew them together with fine st.i.tches."

"And then----"

"Why"--Eunice wondered herself. There were chests of them piled away in the garret--Chilian's mother's, and those they had made to fill in the moments when housework was finished. She had a quiet sense of humor, and she smiled. What were they laying up these treasures for? Neither of them would be married, most of their relatives were well provided for.

"Well, some one may like to have them;" after a pause. "You must learn to sew."

"Patchwork?"

It was absurd to pile up any more.

"You see," said the child, "no one needed them over there;" inclining her head to the East. "You have a little bed and a pallet, and it is warm, so you do not need quilts. And the poor people and the servants have a mat they spread down anywhere and a blanket, but you see, they sleep with their clothes on."

Eunice looked rather horrified.

"But they change them! They would--why, there would be soil and vermin."

"They go to the river and bathe and wash them out. They sling them on the stones in a queer way. But some of them are very dirty and ragged.

They are not like the English and us, and don't wear many clothes.

Sometimes they are wrapped up in a white sheet."

"It is a very queer country. They are not civilized, or Christianized. I don't know what will become of them in the end."

"It's their country and no one knows how old it is. China is the oldest country in the world."

"But, my dear, there was the garden of Eden when G.o.d first created the world. Nothing could be older than that, you know. Two thousand years to the flood, and two thousand years to the coming of Christ, and some people think the world will end in another two thousand years."

"I don't see any sense in burning it up, when there are so many lovely things in it;" and Cynthia's eyes took on a deep, inquiring expression.

"That was what the chaplain used to say. Father thought it would go on and on, getting wiser and greater, and the people learning to be better and making wonderful things."

"My dear, what the Bible says _must_ be true. And it will be burned up.

You have a Bible?"

"The chaplain gave me a pretty prayer-book. It is upstairs."

"We do not believe in prayer-books, dear." The tone was soft, yet decided. "We came over here, at least our forefathers did, that we might worship G.o.d according to the dictates of our conscience. We tried to leave the prayer-books and the bishops behind, but we couldn't quite.

You must have a Bible and read a chapter every day. Why, I had read it through once before I was as old as you."

Cynthia simply stared. Then, after a pause, she said:

"Did you sew patchwork, too?"

"When I was eight I had finished a quilt. And I learned to knit. I knit my own stockings; I always have. And I braided rags for a mat. Mother sewed it together."

"And your clothes--who made those?"

"Well--mother made some. But a woman used to come round fall and spring and make for the girls and boys, though father bought his best suit. He had one when he was married; it was his freedom suit as well----"

"Why, was he a prisoner?" the child interrupted.

"Oh, no;" smiling a little. "Boys had to be subject to their fathers until they were twenty-one. Then they had a suit of clothes all the way through and their time, which meant they were at liberty to work for any one and ask wages. He had been courting mother and they were married soon after, so it was his wedding suit. He had outgrown it before he died, so he had to get a new one. Mother sold that to a neighbor that it just fitted."

"Tell me some more about them." Cynthia was fond of stories. And this was about real folks, not the fantastic legends she had heard so often.

"Well--he and mother worked, she had been living with a family. Girls did in those days, and were like daughters of the house. Father went to work there. They were married in the spring and in the fall he took a place on shares; that is, he had half of everything, and they divided up the house. A year or so afterward it was for sale, and he bought it, and we were all born there, and there was no change until he died. That was a sad thing for us. He'd been buying some more land, and the place wasn't clear. Another man stood ready to buy it, and mother thought it best to sell. You see there was a good deal of trouble between us and England, who wanted to get all the money she could out of the Colonies, and wasn't willing to send troops to protect us from the Indians, and we had to sell our produce and things to her, and presently the Colonies wouldn't stand it any longer, and there was war. Some people were bitterly opposed to it, some favored it. Then we wouldn't take the tea she insisted on our buying, and there was the Stamp Act. And Salem really made the first armed resistance. You must go out some nice day to North Bridge. The British troops marched up from Marblehead to seize some arms they heard were stored here. General Gage sent them. But the people had word, for a Major Pedrick rode up to give the alarm, and they hid them in a secure place. Colonel Leslie headed the British troops to make the search. But the people of Salem turned out strong and met the colonel and declared that he was marching on private property, not on the King's highway, that the lane and the bridge were private property, where he had no right. You see, war had not been declared and the people had a right to defend their own. So they would not allow them to cross the river and make a search. But, finally, they agreed, if the draw over the river could be lowered and they allowed to march a few rods, they would withdraw. Of course, they saw nothing suspicious and came back, keeping their word. Otherwise, I suppose, that would have been the first battle of the war. We were not living here then, but Cousin Chilian's father lived in this very house."

"And the arms were really there!" Cynthia drew a long breath.

"Oh, yes! They were ships' cannon going to be mounted for protection.

Some day Cousin Chilian may take you over to the bridge and tell you all about it. There was a romance about a girl said to be in love with a British officer, but you are too young for such stories."

If she had not been, the entrance of Elizabeth and Miss Winn would have checked the garrulity of Eunice. Cynthia had been laying down the small diamond-shaped pieces, making a block.

"Why do you let the child muddle over those pieces, Eunice? The carpet may not be clean," said Elizabeth sharply.

"And it is getting dark, so we had better put them all up. Mercy! how it still rains. Why, it seems as if there would be another flood."

"That can never happen. We have the promise."

"That the whole world will not be destroyed. But parts of it may suffer.

You and Cynthia are fortunate not to be in it;" and Eunice raised her eyes to them, with a certain thankfulness.

It had not stopped yet in the morning, but the wind was veering to the south, the air was not so cold and the rain much gentler. Cynthia wandered about like an unquiet spirit. It was cold up in their room.

Chilian had proposed a fire, but Elizabeth had negatived it sharply.

"There ought to be room enough in the dining-room and keeping-room for two extra people," she said decidedly.

He felt sorry for the little girl with her downcast face, as he met her on the landing.

"Don't you want to come and visit me?" he asked, in an inviting tone.

"Oh, yes!" and the grave little face lightened.

The blaze was brighter here than downstairs, she felt quite sure. And the room had a more cheerful look. The table was spread with books and papers, and, oh, the books that were on the shelves! The curious things above them suggested India. There really was the triple-faced G.o.d she had seen so often, carved in ivory, and another carving of a temple. She walked slowly round and inspected them. Then she paused at a window.

"How much it rains!" she began. "I don't see how so much rain can be made. When is it going to stop?"

"I think it will hold up this afternoon and be clear to-morrow, clear and sunny."

"I like sunshine best. And little rains. This has been so long."