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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36991-h.zip b/36991-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..452633c --- /dev/null +++ b/36991-h.zip diff --git a/36991-h/36991-h.htm b/36991-h/36991-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a54ba81 --- /dev/null +++ b/36991-h/36991-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2463 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Ghosts of Their Ancestors, by Weymer Jay Mills. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +/*Text and Body*/ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 100%; +} + +h1 { + font-size: 4em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; + margin-top: 2.5em; + margin-bottom: 1em; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +.right { + text-align: right; + margin-right: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 100%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-right: auto; + margin-left: auto; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + +.center { + text-align: center; +} + +.padded-table td,th { + padding:4px 15px 4px 15px; + } + +td.right { + text-align: right; +} + +td.left { + text-align: left; +} + +/* Image Styles*/ + +.imgcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.imgleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin: 0 1em 1em 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.imgright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin: 1em 0 1em 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.caption { + font-weight: bold; +} + +/* Poetry */ + +.poem { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br { + display: none; +} + +.poem .stanza { + margin: 1em 0 1em 0; +} + +.poem span.ind1 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.ind3 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.dropcap {text-indent: -1em; padding-top: 2em;} + +.backleft {background: top left no-repeat;} +.sandbag-left {float:left; clear:left; padding-right: 10px;} + +.notebox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; background: #CCCCB2; font-size: .9em;} + +</style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The ghosts of their ancestors, by Weymer Jay Mills + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The ghosts of their ancestors + +Author: Weymer Jay Mills + +Illustrator: John Rae + +Release Date: August 6, 2011 [EBook #36991] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOSTS OF THEIR ANCESTORS *** + + + + +Produced by Alex Gam, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 387px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1><em>The</em> Ghosts<br /><em>of their</em><br />Ancestors</h1> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece" /> +<img src="images/col01.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<em>Those ancestry books are a standard +joke with us</em>"</span> +</div> + +<h2><em>The</em> Ghosts <em>of<br /> +their</em> Ancestors</h2> + +<h3><em>by Weymer Jay Mills</em></h3> + +<h3><em>Author of</em><br /> +"Caroline <em>of</em> Courtlandt Street"</h3> + +<h4><em>Pictures by</em> John Rae</h4> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/ts.jpg" width="100" height="134" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>New York<br /> +Fox Duffield & Co.<br /> +1906</h3> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1906, by<br /> +Fox Duffield & Company</p> + +<p class="center">Published, March, 1906</p> + +<p class="center">The Trow Press, N. Y.</p> + +<h3>To American Ladies & Gentlemen of prodigious Quality</h3> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 413px;"> +<img src="images/dedication.png" width="413" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h4>To<br /> +<em>Minerva</em><br /> +and<br /> +<em>Virginia</em></h4> + +<hr style="width:15%" /> + +<h2>Pictures</h2> + +<table class="padded-table"> + <tr> + <td>"<em>Those ancestry books are a standard joke with us</em>"</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#frontispiece">Frontispiece</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">Facing page</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>"<em>How lovely she is, Juma!</em>"</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>"<em>My Julie saw them kissing less than an hour ago on the marine parade</em>"</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>"<em>The lady of the banished portrait was moving through the doorway</em>"</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width:100%" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>Chapter <em>One</em></h2> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 278px;"> +<img src="images/gs01.png" width="278" height="500" alt="T" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="dropcap">here was a clanging, brassy melody upon the air. For three-score years since York of +the Scarlet Coats died, and the tune "God Save the King" floated for the last time out +of tavern door and mansion window, the bells of + +<span class="pagenum" style="text-indent:0em;"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> + +old St. Paul's had begun their ringing like this:</p> + + +<div class="imgright" style="width: 346px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.png" width="346" height="467" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Loud and full voiced at eight o'clock sends good cheer abroad," said the tottering +sexton. "Softer and softer, as folks turn into bed, and faint and sweet at midnight, +when our dear Lord rises with the dawn." Cheery bells full of hope—gentle chimes, +as if the holy mother were dreaming of her babe. Joyous, jingling, jangling bells! +Through the town their tones drifted, over the thousands of slate-colored roofs, now +insistent on the Broadway, now lessening a little in some long winding alley, and then +finally dying away on the bare Lispenard Meadows.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vesey Street—the gentry street—heard them first. The bigwigs in the long +ago, with the help of Gracious George, built the church, and who had a better right than +their children to its voices. Calm and serene lay Vesey Street with its rows of leafing +elms. Over the dim confusion of architectural forms slipped the moonlight in silver +ribbons, seeming to make sport of the grave, smug faces of the antiquated domiciles. +Like a line of deserted dowagers waiting for some recalcitrant Sir Roger de Coverley, +they stood scowling at one another. No longer linkboys and running footmen stuck brave +lights into the well-painted extinguishers + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> + +at each doorstep. No longer fashion fluttered to their gates. The gallants who had been +wont to pass them with, "Lud! what a pretty house!" were most of them asleep now on the +green breast of mother England, forgetful of that wide thoroughfare, which had never +reckoned life without them.</p> + +<p>Into the parlor of Knickerbocker House, dubbed Knickerbocker Mansion some years after +the bibulous Sir William Howe had laid down his sceptre as ruler of the town, the chorus +of bells crashed.</p> + +<p>"What a dastardly noise!" cried Jonathan Knickerbocker, throwing his newspaper over +his head. "Can + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> + +this Easter time never be kept without an infernal bell bombilation? I shall call a +meeting of the vestry—that idiot Jenkins should be kept at home!" + +The head of the Knickerbocker family turned irately in his chair and glared at his +daughters. Three timid pairs of blinking eyes were raised from short sacks in answer to +his challenge, then lowered again over the wool. The fourth and fairest daughter of the +house, seated on the walnut sofa in the bow-window, gave no heed to his vehemence but a +suppressed sigh. With a final snort the <em>Gazette</em> was picked up again. The Easter +melody was waning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Knickerbocker parlor—not the state parlor, which had long been +closed—was a dismal place—so large that four candles and one Rumford lamp +made but a patch of brightness in the gloom. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> + +Most of the furniture was ponderous and ugly, with two or three alien little chairs that +looked as if they might once have belonged to some light-hearted lover of the Louis. On +the almost barren + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> + +chimney-piece stood a pair of tall nankeen beakers, sepulchrally reminiscent of buried +Chinese years. Along the walls hung a score of mediocre portraits, the handiwork of the +usurious limner John Watson and his compatriot Hessilius. Spans of sunlit days had +stolen every tinge of carmine from their immobile and woodeny faces, leaving them the +drab color of time, in keeping with the room.</p> + +<div class="imgright" style="width: 346px;"> +<img src="images/gs03.png" width="346" height="462" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Above the cornice, near the sofa where Patricia Knickerbocker sat, hung an empty +frame. The portrait it contained had been banished to the attic while her three eldest +sisters were still in Wellington pantalets.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The woman looks like a Jezebel," Jonathan had sputtered. "Och! that leering smile." +He tried to blot from his mind the stray leaves he knew of her story, and the disturbing +thought that she was of his blood. "She shall not remain with the likenesses of my +ancestors!" he had told his sisters, who were over from Goby House.</p> + +<p>When this descendant of the Knickerbockers spoke of his progenitors he always held +his head a trifle more erect, and puffed out his pompous figure, though, strange to +relate, like many another worthy man of a later day having the same foible, he knew very +little about + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> + +them. Of course he could have told you that the lady over the east bookcase, wearing a +blue tucker and holding a spray of milk-weed in her hand, was his Aunt Jane; and that +his father was a noted New York judge, the pride of three circuits. Or if his digression +were extended, there was his trump card, one of the first American Knickerbockers, +labelled "The Friend of Lord Cornbury!" These were the firmest rocks in his family +history, to which he could climb in safety, thence to look down with scorn on those +unfortunates beneath his social eminence. He was a Knickerbocker, of Knickerbocker +Mansion, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> + +Vesey Street, and a member of one of the oldest families in York and America.</p> + +<p>Patricia, smiling little Patricia, rummaging one day among the dust-bins under the +eaves, had found the banished portrait. Juma, the gray-wooled negro, a comparatively new +member of the Knickerbocker household, who had appointed himself her body-servant ever +since his arrival at the mansion, was with her.</p> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/gs04.png" width="200" height="186" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>A faithful slave to old Miss Johnstone of Crown Street, Juma had been forced by his +mistress's death into new service. He was a picture of ebonized urbanity, a good +specimen of the vanished race + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> + +of Gotham blacks, gentler in manners and clearer in speech than their Southern cousins. +In his youth he had been sent to one Jean Toussaint of Elizabethtown to learn the art of +hair-dressing. He could impart much knowledge of wigs to a wigless age, and talked in a +grandiloquent fashion of Spencers, Albemarles, and Lavants. Many a beau peruke and +macaroni toupee his lithe fingers curled and sprinkled with sweet flower-water. The +voices of the fine people who were his visitors made constant music in his memory, and +his tongue was ever ready with anecdotes + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> + +of wizened beauties and uncrowned cavaliers.</p> + +<p>Juma was faithful to the period of his greatest splendor. Deep in his heart he +despised the home to which freedom and poverty had led him after the demise of his +protectress. "Gold braid on company coat and silk stockings done ravel out in dese days. +Knickerbockers talk quality, but dey ain't got quality mannahs—Missy Patsy is de +only one of dem with tone."</p> + +<p>He loved to listen to the girl as she tripped through the great rooms, humming softly +some air from Lennet's "London Song-Book"—one of the relics of his "ole Miss." +Patricia always sang + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> + +on the days when her sisters were visiting their aunts on the bluff. Juma loved her, and +during his five years' residence in the family had many times taken her youthful mind in +train with quaint eighteenth-century maxims and fetiches.</p> + +<p>"De wise miss drop her fan when she enters de ballroom," he would say. "Den she gets +de men on der knees from de start."</p> + +<p>"I wish I were invited to balls," Patricia sighed. "The Kings and Grahams give one or +two every year, but father never notices them."</p> + +<p>"Well, you jes' know how to behave," he chuckled. "Doan' yo' + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> + +forget de tricks your Uncle Juma taught yo'."</p> + +<p>When the two had met in the attic that April day, Juma's spirits were as ebullient as +usual.</p> + +<p>"How lovely she is, Juma! See, there is a blush on each cheek. Her pink brocade makes +me think of a rose dancing in the wind."</p> + +<p>Patricia stared into the canvas face before her and the lips seemed to curve +themselves into the shadow of a smile. "I know you were the fairest one of us," she +whispered, "the fairest and the best."</p> + +<p>"Dat's the real quality way of holding the head," vouchsafed Juma. "I'se pow'ful +'clined to think she looks like yo', missy." And + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> + +then they had laughed, shut away with maimed chairs, tired spinets, and other voiceless +things, glad to have escaped from Knickerbocker frowns.</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 392px;"> +<img src="images/col02.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<em>How lovely she is, Juma!</em>"</span> +</div> + +<p>It was a dismal household, that of the old mansion—the master absorbed in his +passion for wealth and worship of family; the three eldest daughters, who might once +have had some individuality but now were moulded in the form of their father. "Callow +old maids," any individual of the lower ranks of York would have dubbed them. They wore +little bunches of sedate curls over each ear, and dressed in sombre, genteel colors +proper to their exalted rank. On the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> + +first day of the week they dozed through a long sermon; on its last day they simpered +politely at the Whist Club. Fears of broken jelly-moulds or of the romping Patricia's +next prank were the only disturbers of the tranquillity of their lives. Jonathan +Knickerbocker was their one Almighty Mirror. When he labelled Mrs. Scruggins, the +draper's niece, a person not fit to associate with, their stiff gowns obediently gave +forth hisses at the said lady. When he prated of his father's shrewdness, they nodded +discreet approval; and at the mere mention of the loyal friend of Lord Cornbury, they +bobbed like grass before a gale.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Patricia's impressionable temperament was saved by Juma's advent from the sirocco of +dulness that wafted her sisters over the lake of years. His "ole Miss," a looker on at +the "Court of Florizel," had unconsciously taught him to imbibe the atmosphere +surrounding the Graces. A democracy could not spoil her elegance, for Chesterfield's +warning was ever before her eyes. She who copied the footsteps of Baccelli, adored her +Sterne and Beattie, and though her eyes grew dim, never let romance pass her window +unmolested, had left her impress upon the mind of the faithful servitor. Life to him was +a gay-colored picture-book, brighter + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> + +perhaps because he could not read the printed page. All his maids were cherry-ribboned +and belaced; all his roystering sparks clinked gilded canakins. Love was ever smiling on +them! For wellnigh half a century he had listened to tales of the gay god as he bound +one romance-loving woman's silken tresses. Small wonder that he thought the urchin ruled +the world!</p> + +<hr style="width:10%" /> + +<p>When the bells rested their brassy throats for the first time that night, and +Jonathan Knickerbocker could take up his West Indies accounts undisturbed, giving his +daughters freedom to doze in + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> + +peace, "Miss Patsy" stole on tiptoe from the room. She wanted to be alone. Juma, ambling +through the dim hall to his pantry, caught sight of her fluttering garments, but did not +speak. Only an hour or two before, he had placed in the chamber where she slept a bunch +of arbutus which young Sheridan, the organist, had given into his keeping. The wild, +sweet-scented flower grew in but one spot near the town—an island in the centre of +the Woodbridge Swamp, where Captain Kidd in a freak of fancy had planted it over the +body of a comrade, tradition said, and no one ever disputed the story. To reach it, even +the most sure-footed ran + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> + +the danger of being caught in the bog.</p> + +<p>Patricia wondered as she mounted the stairs how her lover had been able to come with +her gift unseen. The watching negro smiled sadly and shook his head when the last bit of +her garment disappeared over the staircase like a white moth moving treeward.</p> + +<p>Oh, how terrible it was never to see him in her father's house! Never to have seen +him alone, only that one time, after twilight service, when she had stolen a meeting at +the Battery, while her family were taking their Sabbath-day ride up the Bowery Road!</p> + +<p>The old vehicle held but six, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> + +and as the aunts always rode home with their brother, Patricia was left to the escort of +Juma, custodian of the prayer-books. By the clump of protecting boxwood at the end of +the Marine Parade she had come upon him. The sea held his eyes until there was no +mistaking the footsteps. Her approaching crinoline made soft little rustles, as if +entreating him to leave his musings. Her body-guard's shuffles, too, were unmistakable. +Like some young potentate her lover turned about, describing an elaborate bow with his +white castor. The very picture of starched tranquillity he looked, but underneath the +blue hammer-tail coat a heart was beating + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> + +wildly, as she, made wise by love, knew well—for her own was its echo.</p> + +<p>There was a brief moment while she watched the color mount to his sun-bronzed face, +the blue eyes glow, the strong form quiver ever so slightly. Then her lips framed +"Richard"—the key of the universe. "Patricia!" came the answer.</p> + +<p>Juma, from his discreet distance, heard her compared to the magnolia worn on the +lapel of the coat she admired so much. In her white and fragrant young womanhood she was +like it from sheer inaccessibility. The flower expressed her character and +position—Patricia Knickerbocker, a daughter of the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> + +autocrat of York. When he mentioned her father's name the girl shivered. An invisible +wall seemed to rise between them. Then the feeling died away. Her soul grew wider awake +each moment her lover gazed at her.</p> + +<p>As he drew her closer to him Juma's figure in the background bent over a flower in +the path.</p> + +<p>"Let 'em kiss," he mumbled. "Ole Miss used to say de female dat never lub am a sour +pippin, and dere's enough ter start a vinegar press in dis family."</p> + +<p>"You'll not permit them to take you away from me? You will be mine forever and ever?" +said the youth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>A sigh of happiness answered him.</p> + +<p>"I know I'm poor, Patricia, and my family can never equal yours."</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she whispered. "What does it matter, what does anything matter—only +that I'm here <em>with you</em>!"</p> + +<p>"See the night creeping in off there, dear heart. It holds nothing more wonderful +than this moment."</p> + +<p>"How black the water looks," she faltered.</p> + +<p>"I will go to your father and demand your hand." She was trembling.</p> + +<p>"You do not know what a + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> + +Knickerbocker is—an awful creature with a hundred gorgon heads constantly leering +and preaching; detecting flaws in other people's families. One head will tell you that +you play the organ in St. Paul's, and another may see that your coat is a trifle worn. +We're not the only clan of them in the land."</p> + +<p>"We must not fear them—not to-night, when love is filling the world."</p> + +<p>"Only one of my grandmothers married for love, and she was thought to be +disgraced."</p> + +<p>"You will follow her?" he asked, a catch in his voice.</p> + +<p>Juma was signalling for them to + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> + +part, and on his forehead she kissed "I will!"</p> + +<p>Now alone on the dark staircase she meditated on his words. When that malignant +crone, Gossip, started on her round, what would happen?</p> + +<p>Suddenly the voice of her father adding up the indigo cargo fell upon her ears. He +would end their happiness; a man powerful enough to kill the spirit of Easter in his +home could do anything. Creeping through the narrow passage she came to the great north +balcony window. There she paused and raised her eyes to the dome of the night. Long +lines of stars were strung across the meadows of + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> + +heaven. The dials of the world seemed suddenly stilled. Below the infinite peace a +budding landscape sloped gently into a placid sea. Myriads of little lights in humble +cots blinked an answer to the fires above. Leaning on the broad window-seat of blackened +Jersey oak she tried to descry his dwelling, but the tree-tops shut it away.</p> + +<p>A few hours before, he had asked her to be his wife, and she, a Knickerbocker, had +thrilled at his words. Like a tide the memory of his love swept back to her. Then on its +surges came the stupor of desolation. The gates of Knickerbocker pride were strong. A + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> + +second David might fail to force them. All her dreams were fantasies, with no bearing +upon reality. All her hopes were sunbeams vanquished by one dark shadow. To her +distorted imagination her family seemed accursed. Every face bore some mark of it, even +the row of dim portraits in the room below. But, ah! there was one, a face turned to the +rafters of the attic, whose bright eyes and red lips knew love untinctured by the dross +of the world. In the darkness it rose before her strangely insistent. As in a +time-blurred mirror she looked and saw herself, and the feeling, though uncanny, gave +her a sense of comfort.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>A wind began to sigh in the garden. Through the boxwood maze and barren urns it swept +Smiling Flora, sleeping Endymion, and all the fabulous court that had stood there years +before the coming of the Knickerbockers grew more humanly colored as the moon passed +behind a cloud. Since York had become a queenly city and the wonder of the western +world, mute and peacefully passive they had watched the seasons come and go. Countless +lovers must have known them. She saw back into the springs, the flower times. Sedan +chairs and swaying post-chaises had borne these dainty lovers all away. Oh, strange, +sweet thought! She, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> + +too, would have to go—with him.</p> + +<p>Down by the pale and shivering elms the iron bar of the gate clicked. Dark figures +were entering the garden. The gods and goddesses faded before her eyes. No one visited +them on Easter eve. Her father did not keep the season.</p> + +<p>She steadied her knees on the slippery seat. The spray of arbutus she was wearing +over her heart cut her hands as she pressed closer to the pane.</p> + +<p>"My aunts! they know!" she whispered to herself.</p> + +<p>Terror of her father—of them all—swept over her, chilling the very +recesses of her being. As the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> + +habiliments of her august relatives became more distinct, she grew calmer. With slow and +measured tread they walked, while to their right minced Betty, a small abigail, swaying +a lantern.</p> + +<p>"It is the march of pride coming to crush me!" she cried.</p> + +<p>Then the bells began to peal again—"Pride—pride" they seemed to mock. +"Love must die for pride!"</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 223px;"> +<img src="images/gs05.png" width="223" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Chapter <em>Two</em></h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 202px;"> +<img src="images/gs06.png" width="202" height="500" alt="I Rule by Right. O" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="dropcap">n the wreck of many social thrones—for the town named after the Duke of York +passed through numerous transitions the world knows nothing of—Patricia's aunt, +Miss Georgina Knickerbocker, had elected to raise her sceptre. "I rule by right" was her + +<span class="pagenum" style="text-indent:0em;"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> + +dictum. "My family is +old; few families are older or more aristocratic. The famous Judge Josiah Knickerbocker +was my father, and my brother Jonathan owns Knickerbocker Mansion, the finest dwelling +in York."</p> + +<p>No potentate ever wore a crown more blissfully than Miss Georgina. Tall, beak-nosed, +gruff-voiced she was, always with her younger sister, Miss Julie, in tow and under good +control—Miss Julie, who smirked and copied her when family pride was concerned, +though she had her own misgivings and opinions on other matters. Miss Julie even had +emotions and sentimentalities of her own, which she struggled to keep bottled up before + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> + +her relatives and the world, uncovering them only in secret, as she did her jasmine +scent and pomatum pot.</p> + +<p>The little woman's real name was Jerusalem, bestowed upon her at a time when the +judge her father's religious spirit was in its blossoming period. One great grief of her +life was that she had given way to wickedness and changed this outlandish cognomen. She +often brought the subject up before Dr. Slumnus, as he stopped in for a social game of +chess. "Indeed, Miss Julie," he would answer soothingly, "the name is so Christian that +it sounds heathenish. No well-conducted female should presume + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> + +to bear the name of the holy city. Nay, ma'am, it would have come perilously near +sacrilege to retain it!"</p> + +<p>Thus assured, Miss Julie would give herself over to the excitement of endeavoring to +queen a pawn. Later, in her chamber, ready to blow out her candle, alone with the crowd +of memories waiting to conduct her to the land of dreams, she shuddered. Her father's +stern eyes would glare at her reproachfully; sometimes she would try to mock at them, +remembering the words of Dr. Slumnus—but oftener a tear or two trickled down her +faded cheeks and stained the strings of her nightcap.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>Together these two elderly Knickerbockers were unweary in their efforts to interpret +high life to their circle. Their family pride was more expansive than their brother +Jonathan's. He talked chiefly of his Aunt Jane, the milk-weed lady, of his renowned +father, and of that dim shade of a Knickerbocker who was the friend of Lord Cornbury. +Miss Georgina had climbed higher into her hereditary tree. She prated of a great-uncle +who married a niece of Lord Campbell—a cousin underscored in her records as Laird +of Barula—the grand Makemies, the high-stepping Gabies, and the learned Gobies. +And, as for Aunt + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> + +Jane, why, she was dowered with a larger chest of silver than any Jersey woman of her +day. Those records of her paduasoys and alamodes would have sickened a Custis; and her +love-affairs!—the wench herself might have been astounded at hearing that she once +refused a patroon of Rensselaerswyck and a president of the College of New Jersey.</p> + +<p>Quietly Miss Julie would sit and listen to her sister, but, once away from her, she +would assume what she believed to be the Almack manner, call imagination to her aid, and +discourse to her long-suffering acquaintance. Aunt Jane's chest of plate became a +veritable crown + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> + +furgeon laden with tasters, posset cups, punch-bowls, muffineers, and salvers of +priceless and unique patterns. Her gowns would have done credit to a Drury Lane queen. +The patroon of Rensselaerswyck drank a flask of camphor to forget his Jane. Scores of +suitors died of lacerated hearts for her dear sake, and the president of the College of +New Jersey vowed he could not hear the word love spoken in his presence, not even in his +young gentlemen's conjugations.</p> + +<p>It was the arrival, from the vulgarian camp of Trenton, of one Mrs. Snograss that +first brought interference with the sway of these + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> + +gentle ladies. That year, in which Richard Sheridan first played the organ in St. Paul's +and Mrs. Snograss elected to reside in York, proved, indeed, an eventful one for the +community. The genteel portion of Gotham society, like the family of the Vicar of +Wakefield, was wont to lead a peaceful life. Most of its adventures befell it by its own +fireside, or consisted of migrations from the blue bed to the brown. Or there was the +yearly glimpse of the Branch, or Schooley's Mountain, and on rare occasions venturesome +parents took their offspring to Hobuck for a fortnight—especially if they were +marriageable daughters.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Misses Knickerbocker had visited the latter place in its transition period. There +Georgina purchased her Davenport tea-service for a song, and was fond of telling of the +fact. And Julie treasured a sweeter memory of the green Elysium—a dried-up flower +of memory, but once a rose, nevertheless, carefully guarded from the world, hidden +indeed from herself most of the time.</p> + +<p>No one knew exactly how it began—that social war over the two capitals of +Trenton and York. Black "Rushingbeau," the York pronunciation for Mrs. Snograss's +serving-man, Rochambeau, meeting Juma at the morning market in the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> + +centre of the green, had dubbed the Knickerbocker chickens "spinkle-shanked fowls."</p> + +<p>"Wot you know 'bout hens in yo' small 'count town!" retorted the loyal champion of +York. Like a mushroom the story grew, and spread from Vesey Street kitchens into +sitting-rooms and parlors. Of course the aspersive attitude toward York was that of Mrs. +Snograss reflected in Rochambeau.</p> + +<p>"To think that a resident of Trenton, a city named after a mere merchant, should have +the effrontery to speak disparagingly of our ancient capital!" cried Mrs. Rumbell, +mother-in-law of Dr. Slumnus. "These are degenerate times, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> + +alack! What would poor Roberta Johnstone say if she were here? Let me see how many royal +governors have lived amongst us."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rumbell counted on her slim, old fingers. The Knickerbocker ladies, who lacked +the Rumbell knowledge of their city's past, brought all their brightest family banners +to the fray.</p> + +<p>"Lud," said Miss Georgina, and Miss Julie promptly echoed her, "I have never even +visited the spot where the Snograss woman came from; I know that the Comte de +Survilliers, or plain Mr. Bonaparte, as he prefers to be called, when he failed to +secure Knickerbocker Mansion for a residence + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> + +decided to repair thither. Poor man, he must have languished!" she added with a final +snort.</p> + +<p>"And he was such a showy man too!" sighed her sister.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Snograss, learning of the ferment her servant had aroused, sagaciously remarked: +"Let them talk; their chatter is a lecture to the wise; as for capitals, everybody +knows, counting out the inhabitants of this mud-hole, that Trenton came near being the +capital of the whole country!"</p> + +<p>When this bombastic statement was hurled at Vesey Street, it made as much of a +sensation as the late news from Cherubusco. Most + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> + +of the Government officers were classed with the Snograss widow by the affronted +Gothamites, and Mrs. Rumbell said openly that if she had her life to live over England +should have welcomed her when the cross of St. George was torn down from the courthouse +flag-staff.</p> + +<p>The winter died and still there was no cessation of hostilities. The choir-room of +St. Paul's, where the ladies of the Bengal mission met and listened to itinerant +lecturers, or sewed garments for the needy, was the usual field for battle. When Mrs. +Snograss arrived late one day for Mr. Timbuckey's talk on the piety of + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> + +George Crabbe, she was unfortunately ushered to Miss Georgina Knickerbocker's bench. +That haughty lady, the enemy being comfortably ensconced, arose and stalked over to Mrs. +Rumbell's seat, followed by her sister and the Mansion girls, so that the bustle ensuing +spoke to everybody of what was taking place. Patricia smiled a mortified, half-sad smile +at Mrs. Snograss, but the Trentonian only accepted it as additional insult.</p> + +<p>A month later Mrs. Rumbell fainted when her sewing-chair was placed by the disturber +of her peace. She was one of the most violent in her aversion to the newcomer. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> + +The Rev. Samuel Slumnus shook his fat finger at his mother-in-law, as the crafty +dowager, enjoying the excitement created by her feigned swoon, could see with her eyes +half-opened. Such conduct was not to be borne. "Rebellion in my own family," fumed the +perplexed dominie. "I must put a stop to it at once." In his agitation he clasped and +unclasped his hands and caressed his sparse locks. When a hush fell at last upon the +room, he was seen mounting the choir-platform.</p> + +<p>"The meeting of the Easter Guild will be held this year at the residence of Mrs. +Snograss," he sputtered. For a full minute silence + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> + +reigned—then came a clangor of tongues. "He is almost as red in the face as if he +choked on the prune-pits in the Knickerbocker fruit-cake," some irreverent one +whispered. It was said afterward that Mrs. Snograss had put a five-dollar bill in the +mission-box as she left the choir-room that morning—a performance not without +effect. A few parishioners were even heard to lament the fact that Dr. Slumnus's family +was not of the same standing as his wife's. Miss Georgina declared privately to her +sister that any one who went to the Snograss woman's should never darken the door of +Goby House again. But when the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> + +day preceding Easter came, and she heard from Julie of the delight the town was taking +in the prospect of viewing the much-talked of Snograss interior, one venturesome +housekeeper having even asserted that she intended going up to the chambers, Miss +Georgina, wild with jealousy, decided to carry the war into the enemy's country.</p> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 330px;"> +<img src="images/gs07.png" width="330" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>As the night before that day of days died away and clarion cocks made the young dawn +vocal, eager hands drew back the curtains of four-posters. Above the green-gray of +spring-time streets and lanes, the sentinel tree-tops pointed to the translucent blue of +a smiling + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> + +sky. "Day's fair and all's well!" bawled the watch as they blew out their smoking +lights. Voices cracked and rusted by sleep echoed the cry in the depths of soft, +chintz-bound coverlets. "My best ferrandine coat," mumbled Miss Georgina to herself, in +her delight over a pleasing picture of her entrance into the Snograss parlor. She let +the bolster slip to the floor and precipitated her head against the carved laurel leaves +of the top-board, all unconsciously. Bright + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> + +were the visions of cherished falafals and gewgaws that came to the members of the +Easter Guild as they parted company with Morpheus.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rumbell, looking from a casement in the rectory, felt the sweetness of the +season fall upon her. That patch of fresh sky, suggestive of new life and a swift-footed + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> + +May, was more to her than a volley of sermons. The snow still lay on hill and heath. +Father Winter, neglectful of one of his worlds, was sporting among the northern +mountains. Oh, the peace of it! Why should she care if the wealthy Mrs. Snograss had +come to York with her Trenton innovations? All her past grievances were forgotten. In +her blissful state she felt she could even go the length of sewing whalebone in her +second-best silk skirt to conform to the ridiculous fashion of stiffened skirts, +introduced by that lady. Everything was changing! What could she, frail and old, gain by +wrestling with the times? + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> + +Across the way, torn landscape shades blinded the windows of Johnstone House. Roberta +was dead and her home awaited a new tenant. Beyond lay the Bowling Green, the background +of her long life—witness to all the parts the stage-master, Fate, had dealt out to +her. Joys and sorrows marked its worn paths. The city of her golden time was fading +away. No halloos of eager huntsmen, ushering in Aurora, greeted her ears as of yore. +Only a stray thrush, mistaking the season, trilled liquid notes to his lost mates on a +hemlock by her chamber.</p> + +<p>Soon the daylight's eyes were wide open, and the door-knockers, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> + +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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> + +skirts of Cock-a-nee-nae Bess were all permeated with it.</p> + +<p>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 Snograss 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.</p> + +<p>No one looked toward the house on Vesey Street. The Knickerbockers + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> + +never frequented the market—Jonathan Knickerbocker forbade his family's +participation in such vulgar customs.</p> + +<p>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 cock-a-nee-nae necessary to her happiness, the boxes of Poppleton + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> + +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?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<div class="imgright" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/gs08.png" width="400" height="395" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>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 Snograss House, and +watched the members of St. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> + +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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> + +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 passed 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:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="ind1">Major Macpherson heav'd a sigh,</span> + <span class="ind3">Tol, de diddle, dol, dol;</span> + <span class="ind1">And Major Macpherson didn't know why,</span> + <span class="ind3">Tol, de diddle, dol, dol;</span> + <span class="ind1">But Major Macpherson soon found out,</span> + <span class="ind3">Tol, de diddle, dol, dol;</span> + <span class="ind1">'Twas all for Miss Lavinia Scout,</span> + <span class="ind3">Tol, de diddle, dol, dol.</span> + </div> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He was turning for a parting +survey of the street when his ears +caught the tremulous motion of + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + +some vehicle. Dashing out of Vesey Street came the Knickerbocker chariot, creaking +protestations as it swung up to the Snograss stile.</p> + +<p>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 passengers 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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>The door of the tavern had no more than swung to when that of Snograss 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 + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>The contents of the Snograss parlor had given other Gothamites momentary uneasiness +that afternoon. Of course no one felt they possessed the Knickerbocker right + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> + +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 passed 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 embarrassed by her +attentions, left his comfortable cushioned + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> + +chair and took refuge in the hall.</p> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/gs09.png" width="350" height="400" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>If any one had imagined that Mrs. Snograss would forgive the various slights put upon +her in York, she or he was doomed to + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> + +disappointment. All the pleasant things they said to her about her costly egg-shell +china, the glass 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.</p> + +<p>"Ten tin trumpets," called the loud voice.</p> + +<p>"I can humble her," thought the Snograss woman.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ten surprise packages," continued the other.</p> + +<p>"I'll give the Knickerbocker family a surprise," spoke the indignant Trentonian half +aloud.</p> + +<p>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. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> + +Then she arose from her sofa, clashing the folds of her tilter until the room was full +of lustring mockery. Everything was in readiness for Mrs. Snograss's climax of the +afternoon. Revenge spread out its hands and gave her tongue.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever heard of 'The School for Scandal,' Miss Knickerbocker?" she asked, +wreathing her face in an inscrutable smile.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"They say a new Sheridan has + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> + +come to our city." Every Gothamite loved that phrase, "our city," and Mrs. Snograss +dwelt on the words with the nicest shade of mimicry. "He is preparing a little comedy I +might dub the same name," she snickered.</p> + +<p>"An author man?" asked the Knickerbocker voice that always filled the room. "What +does he want here?"</p> + +<p>A sudden silence fell upon the company. Eyes were turned on the Turkey carpet before +the fireplace where the great ladies stood. Ears were cocked in their direction. The +pirouetting woodland fay embellishing the tambour firescreen, worked by the Trentonian + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Snograss gave a hysterical laugh and retreated a few rods.</p> + +<p>A thunder-bolt falling at Miss + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> + +Georgina's feet could not have created more consternation. For a moment she glared at +the creature before her as if she were a butterfly 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!"</p> + +<p>"My Julie saw them kissing less than an hour ago on the Marine Parade!"</p> + +<p>"Ladies who make confidants of their servants are often misinformed," the other +hissed.</p> + +<p>By this time all Vesey Street was on its feet. The plans of the day were forgotten. +Every one + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> + +was too stunned to speak. A Knickerbocker openly insulted—the thought was +appalling! Miss Julie, who was fingering some Snograss 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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Jerusalem, restrain yourself," called her sister. That lady was sweeping proudly +from the room.</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 392px;"> +<img src="images/col03.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<em>My Julie saw them kissing less than an hour ago on the marine +parade</em>"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"They kissed in the shrubbery—My niece in love?" Miss Julie was whispering to +herself unheeded. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> + +The faded leaves of the one flower in her heart were stirring gently.</p> + +<p>Now and then the faint note of a bell drifted on the air. The old sexton of St. +Paul's was preparing his metal children for their long anthem.</p> + +<p>"Oh, joyous night, make haste—make haste," they tinkled to the taper-like star +above them.</p> + +<p>"Disgraced!" muttered Miss Georgina.</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 223px;"> +<img src="images/gs05.png" width="223" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Chapter <em>Three</em></h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 238px;"> +<img src="images/gs11.png" width="238" height="500" alt="T" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="dropcap">he glimmering lantern which the serving-maid Betty carried seemed like a huge firefly +come back to a land of blooms. Sometimes in dim alleyways it caught in her flapping +garments, and her two mistresses were forced to cling together until they reached the +next patch of moonlight. When + +<span class="pagenum" style="text-indent: 0em;"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> + +their half-tasted dinner was finished, and the silver counted and locked in the cherry +cabinet, Georgina commanded her sister to step over with her to the mansion. Jonathan +never permitted the family vehicle to be brought out when the world was not looking, and +his womenkind were used to tramping through the darkness. Julie was reluctant to go at +first, but the other's anger flamed so high she could not help catching some of the +sparks.</p> + +<p>"Would you allow your niece to ruin her life by marrying a man who gains his +livelihood playing a musical instrument? Methinks you have a fondness for hornpipers + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> + +and such. There was Signor Succhi, our dancing-master, I recollect"—nodding her +head—"he used to call you 'little peach-blossom'—his little +peach-blossom!"</p> + +<p>Julie smiled at Georgina's latest feat of memory; then she turned about and gazed +into the dying embers. For a moment she stood beside a merry-eyed youth who dared her to +prick the signor's silken calves. Did he really perfect their symmetry with cotton as +was said, she wondered? Alas, that she was born timorous.</p> + +<p>"Are your wits leaving you, Jerusalem?" continued the other—"you who wear Aunt +Jane's hair locket and have been for years an + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> + +ornament in the highest sphere of this city—now being ruined by Trentonians and +other foreigners. Where is your boasted allegiance to those of your family who have gone +before you?"</p> + +<p>Threatened and cajoled by turns Miss Julie was led into the night. "The Snograss +woman may have lied," came the consoling thought. She cheered herself with it hurrying +through the snow.</p> + +<p>Up Church Street they stumbled past huts and houses. Warm windows beckoned to them. +Georgina had forgotten the mittens for her nieces. The scene at the Snograss House was +uppermost in her mind. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> + +"What a sly minx Patricia is to have kept the disgraceful affair from us so long," she +was thinking. "Could that skulking Juma have helped her? He knew enough to bamboozle +one. There was a report that old Roberta Johnstone even read him novels." The boisterous +wind, tossing the budding lilac branches about the statues in the Knickerbocker garden +which the girl in the window-seat was watching, came shrieking out of unexpected +openings and buffeted her aunts in the face.</p> + +<p>Now they were entering the narrow passage that opened into Vesey Street. The tavern +lights twinkled beyond, but drear and + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> + +lonely the artery for cut-throats appeared.</p> + +<p>Georgina, brave and intrepid, was still nursing her wrath when a mist came before her +eyes. "I see! I feel queer!" she cried. Her companions were shaking like autumn leaves. +"Oh, don't pause, sister!" squeaked terrified Julie, "here's where that picaroon in the +black mask was wont to hide. A Dick Turpin may be concealed yonder!"</p> + +<p>"Hist!" called Georgina, as if speaking to some vermin of the night. A shadowy +mocking face was rising up before her. She began to tremble—where had she seen it? +Yes, 'twas the face of the ancestress whose portrait Jonathan + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> + +took down from the line of Knickerbockers in the parlor. "My nerves," she gasped. "Come, +let us haste, you trembling fools!" Once in the driveway to the house she denied her +fright. Betty was scolded for stumbling over a brier-bush. When the long flight of steps +was reached, she rushed at them boldly. "Knock, Jerusalem," she commanded.</p> + +<div class="imgright" style="width: 292px;"> +<img src="images/gs12.png" width="292" height="400" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The little woman tried to sound the clapper, then fell back exhausted. Georgina, +enraged, seized it and thumped violently upon the plate. The sounds reverberated through +the night, clashing against the bell-notes and the sound of the swaying elms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jonathan and his daughters sprang from their seats. The Santa Cruz invoices slipped +to the floor and fluttered after the wool balls like merchants aspiring to new +possessions. What cared the horn of plenty on the door for the profits of the Fleet +Sally? It had watched the ebb and flow of lordlier fortunes. "That ear-splitting bell +hubbub—and now visitors," said the master, advancing to his offspring as if they +were the cause of this new annoyance.</p> + +<p>Juma, already half-drunk with dreams, rubbed his dazed head and hastened toward the +entry. Was Toussaint calling him? Did the chair of Marie du Buc de Marcinelle, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> + +the Elizabethtown beauty, pause before the hair-dresser's sign? Then time and place came +back. Realizing that he was watched, he drew the great bolt with a show of strength, and +in bounded the gale-blown humanity.</p> + +<p>"You?" queried the head of the Knickerbockers. That was the only greeting he gave his +nearest relations on Easter eve. He glanced at Julie to see whether she secreted any +packages about her person.</p> + +<p>Georgina, entering the room, her face stern and white, said, eyeing him, "Prepare +yourself for a shock."</p> + +<p>He returned the challenge.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>Had she been tampering with her five-per-cents for Peruvian investments? Was it the +old plaint—Jerusalem's frivolity? Why did the woman gaze at him so mournfully?</p> + +<p>"Prepare yourself," she continued, her voice rising to a shriek. "Patricia—your +Patricia—has disgraced us!"</p> + +<p>The girl peering from the landing heard her name called. Her secret was known to the +world and would soon be an implement + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> + +of torture. The arbutus fell from her bodice unheeded. She could not meet that cruel +group below!</p> + +<p>"Richard," sighed the stray gusts of wind on the staircase; "Richard" chimed the +patient clock. She crept closer to the baluster railing. Some mysterious force was +guiding—impelling her onward. Out of the shadows flashed a face. Like a smile it +vanished. She ran to the steps. For a moment she stood silent, gaining courage to +descend.</p> + +<hr style="width: 10%" /> + +<div class="imgleft" style="width: 220px;"> +<img src="images/gs13.png" width="220" height="400" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>At the very moment when she had glanced back tremblingly for a parting benediction +from the stars, a figure wrapped in a great-coat + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> + +was hurrying out of the Sheridan garden. It was Patricia's lover. The youth often came +to gaze at her home after sleep locked all the doors of the world but the dream door for +which he had never yet found a key. Then the daytime's barriers were broken and she was +his alone. Under the Knickerbocker elm-trees he would stand, sometimes, a wild, +impassioned troubadour, aflame with songs of love for his imprisoned mate. Again she +came to him a vision pure and + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> + +ethereal and he folded her to his heart in memory of one perfect Junetime +day—while multitudes of roses shed their fragrant petals and birds trilled a +divine chorus. To-night, with the wondrous Easter peace upon him, she seemed to walk by +his side. Those bell-notes drifting on the air were the music of their lives. Hand in +hand they floated on the flow of the darkness. Through the days—and the years. +Through the springs—and the summers. Always together! Little forms clutched their +knees. Carking care crept out of black coverts. Death beckoned to them in the +distance—still, there was the scent of Junetime + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> + +roses. Ah, God! those roses of love, they were theirs for all eternity!</p> + +<p>As he neared Knickerbocker Mansion his mood changed. The bells were dying away again. +Old Jenkins up in the steeple above the lights of the drowsy city was letting his metal +children rest. Their task would soon be over, for the faithful moss-hung clock already +pointed to the nightcap hour. The rushes in the poorer regions near the waste lands were +flickering out—only the gentry street was still aglow.</p> + +<p>A flock of snow-sparrows caught by the gale dashed past the youth, chattering bird +imprecations. Beyond, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> + +in the moonlight, loomed Her dwelling-place. Coldly white and dreary it looked. +Everything about it was mute and unaware of the joyous night. Did Juma keep his promise +and give her the arbutus? A longing thrilled him to know her thoughts at this hour. Were +they of him? He hastened into the carriage-path, following the footprints made by the +trio from Goby House. The leaden statues leered at him in the spaces between the +evergreens. Bare shrubs sighed their gusty dirges at his heels.</p> + +<p>At the lordly flight of steps he paused and hesitated. Then her pleading voice seemed +to rise on + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> + +the wind. A strange intuition swayed him. The great door of the mansion was moving, +opening inward. He asked himself if he were going stark mad, as he crept to it softly, +like a thief.</p> + +<p>A cry met his ears, and he staggered back—"I love him! I shall love him +always!" came the words.</p> + +<p>"Patricia," he whispered breathlessly.</p> + +<p>Before him was the dismal length of the hall that he had never hoped to enter. Slowly +he reeled forward.</p> + +<hr style="width:10%" /> + +<p>While her lover was coming to her through the night, the girl + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> + +was descending the staircase. At the bottom she paused and remained very still. From the +room beyond an army of candle rays was slipping underneath the green sarcenet curtain +and capering gnome-like about her feet. They were waiting for her in there! A prowling +rat scampered down the dark passage. In another moment she would stand before her +indignant family. The curtain shifted and shadows chased away the light. Behind the +awful thing were their watchful eyes. She began to tremble and stretch out her hands +imploringly at the space before it. The courage that had brought her so near to the +chamber of judgment + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> + +was fast vanishing when Juma came slowly out of the pantry. He did not speak, but his +sad old eyes rested on her lovingly. Stifled sobs shook her slender frame as she nestled +close to him, seeking the help that he was powerless to give. A wilder gust of wind blew +the neglected spray of arbutus from the landing above and it fell at her feet like a +message. She looked at it a moment, then slowly parted the veil of the inevitable. The +eyes she feared were now upon her.</p> + +<p>Jonathan, choleric with indignation, stood by his desk, clenching his hands. At the +sight of the child whose conduct swept aside + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> + +every Knickerbocker law his rage overflowed, and the room was full of a torrent of +reproaches. Once he came near knocking over a bust of Mr. Washington, the property of a +Makemie, and Miss Julie gave a slight scream.</p> + +<p>Patricia heard him silently. She was calmer than any of the spectators. The other +Mansion girls continually slid off their chairs and made weird gurgles with their +throats. Several times they almost interrupted their parent. As for Georgina, her +high-built hair shook like a barrister's wig in the heat of a court appeal.</p> + +<p>"You have disgraced us—a common follower fit for a tire-woman! + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> + +Yes, miss, in your veins flows the Knickerbocker blood, though I cannot credit it. Say +'tis a lie ere I turn you out. Say 'tis the fabrication of that catamount Trenton woman, +envious of your aunts' reputation. Speak, girl! Is it true that the town has seen you +keeping trysts with him at the Battery? Speak!" gasped the worthy man.</p> + +<p>"It is true," said Patricia, trying to keep herself strong for battle.</p> + +<p>The draught from the half opened door, which Juma in his excitement had neglected to +shut, swept the chimney piece and ended the life of a candle.</p> + +<p>"Look!" said Jonathan dragging his daughter by the arms, and pointing + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> + +to the portraits along the wall. "You are the first to disgrace them! They were as fine +a line of men and women as was ever bred up in America. Think you they stepped down from +their high places for silly fancies? Think you they forgot they were born to superior +circumstances and sullied their reputations?"</p> + +<p>Here the autocrat of York's voice broke slightly. The same ghostly face that had +appeared to Miss Georgina in Cut-throat Alley leered at him suddenly, and he recoiled. +Aghast, he remembered the painting under the attic eaves!</p> + +<p>Patricia was facing him. The word love was in his ears. With + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> + +a maddened cry he advanced quivering. Along the films of the air he saw his ancestors +as he often pictured them to himself—a fine mass of superior clay on a +pedestal.</p> + +<p>"You shall give him up!" he thundered. Then he turned. The green sarcenet curtain +moved ominously, and the form of Richard Sheridan was disclosed in its folds.</p> + +<p>The youth, heedless of the frowning faces about him, gazed only at the woman he was +ready to die for if need were. The passions of the world were swept away as the echo of +her cry "I love him—I shall love him always!"—bounded through his heart. For +one harmonious moment they gazed into + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> + +each other's eyes forgetful of surging discords. With stronger grip he clutched at the +curtain!</p> + +<p>"You, sirrah!" scoffed the voice Patricia thought would go on forever, inflicting +fresh wounds at each new outburst. "Impudent organ thumper—to dare come here! I'll +better your judgment." As he moved nearer Richard she thrust herself before him.</p> + +<p>From the corner of the room came a wail from Julie. "Oh, don't be hard on them, +Jonathan. You helped father make me give up Captain MacLeerie," she faltered. "I might +have been Mrs. Captain MacLeerie! Poor Bodsey—he vowed he'd never sail a ship + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> + +into Amboy Harbor again—and perhaps the cannibals have him now, or the devil +fishes!"</p> + +<p>She began to weep softly. Outside a heavy oaken shutter clanked against the house. +Patricia threw her arms about her lover's neck, and her father gazed at her spellbound +with fury.</p> + +<p>"Disgraced us, hussy," he muttered. "Go with your tinker!"</p> + +<p>Juma fell on his knees and began to lament after the fashion of his kind.</p> + +<p>"Begone!"—spoke the voice again, breaking at last—"You are no longer one +of us!"</p> + +<p>The girl, supported by the man to whom she was giving her young + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> + +life, and followed by the trembling negro, crept slowly away.</p> + +<p>Whiffs of air increasing to a current swept from out the hall. The remaining lights +fought with it—then despaired. A tired moon was slumbering behind the western +pines, and only the glow of a few watchful stars dripped through the casements.</p> + +<p>Simultaneously the breaths of every one in the room came faster and faster. Vapors +wan and tinged with dust filled the atmosphere, and an unmistakable odor of sandal-wood, +faint from long imprisonment.</p> + +<p>The startled Knickerbockers retreated to the walls, knocking over + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> + +chairs and tables in their flight. Before the green sarcenet curtain which had played +such a part in the affairs of the night there was a waft of airy garments. A white weft +of towering hair—black, burning eyes. Three Knickerbockers knew them! The lady of +the banished portrait was moving through the doorway and speaking in quaint last-century +utterance.</p> + +<p>"Come back!" she called to the lovers, speaking to Patricia. "'Tis a weary while I +have been in the other world, but your sore need has brought me here on the anniversary +of the birth of love. I am your great-great-grandmother, who felt the full force of the +pretty passion and stole away with my dear heart from yonder theatre in old John +Street—a grain house in your time, so one from York who recently joined us +informed me.</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 384px;"> +<img src="images/col04.jpg" width="384" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<em>The lady of the banished portrait was moving through the +doorway</em>"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Although my likeness does not hang in the family line, I bear you small malice. I +get a surfeit of their society." Here the ghost sighed, and with the saddest air +possible tapped her empty snuffbox and went through the act of inhaling a reviving pinch +of strong Spanish. "This girl who has the bloom of me I would befriend, and as the +greatness of your ancestors is all that stands in the way of a marriage with the man of +her choice, I have bid them come to meet + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> + +you and get their opinions, mayhap."</p> + +<p>A tremor went through the room! More unearthly visitants? The flesh was creeping on +the bones of all the living Knickerbockers!</p> + +<p>"They are waiting for us in Lady Knickerbocker's state-room yonder—Sir William +tried to kiss me there once after a junket," she continued. "He would not come +to-night—I fear he was afraid it would be dull."</p> + +<p>She moved over to Jonathan, who was speechless from fright, and laid a shadowy hand +on his. Once past the door ledge she began the descent of the hall as if footing the air +of some ancient melody. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> + +With grim, rebellious face the present head of her house moved with her, apparently +against his own volition.</p> + +<p>By the one brightly floriated mirror she straightened her osprey plumes and tapped +him gently with her fan. "You dance like a footman," she said. "Have you go-carts 'neath +your feet?"</p> + +<p>The trembling file of Knickerbockers followed after them, seemingly blown by the +wind, whose diabolical wailing reverberated through the house. Doors and windows raged +and rattled. There were stridulous, uncanny groans from quaking beams. Behind the panels +adown the hall rose and swelled + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> + +the confused murmur of many voices. The echoes of long dead years were reviving. Above +them all was a dying requiem of bells, tolling low and mournfully like a warning to +belated road-farers that the ghosts of the haughty Knickerbockers were seeking earth +again.</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 225px;"> +<img src="images/gs14.png" width="225" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<h2><em>Chapter Four</em></h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<div class="backleft" style="background-image: url(images/gs15.png); height: 100%;" /> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:100%; height:200px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:130px; height:70px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:50px; height:40px;"> </div> + +<p>s the family neared the long unused state parlor the din grew louder—a rising +treble of voices, ascending from hoarse trumpet tones to a twittering falsetto, +accompanied by a maddening persistent tapping of high heels on the smooth floor. The +sounds of shivering glass as a girandole crashed from its joining met their ears. Each +second was + +<span class="pagenum" style="text-indent:0em;"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> + +a discord running wild with panic-striking incidents.</p> + +<p>Julie grasped frantically at the more stalwart Georgina, while clinging to her own +garments were the three Mansion girls, screeching like the town's whistles in a March +twilight.</p> + +<p>The ghost little Jerusalem feared the most was that of the stern Judge. "Will he know +that I have changed my name?" she wailed. "Oh, sister, I ate up those bracelets he gave +me for taking treacle. I sold them to a silversmith and bought French prunes. You know +you said that you'd as soon eat stewed bull-frogs as anything grown by the Monsieurs, + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> + +and all York was stewing prunes!"</p> + +<p>Georgina never turned her head at this remarkable confession. Her features had +assumed a strange rigidity; she was as silent as her brother. The shrieks of her nieces, +old Juma's incessant lamentations, and the low whispers of the lovers were all unheeded. +The racket behind the cobwebbed doors, never opened but for Knickerbocker weddings and +funerals, absorbed her senses. Slowly they were swinging back for Jonathan and his +phantom partner. The delicate odor of sandal-wood, was strengthened by gasps of musk. +Into a yellow blinding glare of light the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> + +file of Knickerbockers looked, and their eyes grew gooseberry-like with horror.</p> + +<p>A crowd of shades bedecked in their last earthly garniture were gliding and teetering +about; some dignified as at a stately farce, others hilarious with ungraceful +levity.</p> + +<p>As the living Knickerbockers appeared in the room the waggling and chortling fell +into a monotone, and the company began to pass in review before them, seemingly desirous +of attracting individual notice. Few wore the costly attire one would have expected from +the tales spread about them by the Knickerbockers of Vesey Street. Several were clad in +plain humhums + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> + +and torn fustians. One chirpy dame in a moth-eaten tabby hugged a little package of +Bohea to her stomacher, unmindful of the fact that the luxury had grown much cheaper +since she quitted this sphere. Another, who evidently thought herself a beauty, wore a +false frontage of goat hair before her muslin cap, and ogled Jonathan as she passed, +though he did not seem eager for a flirtation with his ugly great-aunt.</p> + +<p>An ungainly yokel stepped on the feet of the Mansion girls, and some bold gentlemen, +who had spent a goodly portion of their natural lives in Bridewell, swore at them. Still +the awful procession + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> + +kept moving on—faces were as thick as the tapers glowing in every bracket and +candelabra. Bursts of music rose on the wind—a wheezing tune that sobbed of past +jubilation. Suddenly all the Knickerbockers gasped. Stern Judge Knickerbocker, who had +rarely smiled in life, was seen advancing, bent double with laughter and clinging to a +figure in a cardinal hoop.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let us cover our eyes," whispered Miss Georgina. "This is more than I can +bear."</p> + +<p>"Don't!" said the lady of the banished portrait. "You have often boasted of your +family's intimacy with that queer figure. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> + +Through your veneration of him, York has made him into quite a hero. It is the friend of +one of the first American Knickerbockers—Lord Cornbury! He was addicted to wearing +women's furbelows!"</p> + +<p>"Gazooks!" exclaimed his Lordship, in a tone loud enough for the Knickerbockers to +hear. "More of those tiresome impertinents! The next thing the whole of the presumptuous +clan will be petitioning me for standing room at my routs."</p> + +<p>"Don't go any nearer to them," said the Judge, in the tones of a sycophant. "If they +bore you, my dear Corny, I am willing to cut them. <em>You know it is the fashion on +earth to recognize only the most</em> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> + +<em>desirable</em> ancestors, and we can return the compliment. Besides it was decreed +that I should be jocular for the next half century, and I'm afraid a too close +inspection would cause me to don weepers."</p> + +<p>The group by the doors felt a sickening sensation in their flaccid frames. Jonathan's +partner, knowing how grievously they must all have been affected by the change in their +parent, turned her head.</p> + +<p>A one-eyed hag was advancing to her. She curtsied low, and presented two bits of +plaster which had fallen from the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Messages," she snickered, fumbling with her hands.</p> + +<p>"From Marmaduke and Leonidas + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> + +Barula," read the lady (though no one knows how, for she only observed the niches). "We +beg to be excused from coming to-night. To put it mildly, we were raised aloft in Pearl +Street Hollow for practising target shooting on coach-drivers, and our necks are still +out of joint and not fit to be seen in company."</p> + +<p>As the merriment waxed louder a Gobie, who had spent her life as a fish-fag, began +tapping on the panelled wainscot. With a hoarse guffaw she turned her piercing alaquine +eyes on Miss Julie and squinted—"More negus! More here, you slubber-degullions. We +Gobies has a thirst. 'Twas what we were + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> + +noted for in life—not our learning, great-niece," she mocked, as she turned her +head and grimaced at Miss Georgina.</p> + +<p>"Go away!" snuffled that once resolute woman, too weak to combat any longer. A +feeling of despair was settling upon her like a pall. What if Mrs. Rumbell, or, worse +still, if Mrs. Snograss should be passing Knickerbocker House and hear the oaths and +ungenteel voices of the supposedly elegant family? No tap-room fracas at Fraunces' could +have equalled the deafening hubbub.</p> + +<p>"Beshrew the old fool, she be as jealous for the lies she told of us as a Barbary +pigeon."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go away!" continued the sinking sister of the autocrat of York.</p> + +<p>That distraught-looking gentleman himself was hastening across the room with +restorative salts, which one of his daughters always carried in her reticule. As he +approached Georgina the Gobie snatched the bottle from his hand and drained it at a +gulp.</p> + +<p>"Anything with fire-water for me," she hiccoughed. Then clutching hold of him, she +sunk her voice to a whisper—"I left this sphere for drinking a quart of +gillyflower scent!"</p> + +<p>Julie began to weep softly—"Oh, Aunt Jane, if you were only here! Our Aunt Jane +was different + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> + +from these people," she wailed to herself, half apologetically.</p> + +<p>She was fond of studying the picture in the other room and could have traced it from +memory. Raising her eyes, she gave a prolonged shriek. The fish-fag and some of the +Makemies were dragging her beloved Jane over Lady Lyron's court steps, out of the +powdering closet.</p> + +<p>The room was becoming uproarious. Doors were opening and shutting again, letting in +the moaning of the bells. The culmination of the buffoonery was approaching.</p> + +<p>"Good, Jane," sobbed Miss Julie.</p> + +<p>"Good, Jane," echoed the chorus of the spectres.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Reluctant, and feigning a great stress of emotion, the poor lady was pushed into the +illuminated space below the hundred-taper drop. She looked like some pretty long-vaulted +effigy. In her hands she still carried the spray of milk-weed.</p> + +<p>The noise lessened for a moment. Jane gazed reproachfully at her niece, Julie, as if +the indiscreet wish were the cause of her present misery, and said, in a pensive voice, +"I did not want to come to-night."</p> + +<p>"I always knew you were a modest woman," said Jonathan, recovering a little of his +once audacious manner.</p> + +<p>"Modest forsooth!" giggled the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> + +fish-fag diabolically, and seizing one of Jonathan's fat hands in her bony fingers, she +drew it over the other's face.</p> + +<p>"Look, see the white streaks on her now! She reddened, the hussy,—or I'm not a +Gobie!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was vain," answered the most prated-about of female Knickerbockers. "I used +countless beautifiers—pearl powders, cherry salve, cupid's tints. Everything Mr. +Gaine sold at the Crown. They hooked the men. When pearl powders came upon the market, I +received three offers—Jenks—a tutor at King's College—not the +President, as the report remains on earth—wrote me a poem in the + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> + +<em>Weekly Gossiper</em>, called 'Pink and White Amanda.'"</p> + +<p>"Jane Knickerbocker," said the ghost who was giving the party, "your family has spent +many hours telling the present generation of your womanly virtues, and they cannot fail +in having an overweening respect for any opinion you may utter. Shall this girl who +bears your blood marry yon youth?"</p> + +<p>"Let them wed by all means, if they see advantage in it. I vow if I could come back +to earth and live my twenty-eight years over again, I would join hands with Jean, our +Elizabeth-Town perfumer."</p> + +<p>Lord Cornbury and the shades about him were bowed with mirth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Janet, you giddy girl, though half the age of most of us, I protest you are becoming +a wit. You will be getting into society next," he cried. "I shall never be mean enough +to tell that in sublunary times one of the first American Knickerbockers knew me +intimately only as my valet."</p> + +<p>"A fig for your class distinctions," called the fair indignant, hunting for a rouge +rag. "Years ago we heard ''twas money made the court circle at York.' Why, you must +remember how you feared your creditors when they first came below."</p> + +<p>"Alack, indeed," said his Lordship plaintively, "this hooped petticoat was never paid +for."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>After dishevelled Jane had vanished again into the powdering closet whence she had +first emerged, the lady of the banished portrait moved over to Patricia and her lover. +Standing side by side the resemblance between the two women was remarkable. One was the +budding flower; the other the fragile shadow of a beautiful life.</p> + +<p>"Her kind will always exist," she said. "They marry for pearl powders and other +vanities, and usually seek, or are forced into, a gilded cage. There, like jackdaws, +they call out their possessions from dawn till night, and the heedless world passing by +sees the sparkling of the gold, mistakes the caws for + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> + +singing, and applauds. I knew love—the ideal love that smiles at one from the +wayside when one is seeking it in the well-kept gardens. I paid for it with my heart's +blood, and I never had cause to regret. Over the rough places of my earthly journey it +followed me with radiant illusions. The April winds were sweeter, the sunshine on the +roads warmer. I felt all the raptures mother nature gives her children. That is why I +could leave the other world to do you this service. <em>Love</em> is the one thing death +cannot lull to sleep!"</p> + +<p>Patricia tried to answer, but the power of speech had left her for the moment. Juma's +face was + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> + +glowing with peaceful smiles. He bent low on his right knee to kiss the diaphanous +draperies of the shade.</p> + +<p>Outside in the night there arose the low murmurous chanting of the town waits moving +homeward. A chime of bells, as soft as a blessing. The thorns had fallen from the brows +of love.</p> + +<p>While Patricia's benefactress gave her message the circle of ghosts was making way +for the other Knickerbockers to enter. On closer inspection, many of them proved to be +tame sort of animals enough. From a distance one monster of a woman had given the +impression that she was trying to bully posterity. Perhaps this was due to + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> + +the long feathers in her head-dress, that nodded maliciously at her most placid motion. +As she bowed to her descendants a plume tickled the tip of Jonathan's nose and he jumped +back slightly. "I am Melodia Mudford Makemie," she said, "and I thought you would like +to meet me, as I started the Christmas fashion of giving hot-bag covers in York."</p> + +<p>"Hot-bag covers!" reiterated Miss Georgina, astonished. "I have always said mittens. +Why, in my ancestry book it is noted that in the year 1768 you gave one hundred pairs of +silk mittens to Gruel Hall, the home for tiresome gentlewomen."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The years play great hoaxes," chuckled the ghost. "Those ancestry books are a +standard joke with us, and I believe they are looked upon with some suspicion in your +own world."</p> + +<p>Melodia seemed so friendly, Julie gained courage enough to purse up her lips for a +speech, but the shade anticipated her.</p> + +<p>"I know what you are going to ask—why did I make such a wide frill about the +bottle's neck? 'Tis easy to explain. I never took my bag to church to warm my +hands—'twas my stomach!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Miss Julie, faltering slightly, fearing that this relative might become +vulgar like the terrible + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> + +Gobies still dancing about Lord Cornbury.</p> + +<p>"Yes," continued the other, "when William fell asleep during the sermon I used to +sink down well in the pew, put the frill up to my mouth, squeeze the end of the bag, and +get as much as a dram of whiskey."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Julie, aghast; "a hot-water bag for whiskey!"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said the ghost, angrily. Her manner was that of one who had expected +commendation for her cleverness. The plumes in her head-dress were shaking +violently.</p> + +<p>"Why not, miss?" she asked again. "You are far too nice. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> + +At any rate you know the reason for those tomfool bag-covers. 'Twas to deaden the smell +of liquor. Your generation of Yorkers does not appreciate them as we did." Then her +voice broke into derisive sniggers, as she glided away.</p> + +<p>And now upon the strange company fell the bellowing of some faithful passing +watchman.</p> + +<p>"Midnight's here and fair weather!"</p> + +<p>A sleepy cock crowed in a distant Chelsea barn.</p> + +<p>The faces of the shades began to blanch and assume the lack-lustre tint of ashes. The +lady of the banished portrait touched Patricia as if giving her a last embrace, and + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> + +her smile at Richard Sheridan was full of good wishes.</p> + +<p>"Do you consent to the marriage," she whispered, bending over Jonathan, "or shall we +come to-morrow night?"</p> + +<p>"I do," he answered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Then we go in peace," sighed the ghost.</p> + +<p>There was a flutter of garments and the lights vanished suddenly. Only the scents of +old-time perfumes remained, sweet as the hearts of vanished roses.</p> + +<p>A cackle of feeble laughter floated back to the room as if the departing +Knickerbockers were still making merry on the stairway to the other world.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>The song of the weary bells was over. Peace had fallen upon the earth, and in Lady +Tyron's mouldering parlor the vials of a foolish pride were despoiled forever. Through +the mystical light the living of the family seemed to be strangely transfigured. +Jonathan Knickerbocker, the autocrat of York, walked with his head bowed upon his +breast. The hard lineaments of Georgina's face were softened. Ofttimes she turned +uneasily, half expecting some awful apparition to emerge before her. As for Miss Julie, +she moved like one in a dreamland of her own. The tears of the night had fallen upon +that little flower in her heart + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> + +and brought it back to life. Henceforth it would fill all her remaining years with +fragrance. The three eldest Knickerbocker daughters clung to her as if she were the +guiding light of their starved souls.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she left them, and went to her brother.</p> + +<p>"I am glad they came, Jonathan," she faltered; "we had forgotten God made us all in +His own image. He gave us the flowers and the stars, the sweet winds and the +spring-times—the voices of children and the songs of birds. Every man is rich if +he but knew it, and those who are only rich in pride are the poorest of the race."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>Over by the shimmering casement, the youth and the girl crept nearer to each other. +Softly he drew her to him until her face was close to his. The night was dead. Down old +Broadway, over the Bowling Green, the Easter dawn tiptoed into the silent city.</p> + +<div class="imgcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/gs16.png" width="500" height="224" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width:25%" /> + +<div class="notebox"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p> + +<p>All apparent printer's errors retained.</p> + +<p>Some page numbers are not included (specifically pages 2, 36, 84, +and 116). These were blank pages in the book and have not been included here.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The ghosts of their ancestors, by Weymer Jay Mills + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOSTS OF THEIR ANCESTORS *** + +***** This file should be named 36991-h.htm or 36991-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/9/36991/ + +Produced by Alex Gam, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The ghosts of their ancestors + +Author: Weymer Jay Mills + +Illustrator: John Rae + +Release Date: August 6, 2011 [EBook #36991] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOSTS OF THEIR ANCESTORS *** + + + + +Produced by Alex Gam, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + _The_ Ghosts + _of their_ + Ancestors + + + [Illustration: "_Those ancestry books are a standard joke with us_"] + + + _The_ Ghosts _of + their_ Ancestors + + _by Weymer Jay Mills_ + + _Author of_ + "Caroline _of_ Courtlandt Street" + + _Pictures by_ John Rae + + [Illustration] + + New York + Fox Duffield & Co. + 1906 + + + Copyright, 1906, by + Fox Duffield & Company + + Published, March, 1906 + + The Trow Press, N. Y. + + + [Illustration: To American Ladies & Gentlemen of prodigious Quality] + + + To + _Minerva_ + and + _Virginia_ + + + + +Pictures + + + "_Those ancestry books are a standard joke with us_" Frontispiece + + Facing page + + "_How lovely she is, Juma!_" 18 + + "_My Julie saw them kissing less than an hour ago on the + marine parade_" 80 + + "_The lady of the banished portrait was moving through + the doorway_" 110 + + + + +Chapter _One_ + + +[Illustration] + +There was a clanging, brassy melody upon the air. For three-score years +since York of the Scarlet Coats died, and the tune "God Save the King" +floated for the last time out of tavern door and mansion window, the bells +of old St. Paul's had begun their ringing like this: + +"Loud and full voiced at eight o'clock sends good cheer abroad," said the +tottering sexton. "Softer and softer, as folks turn into bed, and faint +and sweet at midnight, when our dear Lord rises with the dawn." Cheery +bells full of hope--gentle chimes, as if the holy mother were dreaming of +her babe. Joyous, jingling, jangling bells! Through the town their tones +drifted, over the thousands of slate-colored roofs, now insistent on the +Broadway, now lessening a little in some long winding alley, and then +finally dying away on the bare Lispenard Meadows. + +Vesey Street--the gentry street--heard them first. The bigwigs in the long +ago, with the help of Gracious George, built the church, and who had a +better right than their children to its voices. Calm and serene lay Vesey +Street with its rows of leafing elms. Over the dim confusion of +architectural forms slipped the moonlight in silver ribbons, seeming to +make sport of the grave, smug faces of the antiquated domiciles. Like a +line of deserted dowagers waiting for some recalcitrant Sir Roger de +Coverley, they stood scowling at one another. No longer linkboys and +running footmen stuck brave lights into the well-painted extinguishers at +each doorstep. No longer fashion fluttered to their gates. The gallants +who had been wont to pass them with, "Lud! what a pretty house!" were most +of them asleep now on the green breast of mother England, forgetful of +that wide thoroughfare, which had never reckoned life without them. + +Into the parlor of Knickerbocker House, dubbed Knickerbocker Mansion some +years after the bibulous Sir William Howe had laid down his sceptre as +ruler of the town, the chorus of bells crashed. + +"What a dastardly noise!" cried Jonathan Knickerbocker, throwing his +newspaper over his head. "Can this Easter time never be kept without an +infernal bell bombilation? I shall call a meeting of the vestry--that +idiot Jenkins should be kept at home!" + +The head of the Knickerbocker family turned irately in his chair and +glared at his daughters. Three timid pairs of blinking eyes were raised +from short sacks in answer to his challenge, then lowered again over the +wool. The fourth and fairest daughter of the house, seated on the walnut +sofa in the bow-window, gave no heed to his vehemence but a suppressed +sigh. With a final snort the _Gazette_ was picked up again. The Easter +melody was waning. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +The Knickerbocker parlor--not the state parlor, which had long been +closed--was a dismal place--so large that four candles and one Rumford +lamp made but a patch of brightness in the gloom. Most of the furniture +was ponderous and ugly, with two or three alien little chairs that looked +as if they might once have belonged to some light-hearted lover of the +Louis. On the almost barren chimney-piece stood a pair of tall nankeen +beakers, sepulchrally reminiscent of buried Chinese years. Along the walls +hung a score of mediocre portraits, the handiwork of the usurious limner +John Watson and his compatriot Hessilius. Spans of sunlit days had stolen +every tinge of carmine from their immobile and woodeny faces, leaving them +the drab color of time, in keeping with the room. + +Above the cornice, near the sofa where Patricia Knickerbocker sat, hung an +empty frame. The portrait it contained had been banished to the attic +while her three eldest sisters were still in Wellington pantalets. + +"The woman looks like a Jezebel," Jonathan had sputtered. "Och! that +leering smile." He tried to blot from his mind the stray leaves he knew of +her story, and the disturbing thought that she was of his blood. "She +shall not remain with the likenesses of my ancestors!" he had told his +sisters, who were over from Goby House. + +When this descendant of the Knickerbockers spoke of his progenitors he +always held his head a trifle more erect, and puffed out his pompous +figure, though, strange to relate, like many another worthy man of a later +day having the same foible, he knew very little about them. Of course he +could have told you that the lady over the east bookcase, wearing a blue +tucker and holding a spray of milk-weed in her hand, was his Aunt Jane; +and that his father was a noted New York judge, the pride of three +circuits. Or if his digression were extended, there was his trump card, +one of the first American Knickerbockers, labelled "The Friend of Lord +Cornbury!" These were the firmest rocks in his family history, to which he +could climb in safety, thence to look down with scorn on those +unfortunates beneath his social eminence. He was a Knickerbocker, of +Knickerbocker Mansion, Vesey Street, and a member of one of the oldest +families in York and America. + +Patricia, smiling little Patricia, rummaging one day among the dust-bins +under the eaves, had found the banished portrait. Juma, the gray-wooled +negro, a comparatively new member of the Knickerbocker household, who had +appointed himself her body-servant ever since his arrival at the mansion, +was with her. + +[Illustration] + +A faithful slave to old Miss Johnstone of Crown Street, Juma had been +forced by his mistress's death into new service. He was a picture of +ebonized urbanity, a good specimen of the vanished race of Gotham blacks, +gentler in manners and clearer in speech than their Southern cousins. In +his youth he had been sent to one Jean Toussaint of Elizabethtown to learn +the art of hair-dressing. He could impart much knowledge of wigs to a +wigless age, and talked in a grandiloquent fashion of Spencers, +Albemarles, and Lavants. Many a beau peruke and macaroni toupee his lithe +fingers curled and sprinkled with sweet flower-water. The voices of the +fine people who were his visitors made constant music in his memory, and +his tongue was ever ready with anecdotes of wizened beauties and uncrowned +cavaliers. + +Juma was faithful to the period of his greatest splendor. Deep in his +heart he despised the home to which freedom and poverty had led him after +the demise of his protectress. "Gold braid on company coat and silk +stockings done ravel out in dese days. Knickerbockers talk quality, but +dey ain't got quality mannahs--Missy Patsy is de only one of dem with +tone." + +He loved to listen to the girl as she tripped through the great rooms, +humming softly some air from Lennet's "London Song-Book"--one of the relics +of his "ole Miss." Patricia always sang on the days when her sisters were +visiting their aunts on the bluff. Juma loved her, and during his five +years' residence in the family had many times taken her youthful mind in +train with quaint eighteenth-century maxims and fetiches. + +"De wise miss drop her fan when she enters de ballroom," he would say. +"Den she gets de men on der knees from de start." + +"I wish I were invited to balls," Patricia sighed. "The Kings and Grahams +give one or two every year, but father never notices them." + +"Well, you jes' know how to behave," he chuckled. "Doan' yo' forget de +tricks your Uncle Juma taught yo'." + +When the two had met in the attic that April day, Juma's spirits were as +ebullient as usual. + +"How lovely she is, Juma! See, there is a blush on each cheek. Her pink +brocade makes me think of a rose dancing in the wind." + +Patricia stared into the canvas face before her and the lips seemed to +curve themselves into the shadow of a smile. "I know you were the fairest +one of us," she whispered, "the fairest and the best." + +"Dat's the real quality way of holding the head," vouchsafed Juma. "I'se +pow'ful 'clined to think she looks like yo', missy." And then they had +laughed, shut away with maimed chairs, tired spinets, and other voiceless +things, glad to have escaped from Knickerbocker frowns. + +[Illustration: "_How lovely she is, Juma!_"] + +It was a dismal household, that of the old mansion--the master absorbed in +his passion for wealth and worship of family; the three eldest daughters, +who might once have had some individuality but now were moulded in the +form of their father. "Callow old maids," any individual of the lower +ranks of York would have dubbed them. They wore little bunches of sedate +curls over each ear, and dressed in sombre, genteel colors proper to their +exalted rank. On the first day of the week they dozed through a long +sermon; on its last day they simpered politely at the Whist Club. Fears of +broken jelly-moulds or of the romping Patricia's next prank were the only +disturbers of the tranquillity of their lives. Jonathan Knickerbocker was +their one Almighty Mirror. When he labelled Mrs. Scruggins, the draper's +niece, a person not fit to associate with, their stiff gowns obediently +gave forth hisses at the said lady. When he prated of his father's +shrewdness, they nodded discreet approval; and at the mere mention of the +loyal friend of Lord Cornbury, they bobbed like grass before a gale. + +Patricia's impressionable temperament was saved by Juma's advent from the +sirocco of dulness that wafted her sisters over the lake of years. His +"ole Miss," a looker on at the "Court of Florizel," had unconsciously +taught him to imbibe the atmosphere surrounding the Graces. A democracy +could not spoil her elegance, for Chesterfield's warning was ever before +her eyes. She who copied the footsteps of Baccelli, adored her Sterne and +Beattie, and though her eyes grew dim, never let romance pass her window +unmolested, had left her impress upon the mind of the faithful servitor. +Life to him was a gay-colored picture-book, brighter perhaps because he +could not read the printed page. All his maids were cherry-ribboned and +belaced; all his roystering sparks clinked gilded canakins. Love was ever +smiling on them! For wellnigh half a century he had listened to tales of +the gay god as he bound one romance-loving woman's silken tresses. Small +wonder that he thought the urchin ruled the world! + + * * * * * + +When the bells rested their brassy throats for the first time that night, +and Jonathan Knickerbocker could take up his West Indies accounts +undisturbed, giving his daughters freedom to doze in peace, "Miss Patsy" +stole on tiptoe from the room. She wanted to be alone. Juma, ambling +through the dim hall to his pantry, caught sight of her fluttering +garments, but did not speak. Only an hour or two before, he had placed in +the chamber where she slept a bunch of arbutus which young Sheridan, the +organist, had given into his keeping. The wild, sweet-scented flower grew +in but one spot near the town--an island in the centre of the Woodbridge +Swamp, where Captain Kidd in a freak of fancy had planted it over the body +of a comrade, tradition said, and no one ever disputed the story. To reach +it, even the most sure-footed ran the danger of being caught in the bog. + +Patricia wondered as she mounted the stairs how her lover had been able to +come with her gift unseen. The watching negro smiled sadly and shook his +head when the last bit of her garment disappeared over the staircase like +a white moth moving treeward. + +Oh, how terrible it was never to see him in her father's house! Never to +have seen him alone, only that one time, after twilight service, when she +had stolen a meeting at the Battery, while her family were taking their +Sabbath-day ride up the Bowery Road! + +The old vehicle held but six, and as the aunts always rode home with their +brother, Patricia was left to the escort of Juma, custodian of the +prayer-books. By the clump of protecting boxwood at the end of the Marine +Parade she had come upon him. The sea held his eyes until there was no +mistaking the footsteps. Her approaching crinoline made soft little +rustles, as if entreating him to leave his musings. Her body-guard's +shuffles, too, were unmistakable. Like some young potentate her lover +turned about, describing an elaborate bow with his white castor. The very +picture of starched tranquillity he looked, but underneath the blue +hammer-tail coat a heart was beating wildly, as she, made wise by love, +knew well--for her own was its echo. + +There was a brief moment while she watched the color mount to his +sun-bronzed face, the blue eyes glow, the strong form quiver ever so +slightly. Then her lips framed "Richard"--the key of the universe. +"Patricia!" came the answer. + +Juma, from his discreet distance, heard her compared to the magnolia worn +on the lapel of the coat she admired so much. In her white and fragrant +young womanhood she was like it from sheer inaccessibility. The flower +expressed her character and position--Patricia Knickerbocker, a daughter +of the autocrat of York. When he mentioned her father's name the girl +shivered. An invisible wall seemed to rise between them. Then the feeling +died away. Her soul grew wider awake each moment her lover gazed at her. + +As he drew her closer to him Juma's figure in the background bent over a +flower in the path. + +"Let 'em kiss," he mumbled. "Ole Miss used to say de female dat never lub +am a sour pippin, and dere's enough ter start a vinegar press in dis +family." + +"You'll not permit them to take you away from me? You will be mine forever +and ever?" said the youth. + +A sigh of happiness answered him. + +"I know I'm poor, Patricia, and my family can never equal yours." + +"Don't!" she whispered. "What does it matter, what does anything +matter--only that I'm here _with you_!" + +"See the night creeping in off there, dear heart. It holds nothing more +wonderful than this moment." + +"How black the water looks," she faltered. + +"I will go to your father and demand your hand." She was trembling. + +"You do not know what a Knickerbocker is--an awful creature with a hundred +gorgon heads constantly leering and preaching; detecting flaws in other +people's families. One head will tell you that you play the organ in St. +Paul's, and another may see that your coat is a trifle worn. We're not the +only clan of them in the land." + +"We must not fear them--not to-night, when love is filling the world." + +"Only one of my grandmothers married for love, and she was thought to be +disgraced." + +"You will follow her?" he asked, a catch in his voice. + +Juma was signalling for them to part, and on his forehead she kissed "I +will!" + +Now alone on the dark staircase she meditated on his words. When that +malignant crone, Gossip, started on her round, what would happen? + +Suddenly the voice of her father adding up the indigo cargo fell upon her +ears. He would end their happiness; a man powerful enough to kill the +spirit of Easter in his home could do anything. Creeping through the +narrow passage she came to the great north balcony window. There she +paused and raised her eyes to the dome of the night. Long lines of stars +were strung across the meadows of heaven. The dials of the world seemed +suddenly stilled. Below the infinite peace a budding landscape sloped +gently into a placid sea. Myriads of little lights in humble cots blinked +an answer to the fires above. Leaning on the broad window-seat of +blackened Jersey oak she tried to descry his dwelling, but the tree-tops +shut it away. + +A few hours before, he had asked her to be his wife, and she, a +Knickerbocker, had thrilled at his words. Like a tide the memory of his +love swept back to her. Then on its surges came the stupor of desolation. +The gates of Knickerbocker pride were strong. A second David might fail to +force them. All her dreams were fantasies, with no bearing upon reality. +All her hopes were sunbeams vanquished by one dark shadow. To her +distorted imagination her family seemed accursed. Every face bore some +mark of it, even the row of dim portraits in the room below. But, ah! +there was one, a face turned to the rafters of the attic, whose bright +eyes and red lips knew love untinctured by the dross of the world. In the +darkness it rose before her strangely insistent. As in a time-blurred +mirror she looked and saw herself, and the feeling, though uncanny, gave +her a sense of comfort. + +A wind began to sigh in the garden. Through the boxwood maze and barren +urns it swept. Smiling Flora, sleeping Endymion, and all the fabulous +court that had stood there years before the coming of the Knickerbockers +grew more humanly colored as the moon passed behind a cloud. Since York +had become a queenly city and the wonder of the western world, mute and +peacefully passive they had watched the seasons come and go. Countless +lovers must have known them. She saw back into the springs, the flower +times. Sedan chairs and swaying post-chaises had borne these dainty lovers +all away. Oh, strange, sweet thought! She, too, would have to go--with +him. + +Down by the pale and shivering elms the iron bar of the gate clicked. Dark +figures were entering the garden. The gods and goddesses faded before her +eyes. No one visited them on Easter eve. Her father did not keep the +season. + +She steadied her knees on the slippery seat. The spray of arbutus she was +wearing over her heart cut her hands as she pressed closer to the pane. + +"My aunts! they know!" she whispered to herself. + +Terror of her father--of them all--swept over her, chilling the very +recesses of her being. As the habiliments of her august relatives became +more distinct, she grew calmer. With slow and measured tread they walked, +while to their right minced Betty, a small abigail, swaying a lantern. + +"It is the march of pride coming to crush me!" she cried. + +Then the bells began to peal again--"Pride--pride" they seemed to mock. +"Love must die for pride!" + +[Illustration] + + + + +Chapter _Two_ + + +[Illustration: I Rule by Right] + +On the wreck of many social thrones--for the town named after the Duke of +York passed through numerous transitions the world knows nothing +of--Patricia's aunt, Miss Georgina Knickerbocker, had elected to raise her +sceptre. "I rule by right" was her dictum. "My family is old; few families +are older or more aristocratic. The famous Judge Josiah Knickerbocker was +my father, and my brother Jonathan owns Knickerbocker Mansion, the finest +dwelling in York." + +No potentate ever wore a crown more blissfully than Miss Georgina. Tall, +beak-nosed, gruff-voiced she was, always with her younger sister, Miss +Julie, in tow and under good control--Miss Julie, who smirked and copied +her when family pride was concerned, though she had her own misgivings and +opinions on other matters. Miss Julie even had emotions and +sentimentalities of her own, which she struggled to keep bottled up before +her relatives and the world, uncovering them only in secret, as she did +her jasmine scent and pomatum pot. + +The little woman's real name was Jerusalem, bestowed upon her at a time +when the judge her father's religious spirit was in its blossoming period. +One great grief of her life was that she had given way to wickedness and +changed this outlandish cognomen. She often brought the subject up before +Dr. Slumnus, as he stopped in for a social game of chess. "Indeed, Miss +Julie," he would answer soothingly, "the name is so Christian that it +sounds heathenish. No well-conducted female should presume to bear the +name of the holy city. Nay, ma'am, it would have come perilously near +sacrilege to retain it!" + +Thus assured, Miss Julie would give herself over to the excitement of +endeavoring to queen a pawn. Later, in her chamber, ready to blow out her +candle, alone with the crowd of memories waiting to conduct her to the +land of dreams, she shuddered. Her father's stern eyes would glare at her +reproachfully; sometimes she would try to mock at them, remembering the +words of Dr. Slumnus--but oftener a tear or two trickled down her faded +cheeks and stained the strings of her nightcap. + +Together these two elderly Knickerbockers were unweary in their efforts to +interpret high life to their circle. Their family pride was more expansive +than their brother Jonathan's. He talked chiefly of his Aunt Jane, the +milk-weed lady, of his renowned father, and of that dim shade of a +Knickerbocker who was the friend of Lord Cornbury. Miss Georgina had +climbed higher into her hereditary tree. She prated of a great-uncle who +married a niece of Lord Campbell--a cousin underscored in her records as +Laird of Barula--the grand Makemies, the high-stepping Gabies, and the +learned Gobies. And, as for Aunt Jane, why, she was dowered with a larger +chest of silver than any Jersey woman of her day. Those records of her +paduasoys and alamodes would have sickened a Custis; and her +love-affairs!--the wench herself might have been astounded at hearing that +she once refused a patroon of Rensselaerswyck and a president of the +College of New Jersey. + +Quietly Miss Julie would sit and listen to her sister, but, once away from +her, she would assume what she believed to be the Almack manner, call +imagination to her aid, and discourse to her long-suffering acquaintance. +Aunt Jane's chest of plate became a veritable crown furgeon laden with +tasters, posset cups, punch-bowls, muffineers, and salvers of priceless +and unique patterns. Her gowns would have done credit to a Drury Lane +queen. The patroon of Rensselaerswyck drank a flask of camphor to forget +his Jane. Scores of suitors died of lacerated hearts for her dear sake, +and the president of the College of New Jersey vowed he could not hear the +word love spoken in his presence, not even in his young gentlemen's +conjugations. + +It was the arrival, from the vulgarian camp of Trenton, of one Mrs. +Snograss that first brought interference with the sway of these gentle +ladies. That year, in which Richard Sheridan first played the organ in St. +Paul's and Mrs. Snograss elected to reside in York, proved, indeed, an +eventful one for the community. The genteel portion of Gotham society, +like the family of the Vicar of Wakefield, was wont to lead a peaceful +life. Most of its adventures befell it by its own fireside, or consisted +of migrations from the blue bed to the brown. Or there was the yearly +glimpse of the Branch, or Schooley's Mountain, and on rare occasions +venturesome parents took their offspring to Hobuck for a +fortnight--especially if they were marriageable daughters. + +The Misses Knickerbocker had visited the latter place in its transition +period. There Georgina purchased her Davenport tea-service for a song, and +was fond of telling of the fact. And Julie treasured a sweeter memory of +the green Elysium--a dried-up flower of memory, but once a rose, +nevertheless, carefully guarded from the world, hidden indeed from herself +most of the time. + +No one knew exactly how it began--that social war over the two capitals of +Trenton and York. Black "Rushingbeau," the York pronunciation for Mrs. +Snograss's serving-man, Rochambeau, meeting Juma at the morning market in +the centre of the green, had dubbed the Knickerbocker chickens +"spinkle-shanked fowls." + +"Wot you know 'bout hens in yo' small 'count town!" retorted the loyal +champion of York. Like a mushroom the story grew, and spread from Vesey +Street kitchens into sitting-rooms and parlors. Of course the aspersive +attitude toward York was that of Mrs. Snograss reflected in Rochambeau. + +"To think that a resident of Trenton, a city named after a mere merchant, +should have the effrontery to speak disparagingly of our ancient capital!" +cried Mrs. Rumbell, mother-in-law of Dr. Slumnus. "These are degenerate +times, alack! What would poor Roberta Johnstone say if she were here? Let +me see how many royal governors have lived amongst us." + +Mrs. Rumbell counted on her slim, old fingers. The Knickerbocker ladies, +who lacked the Rumbell knowledge of their city's past, brought all their +brightest family banners to the fray. + +"Lud," said Miss Georgina, and Miss Julie promptly echoed her, "I have +never even visited the spot where the Snograss woman came from; I know +that the Comte de Survilliers, or plain Mr. Bonaparte, as he prefers to be +called, when he failed to secure Knickerbocker Mansion for a residence +decided to repair thither. Poor man, he must have languished!" she added +with a final snort. + +"And he was such a showy man too!" sighed her sister. + +Mrs. Snograss, learning of the ferment her servant had aroused, +sagaciously remarked: "Let them talk; their chatter is a lecture to the +wise; as for capitals, everybody knows, counting out the inhabitants of +this mud-hole, that Trenton came near being the capital of the whole +country!" + +When this bombastic statement was hurled at Vesey Street, it made as much +of a sensation as the late news from Cherubusco. Most of the Government +officers were classed with the Snograss widow by the affronted Gothamites, +and Mrs. Rumbell said openly that if she had her life to live over England +should have welcomed her when the cross of St. George was torn down from +the courthouse flag-staff. + +The winter died and still there was no cessation of hostilities. The +choir-room of St. Paul's, where the ladies of the Bengal mission met and +listened to itinerant lecturers, or sewed garments for the needy, was the +usual field for battle. When Mrs. Snograss arrived late one day for Mr. +Timbuckey's talk on the piety of George Crabbe, she was unfortunately +ushered to Miss Georgina Knickerbocker's bench. That haughty lady, the +enemy being comfortably ensconced, arose and stalked over to Mrs. +Rumbell's seat, followed by her sister and the Mansion girls, so that the +bustle ensuing spoke to everybody of what was taking place. Patricia +smiled a mortified, half-sad smile at Mrs. Snograss, but the Trentonian +only accepted it as additional insult. + +A month later Mrs. Rumbell fainted when her sewing-chair was placed by the +disturber of her peace. She was one of the most violent in her aversion to +the newcomer. The Rev. Samuel Slumnus shook his fat finger at his +mother-in-law, as the crafty dowager, enjoying the excitement created by +her feigned swoon, could see with her eyes half-opened. Such conduct was +not to be borne. "Rebellion in my own family," fumed the perplexed +dominie. "I must put a stop to it at once." In his agitation he clasped +and unclasped his hands and caressed his sparse locks. When a hush fell at +last upon the room, he was seen mounting the choir-platform. + +"The meeting of the Easter Guild will be held this year at the residence +of Mrs. Snograss," he sputtered. For a full minute silence reigned--then +came a clangor of tongues. "He is almost as red in the face as if he +choked on the prune-pits in the Knickerbocker fruit-cake," some irreverent +one whispered. It was said afterward that Mrs. Snograss had put a +five-dollar bill in the mission-box as she left the choir-room that +morning--a performance not without effect. A few parishioners were even +heard to lament the fact that Dr. Slumnus's family was not of the same +standing as his wife's. Miss Georgina declared privately to her sister +that any one who went to the Snograss woman's should never darken the door +of Goby House again. But when the day preceding Easter came, and she heard +from Julie of the delight the town was taking in the prospect of viewing +the much-talked of Snograss interior, one venturesome housekeeper having +even asserted that she intended going up to the chambers, Miss Georgina, +wild with jealousy, decided to carry the war into the enemy's country. + +[Illustration] + +As the night before that day of days died away and clarion cocks made the +young dawn vocal, eager hands drew back the curtains of four-posters. +Above the green-gray of spring-time streets and lanes, the sentinel +tree-tops pointed to the translucent blue of a smiling sky. "Day's fair +and all's well!" bawled the watch as they blew out their smoking lights. +Voices cracked and rusted by sleep echoed the cry in the depths of soft, +chintz-bound coverlets. "My best ferrandine coat," mumbled Miss Georgina +to herself, in her delight over a pleasing picture of her entrance into +the Snograss parlor. She let the bolster slip to the floor and +precipitated her head against the carved laurel leaves of the top-board, +all unconsciously. Bright were the visions of cherished falafals and +gewgaws that came to the members of the Easter Guild as they parted +company with Morpheus. + +Mrs. Rumbell, looking from a casement in the rectory, felt the sweetness +of the season fall upon her. That patch of fresh sky, suggestive of new +life and a swift-footed May, was more to her than a volley of sermons. The +snow still lay on hill and heath. Father Winter, neglectful of one of his +worlds, was sporting among the northern mountains. Oh, the peace of it! +Why should she care if the wealthy Mrs. Snograss had come to York with her +Trenton innovations? All her past grievances were forgotten. In her +blissful state she felt she could even go the length of sewing whalebone +in her second-best silk skirt to conform to the ridiculous fashion of +stiffened skirts, introduced by that lady. Everything was changing! What +could she, frail and old, gain by wrestling with the times? Across the +way, torn landscape shades blinded the windows of Johnstone House. Roberta +was dead and her home awaited a new tenant. Beyond lay the Bowling Green, +the background of her long life--witness to all the parts the +stage-master, Fate, had dealt out to her. Joys and sorrows marked its worn +paths. The city of her golden time was fading away. No halloos of eager +huntsmen, ushering in Aurora, greeted her ears as of yore. Only a stray +thrush, mistaking the season, trilled liquid notes to his lost mates on a +hemlock by her chamber. + +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 Cock-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 Snograss 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 +participation 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 cock-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? + +[Illustration] + +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 Snograss 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 +passed 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 +Snograss 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 +passengers 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 Snograss +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 Snograss 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 passed 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 embarrassed by her attentions, left his +comfortable cushioned chair and took refuge in the hall. + +[Illustration] + +If any one had imagined that Mrs. Snograss 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-shell china, the +glass 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 Snograss 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 lustring mockery. Everything was in +readiness for Mrs. Snograss'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. Snograss 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 cocked +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. Snograss 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 butterfly 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 +Snograss 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?" + +[Illustration: "_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 sexton +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. + +[Illustration] + + + + +Chapter _Three_ + + +[Illustration] + +The glimmering lantern which the serving-maid Betty carried seemed like a +huge firefly come back to a land of blooms. Sometimes in dim alleyways it +caught in her flapping garments, and her two mistresses were forced to +cling together until they reached the next patch of moonlight. When their +half-tasted dinner was finished, and the silver counted and locked in the +cherry cabinet, Georgina commanded her sister to step over with her to the +mansion. Jonathan never permitted the family vehicle to be brought out +when the world was not looking, and his womenkind were used to tramping +through the darkness. Julie was reluctant to go at first, but the other's +anger flamed so high she could not help catching some of the sparks. + +"Would you allow your niece to ruin her life by marrying a man who gains +his livelihood playing a musical instrument? Methinks you have a fondness +for hornpipers and such. There was Signor Succhi, our dancing-master, I +recollect"--nodding her head--"he used to call you 'little +peach-blossom'--his little peach-blossom!" + +Julie smiled at Georgina's latest feat of memory; then she turned about +and gazed into the dying embers. For a moment she stood beside a +merry-eyed youth who dared her to prick the signor's silken calves. Did he +really perfect their symmetry with cotton as was said, she wondered? Alas, +that she was born timorous. + +"Are your wits leaving you, Jerusalem?" continued the other--"you who wear +Aunt Jane's hair locket and have been for years an ornament in the highest +sphere of this city--now being ruined by Trentonians and other foreigners. +Where is your boasted allegiance to those of your family who have gone +before you?" + +Threatened and cajoled by turns Miss Julie was led into the night. "The +Snograss woman may have lied," came the consoling thought. She cheered +herself with it hurrying through the snow. + +Up Church Street they stumbled past huts and houses. Warm windows beckoned +to them. Georgina had forgotten the mittens for her nieces. The scene at +the Snograss House was uppermost in her mind. "What a sly minx Patricia is +to have kept the disgraceful affair from us so long," she was thinking. +"Could that skulking Juma have helped her? He knew enough to bamboozle +one. There was a report that old Roberta Johnstone even read him novels." +The boisterous wind, tossing the budding lilac branches about the statues +in the Knickerbocker garden which the girl in the window-seat was +watching, came shrieking out of unexpected openings and buffeted her aunts +in the face. + +Now they were entering the narrow passage that opened into Vesey Street. +The tavern lights twinkled beyond, but drear and lonely the artery for +cut-throats appeared. + +Georgina, brave and intrepid, was still nursing her wrath when a mist came +before her eyes. "I see! I feel queer!" she cried. Her companions were +shaking like autumn leaves. "Oh, don't pause, sister!" squeaked terrified +Julie, "here's where that picaroon in the black mask was wont to hide. A +Dick Turpin may be concealed yonder!" + +"Hist!" called Georgina, as if speaking to some vermin of the night. A +shadowy mocking face was rising up before her. She began to tremble--where +had she seen it? Yes, 'twas the face of the ancestress whose portrait +Jonathan took down from the line of Knickerbockers in the parlor. "My +nerves," she gasped. "Come, let us haste, you trembling fools!" Once in +the driveway to the house she denied her fright. Betty was scolded for +stumbling over a brier-bush. When the long flight of steps was reached, +she rushed at them boldly. "Knock, Jerusalem," she commanded. + +The little woman tried to sound the clapper, then fell back exhausted. +Georgina, enraged, seized it and thumped violently upon the plate. The +sounds reverberated through the night, clashing against the bell-notes and +the sound of the swaying elms. + +Jonathan and his daughters sprang from their seats. The Santa Cruz +invoices slipped to the floor and fluttered after the wool balls like +merchants aspiring to new possessions. What cared the horn of plenty on +the door for the profits of the Fleet Sally? It had watched the ebb and +flow of lordlier fortunes. "That ear-splitting bell hubbub--and now +visitors," said the master, advancing to his offspring as if they were the +cause of this new annoyance. + +Juma, already half-drunk with dreams, rubbed his dazed head and hastened +toward the entry. Was Toussaint calling him? Did the chair of Marie du Buc +de Marcinelle, the Elizabethtown beauty, pause before the hair-dresser's +sign? Then time and place came back. Realizing that he was watched, he +drew the great bolt with a show of strength, and in bounded the gale-blown +humanity. + +"You?" queried the head of the Knickerbockers. That was the only greeting +he gave his nearest relations on Easter eve. He glanced at Julie to see +whether she secreted any packages about her person. + +Georgina, entering the room, her face stern and white, said, eyeing him, +"Prepare yourself for a shock." + +He returned the challenge. + +Had she been tampering with her five-per-cents for Peruvian investments? +Was it the old plaint--Jerusalem's frivolity? Why did the woman gaze at +him so mournfully? + +"Prepare yourself," she continued, her voice rising to a shriek. +"Patricia--your Patricia--has disgraced us!" + +[Illustration] + +The girl peering from the landing heard her name called. Her secret was +known to the world and would soon be an implement of torture. The arbutus +fell from her bodice unheeded. She could not meet that cruel group below! + +"Richard," sighed the stray gusts of wind on the staircase; "Richard" +chimed the patient clock. She crept closer to the baluster railing. Some +mysterious force was guiding--impelling her onward. Out of the shadows +flashed a face. Like a smile it vanished. She ran to the steps. For a +moment she stood silent, gaining courage to descend. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration] + +At the very moment when she had glanced back tremblingly for a parting +benediction from the stars, a figure wrapped in a great-coat was hurrying +out of the Sheridan garden. It was Patricia's lover. The youth often came +to gaze at her home after sleep locked all the doors of the world but the +dream door for which he had never yet found a key. Then the daytime's +barriers were broken and she was his alone. Under the Knickerbocker +elm-trees he would stand, sometimes, a wild, impassioned troubadour, +aflame with songs of love for his imprisoned mate. Again she came to him a +vision pure and ethereal and he folded her to his heart in memory of one +perfect Junetime day--while multitudes of roses shed their fragrant petals +and birds trilled a divine chorus. To-night, with the wondrous Easter +peace upon him, she seemed to walk by his side. Those bell-notes drifting +on the air were the music of their lives. Hand in hand they floated on the +flow of the darkness. Through the days--and the years. Through the +springs--and the summers. Always together! Little forms clutched their +knees. Carking care crept out of black coverts. Death beckoned to them in +the distance--still, there was the scent of Junetime roses. Ah, God! those +roses of love, they were theirs for all eternity! + +As he neared Knickerbocker Mansion his mood changed. The bells were dying +away again. Old Jenkins up in the steeple above the lights of the drowsy +city was letting his metal children rest. Their task would soon be over, +for the faithful moss-hung clock already pointed to the nightcap hour. The +rushes in the poorer regions near the waste lands were flickering +out--only the gentry street was still aglow. + +A flock of snow-sparrows caught by the gale dashed past the youth, +chattering bird imprecations. Beyond, in the moonlight, loomed Her +dwelling-place. Coldly white and dreary it looked. Everything about it was +mute and unaware of the joyous night. Did Juma keep his promise and give +her the arbutus? A longing thrilled him to know her thoughts at this hour. +Were they of him? He hastened into the carriage-path, following the +footprints made by the trio from Goby House. The leaden statues leered at +him in the spaces between the evergreens. Bare shrubs sighed their gusty +dirges at his heels. + +At the lordly flight of steps he paused and hesitated. Then her pleading +voice seemed to rise on the wind. A strange intuition swayed him. The +great door of the mansion was moving, opening inward. He asked himself if +he were going stark mad, as he crept to it softly, like a thief. + +A cry met his ears, and he staggered back--"I love him! I shall love him +always!" came the words. + +"Patricia," he whispered breathlessly. + +Before him was the dismal length of the hall that he had never hoped to +enter. Slowly he reeled forward. + + * * * * * + +While her lover was coming to her through the night, the girl was +descending the staircase. At the bottom she paused and remained very +still. From the room beyond an army of candle rays was slipping underneath +the green sarcenet curtain and capering gnome-like about her feet. They +were waiting for her in there! A prowling rat scampered down the dark +passage. In another moment she would stand before her indignant family. +The curtain shifted and shadows chased away the light. Behind the awful +thing were their watchful eyes. She began to tremble and stretch out her +hands imploringly at the space before it. The courage that had brought her +so near to the chamber of judgment was fast vanishing when Juma came +slowly out of the pantry. He did not speak, but his sad old eyes rested on +her lovingly. Stifled sobs shook her slender frame as she nestled close to +him, seeking the help that he was powerless to give. A wilder gust of wind +blew the neglected spray of arbutus from the landing above and it fell at +her feet like a message. She looked at it a moment, then slowly parted the +veil of the inevitable. The eyes she feared were now upon her. + +Jonathan, choleric with indignation, stood by his desk, clenching his +hands. At the sight of the child whose conduct swept aside every +Knickerbocker law his rage overflowed, and the room was full of a torrent +of reproaches. Once he came near knocking over a bust of Mr. Washington, +the property of a Makemie, and Miss Julie gave a slight scream. + +Patricia heard him silently. She was calmer than any of the spectators. +The other Mansion girls continually slid off their chairs and made weird +gurgles with their throats. Several times they almost interrupted their +parent. As for Georgina, her high-built hair shook like a barrister's wig +in the heat of a court appeal. + +"You have disgraced us--a common follower fit for a tire-woman! Yes, miss, +in your veins flows the Knickerbocker blood, though I cannot credit it. +Say 'tis a lie ere I turn you out. Say 'tis the fabrication of that +catamount Trenton woman, envious of your aunts' reputation. Speak, girl! +Is it true that the town has seen you keeping trysts with him at the +Battery? Speak!" gasped the worthy man. + +"It is true," said Patricia, trying to keep herself strong for battle. + +The draught from the half opened door, which Juma in his excitement had +neglected to shut, swept the chimney piece and ended the life of a candle. + +"Look!" said Jonathan dragging his daughter by the arms, and pointing to +the portraits along the wall. "You are the first to disgrace them! They +were as fine a line of men and women as was ever bred up in America. Think +you they stepped down from their high places for silly fancies? Think you +they forgot they were born to superior circumstances and sullied their +reputations?" + +Here the autocrat of York's voice broke slightly. The same ghostly face +that had appeared to Miss Georgina in Cut-throat Alley leered at him +suddenly, and he recoiled. Aghast, he remembered the painting under the +attic eaves! + +Patricia was facing him. The word love was in his ears. With a maddened +cry he advanced quivering. Along the films of the air he saw his ancestors +as he often pictured them to himself--a fine mass of superior clay on a +pedestal. + +"You shall give him up!" he thundered. Then he turned. The green sarcenet +curtain moved ominously, and the form of Richard Sheridan was disclosed in +its folds. + +The youth, heedless of the frowning faces about him, gazed only at the +woman he was ready to die for if need were. The passions of the world were +swept away as the echo of her cry "I love him--I shall love him +always!"--bounded through his heart. For one harmonious moment they gazed +into each other's eyes forgetful of surging discords. With stronger grip +he clutched at the curtain! + +"You, sirrah!" scoffed the voice Patricia thought would go on forever, +inflicting fresh wounds at each new outburst. "Impudent organ thumper--to +dare come here! I'll better your judgment." As he moved nearer Richard she +thrust herself before him. + +From the corner of the room came a wail from Julie. "Oh, don't be hard on +them, Jonathan. You helped father make me give up Captain MacLeerie," she +faltered. "I might have been Mrs. Captain MacLeerie! Poor Bodsey--he vowed +he'd never sail a ship into Amboy Harbor again--and perhaps the cannibals +have him now, or the devil fishes!" + +She began to weep softly. Outside a heavy oaken shutter clanked against +the house. Patricia threw her arms about her lover's neck, and her father +gazed at her spellbound with fury. + +"Disgraced us, hussy," he muttered. "Go with your tinker!" + +Juma fell on his knees and began to lament after the fashion of his kind. + +"Begone!"--spoke the voice again, breaking at last--"You are no longer one +of us!" + +The girl, supported by the man to whom she was giving her young life, and +followed by the trembling negro, crept slowly away. + +Whiffs of air increasing to a current swept from out the hall. The +remaining lights fought with it--then despaired. A tired moon was +slumbering behind the western pines, and only the glow of a few watchful +stars dripped through the casements. + +Simultaneously the breaths of every one in the room came faster and +faster. Vapors wan and tinged with dust filled the atmosphere, and an +unmistakable odor of sandal-wood, faint from long imprisonment. + +The startled Knickerbockers retreated to the walls, knocking over chairs +and tables in their flight. Before the green sarcenet curtain which had +played such a part in the affairs of the night there was a waft of airy +garments. A white weft of towering hair--black, burning eyes. Three +Knickerbockers knew them! The lady of the banished portrait was moving +through the doorway and speaking in quaint last-century utterance. + +[Illustration: "_The lady of the banished portrait was moving through the +doorway_"] + +"Come back!" she called to the lovers, speaking to Patricia. "'Tis a weary +while I have been in the other world, but your sore need has brought me +here on the anniversary of the birth of love. I am your +great-great-grandmother, who felt the full force of the pretty passion and +stole away with my dear heart from yonder theatre in old John Street--a +grain house in your time, so one from York who recently joined us informed +me. + +"Although my likeness does not hang in the family line, I bear you small +malice. I get a surfeit of their society." Here the ghost sighed, and with +the saddest air possible tapped her empty snuffbox and went through the +act of inhaling a reviving pinch of strong Spanish. "This girl who has the +bloom of me I would befriend, and as the greatness of your ancestors is +all that stands in the way of a marriage with the man of her choice, I +have bid them come to meet you and get their opinions, mayhap." + +A tremor went through the room! More unearthly visitants? The flesh was +creeping on the bones of all the living Knickerbockers! + +"They are waiting for us in Lady Knickerbocker's state-room yonder--Sir +William tried to kiss me there once after a junket," she continued. "He +would not come to-night--I fear he was afraid it would be dull." + +She moved over to Jonathan, who was speechless from fright, and laid a +shadowy hand on his. Once past the door ledge she began the descent of the +hall as if footing the air of some ancient melody. With grim, rebellious +face the present head of her house moved with her, apparently against his +own volition. + +By the one brightly floriated mirror she straightened her osprey plumes +and tapped him gently with her fan. "You dance like a footman," she said. +"Have you go-carts 'neath your feet?" + +The trembling file of Knickerbockers followed after them, seemingly blown +by the wind, whose diabolical wailing reverberated through the house. +Doors and windows raged and rattled. There were stridulous, uncanny groans +from quaking beams. Behind the panels adown the hall rose and swelled the +confused murmur of many voices. The echoes of long dead years were +reviving. Above them all was a dying requiem of bells, tolling low and +mournfully like a warning to belated road-farers that the ghosts of the +haughty Knickerbockers were seeking earth again. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Chapter Four_ + + +[Illustration] + +As the family neared the long unused state parlor the din grew louder--a +rising treble of voices, ascending from hoarse trumpet tones to a +twittering falsetto, accompanied by a maddening persistent tapping of high +heels on the smooth floor. The sounds of shivering glass as a girandole +crashed from its joining met their ears. Each second was a discord running +wild with panic-striking incidents. + +Julie grasped frantically at the more stalwart Georgina, while clinging to +her own garments were the three Mansion girls, screeching like the town's +whistles in a March twilight. + +The ghost little Jerusalem feared the most was that of the stern Judge. +"Will he know that I have changed my name?" she wailed. "Oh, sister, I ate +up those bracelets he gave me for taking treacle. I sold them to a +silversmith and bought French prunes. You know you said that you'd as soon +eat stewed bull-frogs as anything grown by the Monsieurs, and all York was +stewing prunes!" + +Georgina never turned her head at this remarkable confession. Her features +had assumed a strange rigidity; she was as silent as her brother. The +shrieks of her nieces, old Juma's incessant lamentations, and the low +whispers of the lovers were all unheeded. The racket behind the cobwebbed +doors, never opened but for Knickerbocker weddings and funerals, absorbed +her senses. Slowly they were swinging back for Jonathan and his phantom +partner. The delicate odor of sandal-wood, was strengthened by gasps of +musk. Into a yellow blinding glare of light the file of Knickerbockers +looked, and their eyes grew gooseberry-like with horror. + +A crowd of shades bedecked in their last earthly garniture were gliding +and teetering about; some dignified as at a stately farce, others +hilarious with ungraceful levity. + +As the living Knickerbockers appeared in the room the waggling and +chortling fell into a monotone, and the company began to pass in review +before them, seemingly desirous of attracting individual notice. Few wore +the costly attire one would have expected from the tales spread about them +by the Knickerbockers of Vesey Street. Several were clad in plain hum-hums +and torn fustians. One chirpy dame in a moth-eaten tabby hugged a little +package of Bohea to her stomacher, unmindful of the fact that the luxury +had grown much cheaper since she quitted this sphere. Another, who +evidently thought herself a beauty, wore a false frontage of goat hair +before her muslin cap, and ogled Jonathan as she passed, though he did not +seem eager for a flirtation with his ugly great-aunt. + +An ungainly yokel stepped on the feet of the Mansion girls, and some bold +gentlemen, who had spent a goodly portion of their natural lives in +Bridewell, swore at them. Still the awful procession kept moving on--faces +were as thick as the tapers glowing in every bracket and candelabra. +Bursts of music rose on the wind--a wheezing tune that sobbed of past +jubilation. Suddenly all the Knickerbockers gasped. Stern Judge +Knickerbocker, who had rarely smiled in life, was seen advancing, bent +double with laughter and clinging to a figure in a cardinal hoop. + +"Oh, let us cover our eyes," whispered Miss Georgina. "This is more than I +can bear." + +"Don't!" said the lady of the banished portrait. "You have often boasted +of your family's intimacy with that queer figure. Through your veneration +of him, York has made him into quite a hero. It is the friend of one of +the first American Knickerbockers--Lord Cornbury! He was addicted to +wearing women's furbelows!" + +"Gazooks!" exclaimed his Lordship, in a tone loud enough for the +Knickerbockers to hear. "More of those tiresome impertinents! The next +thing the whole of the presumptuous clan will be petitioning me for +standing room at my routs." + +"Don't go any nearer to them," said the Judge, in the tones of a +sycophant. "If they bore you, my dear Corny, I am willing to cut them. +_You know it is the fashion on earth to recognize only the most desirable_ +ancestors, and we can return the compliment. Besides it was decreed that I +should be jocular for the next half century, and I'm afraid a too close +inspection would cause me to don weepers." + +The group by the doors felt a sickening sensation in their flaccid frames. +Jonathan's partner, knowing how grievously they must all have been +affected by the change in their parent, turned her head. + +A one-eyed hag was advancing to her. She curtsied low, and presented two +bits of plaster which had fallen from the ceiling. + +"Messages," she snickered, fumbling with her hands. + +"From Marmaduke and Leonidas Barula," read the lady (though no one knows +how, for she only observed the niches). "We beg to be excused from coming +to-night. To put it mildly, we were raised aloft in Pearl Street Hollow +for practising target shooting on coach-drivers, and our necks are still +out of joint and not fit to be seen in company." + +As the merriment waxed louder a Gobie, who had spent her life as a +fish-fag, began tapping on the panelled wainscot. With a hoarse guffaw she +turned her piercing alaquine eyes on Miss Julie and squinted--"More negus! +More here, you slubber-degullions. We Gobies has a thirst. 'Twas what we +were noted for in life--not our learning, great-niece," she mocked, as she +turned her head and grimaced at Miss Georgina. + +"Go away!" snuffled that once resolute woman, too weak to combat any +longer. A feeling of despair was settling upon her like a pall. What if +Mrs. Rumbell, or, worse still, if Mrs. Snograss should be passing +Knickerbocker House and hear the oaths and ungenteel voices of the +supposedly elegant family? No tap-room fracas at Fraunces' could have +equalled the deafening hubbub. + +"Beshrew the old fool, she be as jealous for the lies she told of us as a +Barbary pigeon." + +"Go away!" continued the sinking sister of the autocrat of York. + +That distraught-looking gentleman himself was hastening across the room +with restorative salts, which one of his daughters always carried in her +reticule. As he approached Georgina the Gobie snatched the bottle from his +hand and drained it at a gulp. + +"Anything with fire-water for me," she hiccoughed. Then clutching hold of +him, she sunk her voice to a whisper--"I left this sphere for drinking a +quart of gillyflower scent!" + +Julie began to weep softly--"Oh, Aunt Jane, if you were only here! Our +Aunt Jane was different from these people," she wailed to herself, half +apologetically. + +She was fond of studying the picture in the other room and could have +traced it from memory. Raising her eyes, she gave a prolonged shriek. The +fish-fag and some of the Makemies were dragging her beloved Jane over Lady +Lyron's court steps, out of the powdering closet. + +The room was becoming uproarious. Doors were opening and shutting again, +letting in the moaning of the bells. The culmination of the buffoonery was +approaching. + +"Good, Jane," sobbed Miss Julie. + +"Good, Jane," echoed the chorus of the spectres. + +Reluctant, and feigning a great stress of emotion, the poor lady was +pushed into the illuminated space below the hundred-taper drop. She looked +like some pretty long-vaulted effigy. In her hands she still carried the +spray of milk-weed. + +The noise lessened for a moment. Jane gazed reproachfully at her niece, +Julie, as if the indiscreet wish were the cause of her present misery, and +said, in a pensive voice, "I did not want to come to-night." + +"I always knew you were a modest woman," said Jonathan, recovering a +little of his once audacious manner. + +"Modest forsooth!" giggled the fish-fag diabolically, and seizing one of +Jonathan's fat hands in her bony fingers, she drew it over the other's +face. + +"Look, see the white streaks on her now! She reddened, the hussy,--or I'm +not a Gobie!" + +"Yes, I was vain," answered the most prated-about of female +Knickerbockers. "I used countless beautifiers--pearl powders, cherry +salve, cupid's tints. Everything Mr. Gaine sold at the Crown. They hooked +the men. When pearl powders came upon the market, I received three +offers--Jenks--a tutor at King's College--not the President, as the report +remains on earth--wrote me a poem in the _Weekly Gossiper_, called 'Pink +and White Amanda.'" + +"Jane Knickerbocker," said the ghost who was giving the party, "your +family has spent many hours telling the present generation of your womanly +virtues, and they cannot fail in having an overweening respect for any +opinion you may utter. Shall this girl who bears your blood marry yon +youth?" + +"Let them wed by all means, if they see advantage in it. I vow if I could +come back to earth and live my twenty-eight years over again, I would join +hands with Jean, our Elizabeth-Town perfumer." + +Lord Cornbury and the shades about him were bowed with mirth. + +"Janet, you giddy girl, though half the age of most of us, I protest you +are becoming a wit. You will be getting into society next," he cried. "I +shall never be mean enough to tell that in sublunary times one of the +first American Knickerbockers knew me intimately only as my valet." + +"A fig for your class distinctions," called the fair indignant, hunting +for a rouge rag. "Years ago we heard ''twas money made the court circle at +York.' Why, you must remember how you feared your creditors when they +first came below." + +"Alack, indeed," said his Lordship plaintively, "this hooped petticoat was +never paid for." + +After dishevelled Jane had vanished again into the powdering closet whence +she had first emerged, the lady of the banished portrait moved over to +Patricia and her lover. Standing side by side the resemblance between the +two women was remarkable. One was the budding flower; the other the +fragile shadow of a beautiful life. + +"Her kind will always exist," she said. "They marry for pearl powders and +other vanities, and usually seek, or are forced into, a gilded cage. +There, like jackdaws, they call out their possessions from dawn till +night, and the heedless world passing by sees the sparkling of the gold, +mistakes the caws for singing, and applauds. I knew love--the ideal love +that smiles at one from the wayside when one is seeking it in the +well-kept gardens. I paid for it with my heart's blood, and I never had +cause to regret. Over the rough places of my earthly journey it followed +me with radiant illusions. The April winds were sweeter, the sunshine on +the roads warmer. I felt all the raptures mother nature gives her +children. That is why I could leave the other world to do you this +service. _Love_ is the one thing death cannot lull to sleep!" + +Patricia tried to answer, but the power of speech had left her for the +moment. Juma's face was glowing with peaceful smiles. He bent low on his +right knee to kiss the diaphanous draperies of the shade. + +Outside in the night there arose the low murmurous chanting of the town +waits moving homeward. A chime of bells, as soft as a blessing. The thorns +had fallen from the brows of love. + +While Patricia's benefactress gave her message the circle of ghosts was +making way for the other Knickerbockers to enter. On closer inspection, +many of them proved to be tame sort of animals enough. From a distance one +monster of a woman had given the impression that she was trying to bully +posterity. Perhaps this was due to the long feathers in her head-dress, +that nodded maliciously at her most placid motion. As she bowed to her +descendants a plume tickled the tip of Jonathan's nose and he jumped back +slightly. "I am Melodia Mudford Makemie," she said, "and I thought you +would like to meet me, as I started the Christmas fashion of giving +hot-bag covers in York." + +"Hot-bag covers!" reiterated Miss Georgina, astonished. "I have always +said mittens. Why, in my ancestry book it is noted that in the year 1768 +you gave one hundred pairs of silk mittens to Gruel Hall, the home for +tiresome gentlewomen." + +"The years play great hoaxes," chuckled the ghost. "Those ancestry books +are a standard joke with us, and I believe they are looked upon with some +suspicion in your own world." + +Melodia seemed so friendly, Julie gained courage enough to purse up her +lips for a speech, but the shade anticipated her. + +"I know what you are going to ask--why did I make such a wide frill about +the bottle's neck? 'Tis easy to explain. I never took my bag to church to +warm my hands--'twas my stomach!" + +"Oh!" said Miss Julie, faltering slightly, fearing that this relative +might become vulgar like the terrible Gobies still dancing about Lord +Cornbury. + +"Yes," continued the other, "when William fell asleep during the sermon I +used to sink down well in the pew, put the frill up to my mouth, squeeze +the end of the bag, and get as much as a dram of whiskey." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Julie, aghast; "a hot-water bag for whiskey!" + +"Why not?" said the ghost, angrily. Her manner was that of one who had +expected commendation for her cleverness. The plumes in her head-dress +were shaking violently. + +"Why not, miss?" she asked again. "You are far too nice. At any rate you +know the reason for those tomfool bag-covers. 'Twas to deaden the smell of +liquor. Your generation of Yorkers does not appreciate them as we did." +Then her voice broke into derisive sniggers, as she glided away. + +And now upon the strange company fell the bellowing of some faithful +passing watchman. + +"Midnight's here and fair weather!" + +A sleepy cock crowed in a distant Chelsea barn. + +The faces of the shades began to blanch and assume the lack-lustre tint of +ashes. The lady of the banished portrait touched Patricia as if giving her +a last embrace, and her smile at Richard Sheridan was full of good wishes. + +"Do you consent to the marriage," she whispered, bending over Jonathan, +"or shall we come to-morrow night?" + +"I do," he answered hoarsely. + +"Then we go in peace," sighed the ghost. + +There was a flutter of garments and the lights vanished suddenly. Only the +scents of old-time perfumes remained, sweet as the hearts of vanished +roses. + +A cackle of feeble laughter floated back to the room as if the departing +Knickerbockers were still making merry on the stairway to the other world. + +The song of the weary bells was over. Peace had fallen upon the earth, and +in Lady Tyron's mouldering parlor the vials of a foolish pride were +despoiled forever. Through the mystical light the living of the family +seemed to be strangely transfigured. Jonathan Knickerbocker, the autocrat +of York, walked with his head bowed upon his breast. The hard lineaments +of Georgina's face were softened. Ofttimes she turned uneasily, half +expecting some awful apparition to emerge before her. As for Miss Julie, +she moved like one in a dreamland of her own. The tears of the night had +fallen upon that little flower in her heart and brought it back to life. +Henceforth it would fill all her remaining years with fragrance. The three +eldest Knickerbocker daughters clung to her as if she were the guiding +light of their starved souls. + +Suddenly she left them, and went to her brother. + +"I am glad they came, Jonathan," she faltered; "we had forgotten God made +us all in His own image. He gave us the flowers and the stars, the sweet +winds and the spring-times--the voices of children and the songs of birds. +Every man is rich if he but knew it, and those who are only rich in pride +are the poorest of the race." + +Over by the shimmering casement, the youth and the girl crept nearer to +each other. Softly he drew her to him until her face was close to his. The +night was dead. Down old Broadway, over the Bowling Green, the Easter dawn +tiptoed into the silent city. + +[Illustration] + + + + +Transcriber's Note: All apparent printer's errors retained. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The ghosts of their ancestors, by Weymer Jay Mills + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOSTS OF THEIR ANCESTORS *** + +***** This file should be named 36991.txt or 36991.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/9/36991/ + +Produced by Alex Gam, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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