Autumn Leaves | Page 6

(whose mother had kindly
omitted the first lesson usually taught to little girls, to be afraid of every
thing) perform the feat of going slowly around the church, alone,
stopping behind it to count a hundred. Her wonderful courage in

actually protecting the whole group from what they called a "flock of
cows," and in staking and patting the "mad dogs" that they were for
ever meeting, was nothing to this going round the church!
But to return to the cottage, from which the pretty, rural trait of its
standing in its unfenced green door-yard led me away to notice the
same sort of rustic beauty where the church stood. We did not stop to
knock at the outside door,--for Aunt Molly was very deaf, and if we
had knocked our little knuckles off she would not have heard us,--but
went in, and, passing along the passage, rapped at the door of the
"common room," half sitting-room, half kitchen, and were
admitted.
Those who saw her for the first time, whether children or grown people,
were generally afraid of her; for her voice,
unmodulated, of course,
by the ear, was naturally harsh, strong, and high-toned; and the sort of
half laugh, half growl, that she uttered when pleased, might have
suggested to an imaginative child the howl of a wolf. She had very
large features, and sharp, penetrating black eyes, shaded by long, gray
lashes, and surmounted by thick, bushy, gray eyebrows. I think that
when she was scolding the school-boys, with those eyes fiercely
"glowering" at them from under the shaggy gray thatch, she must have
appeared to those who in their learned page had got as far as the Furies,
like a living illustration of classic lore. Her cap and the make of her
dress were peculiar, and suggestive of those days before, and at the
time of, the Revolution, of which she loved to speak.
But we, her little favorites, were not afraid of her. To go into her garden
in summer, and eat currants, larger and sweeter than any we found at
home,--to look up at the enormous old damson-tree, when it was white
with blossoms, and the rich honey-comb smell was diffused over the
whole garden,--was a pleasant little excursion to us. She took great care
and pains to save the plums from the plundering boys, because it was
the only real damson there was anywhere in the neighborhood, and she
found a ready sale for them, for preserves. She seemed to think that the
real damsons_ went out with the real gentry_ of the olden time; and
perhaps they did, as damsons, though, for aught I know, they may
figure now in our fruit catalogues as "The Duke of Argyle's New
Seedling Acidulated Drop of Damascus,"--which would be something

like a translation of Damson into the modern terminology.
But more pleasant still was it to go into Aunt Molly's "best room." The
walls she had papered herself, with curious stripes and odd pieces, of
various shapes and patterns, ornamented with a border of figures of
little men and women joining hands, cut from paper of all colors; and
they were adorned, besides, with several prints in shining black frames.
There was no carpet on the snow-white, unpainted floor, but various
mats and rugs, of all the kinds into which ingenuity has transformed
woollen rags, were disposed about it. The bed was the pride and glory
of the room, however; for on it was spread a silk patchwork quilt, made
of pieces of the brocade and damask and elegant silks, of which the
ladies belonging to the grand old Tory families had their gowns and
cardinals, and other paraphernalia, made. Aunt Molly had been a
mantuamaker to the old "quality," and she could show us a piece of
Madam Vassall's gown on that wonderful and brilliant piece of work,
the bed-quilt. "On that hint" she would speak.
"A-haw-awr! They were real gentle_ folks that lived in _them days.
A-haw-awr! I declare, I could e'en-amost kneel down and kiss the very
airth they trod on, as they went by my house to church. Polite, _they
wor!_ Yes, they knew what true politeness was; and to my thinking
true politeness is next to saving grace."
Once a year, or so, Aunt Molly would dress up in her best gown, a
black silk, trimmed with real black lace, and a real lace cap, relics of
the good old days of Toryism and brocade and the real gentry, and go
to make an afternoon visit to one of her neighbors. After the usual
salutations, the lady would ask her visitor to take off her bonnet and
stay the afternoon, knowing by the "rig" that such was her intention.
But she liked to be urged a little, so she would say, "O, I only