Eighty Years and More | Page 5

dislike is commanded by God or
someone on earth. I am so tired of that everlasting no! no! no! At
school, at home, everywhere it is no! Even at church all the
commandments begin 'Thou shalt not.' I suppose God will say 'no' to all
we like in the next world, just as you do here." Mary was dreadfully
shocked at my dissatisfaction with the things of time and prospective
eternity, and exhorted me to cultivate the virtues of obedience and
humility.

I well remember the despair I felt in those years, as I took in the whole
situation, over the constant cribbing and crippling of a child's life. I
suppose I found fit language in which to express my thoughts, for Mary
Dunn told me, years after, how our discussion roused my sister
Margaret, who was an attentive listener. I must have set forth our
wrongs in clear, unmistakable terms; for Margaret exclaimed one day,
"I tell you what to do. Hereafter let us act as we choose, without
asking." "Then," said I, "we shall be punished." "Suppose we are," said
she, "we shall have had our fun at any rate, and that is better than to
mind the everlasting 'no' and not have any fun at all." Her logic seemed
unanswerable, so together we gradually acted on her suggestions.
Having less imagination than I, she took a common-sense view of life
and suffered nothing from anticipation of troubles, while my sorrows
were intensified fourfold by innumerable apprehensions of possible
exigencies.
Our nursery, a large room over a back building, had three barred
windows reaching nearly to the floor. Two of these opened on a gently
slanting roof over a veranda. In our night robes, on warm summer
evenings we could, by dint of skillful twisting and compressing, get out
between the bars, and there, snugly braced against the house, we would
sit and enjoy the moon and stars and what sounds might reach us from
the streets, while the nurse, gossiping at the back door, imagined we
were safely asleep.
I have a confused memory of being often under punishment for what, in
those days, were called "tantrums." I suppose they were really
justifiable acts of rebellion against the tyranny of those in authority. I
have often listened since, with real satisfaction, to what some of our
friends had to say of the high-handed manner in which sister Margaret
and I defied all the transient orders and strict rules laid down for our
guidance. If we had observed them we might as well have been
embalmed as mummies, for all the pleasure and freedom we should
have had in our childhood. As very little was then done for the
amusement of children, happy were those who conscientiously took the
liberty of amusing themselves.

One charming feature of our village was a stream of water, called the
Cayadutta, which ran through the north end, in which it was our delight
to walk on the broad slate stones when the water was low, in order to
pick up pretty pebbles. These joys were also forbidden, though
indulged in as opportunity afforded, especially as sister Margaret's
philosophy was found to work successfully and we had finally risen
above our infantile fear of punishment.
Much of my freedom at this time was due to this sister, who afterward
became the wife of Colonel Duncan McMartin of Iowa. I can see her
now, hat in hand, her long curls flying in the wind, her nose slightly
retroussé, her large dark eyes flashing with glee, and her small straight
mouth so expressive of determination. Though two years my junior, she
was larger and stronger than I and more fearless and self-reliant. She
was always ready to start when any pleasure offered, and, if I hesitated,
she would give me a jerk and say, emphatically: "Oh, come along!" and
away we went.
About this time we entered the Johnstown Academy, where we made
the acquaintance of the daughters of the hotel keeper and the county
sheriff. They were a few years my senior, but, as I was ahead of them
in all my studies, the difference of age was somewhat equalized and we
became fast friends. This acquaintance opened to us two new sources
of enjoyment--the freedom of the hotel during "court week" (a great
event in village life) and the exploration of the county jail. Our Scotch
nurse had told us so many thrilling tales of castles, prisons, and
dungeons in the Old World that, to see the great keys and iron doors,
the handcuffs and chains, and the prisoners in their cells seemed like a
veritable visit to Mary's native land. We made frequent visits to the jail
and became deeply concerned about the fate of the prisoners, who were
greatly pleased with our expressions