Jane Field | Page 2

in this
little inland cottage, far beyond the salt fragrance of the sea, seemed
like one of those marine fossils sometimes found miles from the coast.
It indicated the presence of the sea in the lives of Amanda's race. Her
grandfather had been a seafaring man, and so had her father, until late
in life, when he had married an inland woman, and settled down among
waves of timothy and clover on her paternal acres.
Amanda was like her mother, she had nothing of the sea tastes in her
nature. She was full of loyal conservatism toward the marine ornaments
of her parlor, but she secretly preferred her own braided rugs, and the
popular village fancy-work, in which she was quite skilful. On each of
her chairs was a tidy, and the tidies were all alike; in the corners of the
room were lambrequins, all worked after the same pattern in red
worsted and beads. On one wall hung a group of pictures framed in
cardboard, four little colored prints of crosses twined with flowers, and
they were all alike. "Why didn't you get them crosses different?" many
a neighbor had said to her--these crosses, with some variation of the
entwining foliage, had been very popular in the rural
neighborhood--and Amanda had replied with quick dignity that she
liked them better the way she had them. Amanda maintained the
monotony of her life as fiercely as her fathers had pursued the sea. She
was like a little animal born with a rebound to its own track, from
whence no amount of pushing could keep it long.

Mrs. Babcock glanced sharply around the room as she sewed; she was
anxious to divert Amanda's mind from the mats. "Don't the moths ever
git into that stuffed bird over there?" she asked suddenly, indicating the
gull on the shelf with a side-wise jerk of her head.
"No; I ain't never had a mite of trouble with 'em," replied Amanda. "I
always keep a little piece of camphor tucked under his wing feathers."
"Well, you're lucky. Mis' Jackson she had a stuffed canary-bird all eat
up with 'em. She had to put him in the stove; couldn't do nothin' with
him. She felt real bad about it. She'd thought a good deal of the bird
when he was alive, an' he was stuffed real handsome, an' settin' on a
little green sprig. She use to keep him on her parlor shelf; he was jest
the right size. It's a pity your bird is quite so big, ain't it?"
"I s'pose he's jest the way he was made," returned Amanda shortly.
"Of course he is. I ain't findin' no fault with him; all is, I thought he was
kind of big for the shelf; but then birds do perch on dreadful little
places." Mrs. Babcock, full of persistency in exposing herself to rebuffs,
was very sensitive and easily cowed by one. "Let me see--he's quite old.
Your grandfather bought him, didn't he?" said she, in a mollifying tone.
Amanda nodded. "He's a good deal older than I am," said she.
"It's queer how some things that ain't of no account really in the world
last, while others that's worth so much more don't," Mrs. Babcock
remarked, meditatively. "Now, there's that bird there, lookin' jest as
nice and handsome, and there's the one that bought him and brought
him home, in his grave out of sight."
"There's a good many queer things in this world," rejoined Amanda,
with a sigh.
"I guess there is," said Mrs. Babcock. "Now you can jest look round
this room, an' see all the things that belonged to your folks that's dead
an' gone, and it seems almost as if they was immortal instead of them.
An' it's goin' to be jest the same way with us; the clothes that's hangin'

up in our closets are goin' to outlast us. Well, there's one thing about
it--this world ain't our abidin'-place."
Mrs. Babcock shook her head resolutely, and began to fold up her work.
She rolled the unbleached cloth into a hard smooth bundle, with the
scissors, thimble, and thread inside, and the needle quilted in.
"You ain't goin'?" said Amanda.
"Yes, I guess I must. I've got to be home by half-past five to get supper,
an' I thought I'd jest look in at Mis' Field's a minute. Do you s'pose
she's to home?"
"I shouldn't wonder if she was. I ain't seen her go out anywhere."
"Well, I dun'no' when I've been in there, an' I dun'no' but she'd think it
was kinder queer if I went right into the house and didn't go near her."
Amanda arose, letting the mat slide to the floor, and went into the
bedroom to get Mrs. Babcock's bonnet and light shawl.
"I wish you wouldn't