<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
<h3>THE TOOTHACRE COTTAGE</h3>
<p><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></SPAN></span>Aunt Roxy and Aunt Ruey Toothacre lived in a little
one-story gambrel-roofed cottage, on the side of Harpswell
Bay, just at the head of the long cove which we have already
described. The windows on two sides commanded
the beautiful bay and the opposite shores, and on the other
they looked out into the dense forest, through whose deep
shadows of white birch and pine the silver rise and fall of
the sea daily revealed itself.</p>
<p>The house itself was a miracle of neatness within, for
the two thrifty sisters were worshipers of soap and sand,
and these two tutelary deities had kept every board of the
house-floor white and smooth, and also every table and
bench and tub of household use. There was a sacred care
over each article, however small and insignificant, which
composed their slender household stock. The loss or breakage
of one of them would have made a visible crack in the
hearts of the worthy sisters,—for every plate, knife, fork,
spoon, cup, or glass was as intimate with them, as instinct
with home feeling, as if it had a soul; each defect or spot
had its history, and a cracked dish or article of furniture
received as tender and considerate medical treatment
as if it were capable of understanding and feeling the attention.</p>
<p>It was now a warm, spicy day in June,—one of those
which bring out the pineapple fragrance from the fir-shoots,
and cause the spruce and hemlocks to exude a warm,
resinous perfume. The two sisters, for a wonder, were<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></SPAN></span>
having a day to themselves, free from the numerous calls of
the vicinity for twelve miles round. The room in which
they were sitting was bestrewn with fragments of dresses
and bonnets, which were being torn to pieces in a most
wholesale way, with a view to a general rejuvenescence.
A person of unsympathetic temperament, and disposed to
take sarcastic views of life, might perhaps wonder what
possible object these two battered and weather-beaten old
bodies proposed to themselves in this process,—whether
Miss Roxy's gaunt black-straw helmet, which she had worn
defiantly all winter, was likely to receive much lustre from
being pressed over and trimmed with an old green ribbon
which that energetic female had colored black by a domestic
recipe; and whether Miss Roxy's rusty bombazette
would really seem to the world any fresher for being ripped,
and washed, and turned, for the second or third time, and
made over with every breadth in a different situation.
Probably after a week of efficient labor, busily expended in
bleaching, dyeing, pressing, sewing, and ripping, an unenlightened
spectator, seeing them come into the meeting-house,
would simply think, "There are those two old
frights with the same old things on they have worn these
fifty years." Happily the weird sisters were contentedly
ignorant of any such remarks, for no duchesses could have
enjoyed a more quiet belief in their own social position,
and their semi-annual spring and fall rehabilitation was
therefore entered into with the most simple-hearted satisfaction.</p>
<p>"I'm a-thinkin', Roxy," said Aunt Ruey, considerately
turning and turning on her hand an old straw bonnet, on
which were streaked all the marks of the former trimming in
lighter lines, which revealed too clearly the effects of wind
and weather,—"I'm a-thinkin' whether or no this 'ere
mightn't as well be dyed and done with it as try to bleach
it out. I've had it ten years last May, and it's kind<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></SPAN></span>
o' losin' its freshness, you know. I don't believe these 'ere
streaks will bleach out."</p>
<p>"Never mind, Ruey," said Miss Roxy, authoritatively,
"I'm goin' to do Mis' Badger's leg'orn, and it won't cost
nothin'; so hang your'n in the barrel along with it,—the
same smoke'll do 'em both. Mis' Badger she finds the
brimstone, and next fall you can put it in the dye when
we do the yarn."</p>
<p>"That ar straw is a beautiful straw!" said Miss Ruey,
in a plaintive tone, tenderly examining the battered old
head-piece,—"I braided every stroke on it myself, and I
don't know as I could do it ag'in. My fingers ain't quite
so limber as they was! I don't think I shall put green
ribbon on it ag'in; 'cause green is such a color to ruin, if
a body gets caught out in a shower! There's these green
streaks come that day I left my amberil at Captain Broad's,
and went to meetin'. Mis' Broad she says to me, 'Aunt
Ruey, it won't rain.' And says I to her, 'Well, Mis'
Broad, I'll try it; though I never did leave my amberil
at home but what it rained.' And so I went, and sure
enough it rained cats and dogs, and streaked my bonnet all
up; and them ar streaks won't bleach out, I'm feared."</p>
<p>"How long is it Mis' Badger has had that ar leg'orn?"</p>
<p>"Why, you know, the Cap'n he brought it home when
he came from his voyage from Marseilles. That ar was
when Phebe Ann was born, and she's fifteen year old. It
was a most elegant thing when he brought it; but I think
it kind o' led Mis' Badger on to extravagant ways,—for
gettin' new trimmin' spring and fall so uses up money as
fast as new bonnets; but Mis' Badger's got the money,
and she's got a right to use it if she pleases; but if I'd
a-had new trimmin's spring and fall, I shouldn't a-put
away what I have in the bank."</p>
<p>"Have you seen the straw Sally Kittridge is braidin'
for Mara Lincoln's weddin' bonnet?" said Miss Ruey.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></SPAN></span>
"It's jist the finest thing ever you did see,—and the
whitest. I was a-tellin' Sally that I could do as well once
myself, but my mantle was a-fallin' on her. Sally don't
seem to act a bit like a disap'inted gal. She is as chipper
as she can be about Mara's weddin', and seems like she
couldn't do too much. But laws, everybody seems to
want to be a-doin' for her. Miss Emily was a-showin' me
a fine double damask tablecloth that she was goin' to give
her; and Mis' Pennel, she's been a-spinnin' and layin' up
sheets and towels and tablecloths all her life,—and then
she has all Naomi's things. Mis' Pennel was talkin' to
me the other day about bleachin' 'em out 'cause they'd
got yellow a-lyin'. I kind o' felt as if 'twas unlucky to
be a-fittin' out a bride with her dead mother's things, but
I didn't like to say nothin'."</p>
<p>"Ruey," said Miss Roxy impressively, "I hain't never
had but jist one mind about Mara Lincoln's weddin',—it's
to be,—but it won't be the way people think. I
hain't nussed and watched and sot up nights sixty years
for nothin'. I can see beyond what most folks can,—her
weddin' garments is bought and paid for, and she'll wear
'em, but she won't be Moses Pennel's wife,—now you
see."</p>
<p>"Why, whose wife will she be then?" said Miss Ruey;
"'cause that ar Mr. Adams is married. I saw it in the
paper last week when I was up to Mis' Badger's."</p>
<p>Miss Roxy shut her lips with oracular sternness and
went on with her sewing.</p>
<p>"Who's that comin' in the back door?" said Miss
Ruey, as the sound of a footstep fell upon her ear. "Bless
me," she added, as she started up to look, "if folks ain't
always nearest when you're talkin' about 'em. Why,
Mara; you come down here and catched us in all our dirt!
Well now, we're glad to see you, if we be," said Miss
Ruey.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />