The Story of a Summer Part 20

CHAPTER XXII.

The Friends' Seminary--The Princ.i.p.al Chappaqua Residences--Reminiscences of Paris during the War--An Accomplished Lady--Her Voice--Festivities--A Drive to Rye Lake--Making Tea on the Beach--A Sail at Sunset--Fortune-telling by Firelight--The Drive Home--Sunday Morning--A Row on the Pond--Dramatic Representations in the Barn--A Drive to Lake Wampas--Starlight Row.

_August 24_.

A visit last night from Mr. Collins, the Princ.i.p.al of Chappaqua Inst.i.tute. This gentleman is one of our neighbors; so when the duties of school hours are over, he frequently calls in to play a game of croquet, or to join in the evening rubber of whist, of which Marguerite and Gabrielle are so fond. I had often heard his name before he was introduced to us, and imagined, from his responsible position, that he must be some staid, gray-haired Quaker; but, upon meeting him, I was surprised to discover that, although Princ.i.p.al of the "Friends'

Seminary," he belonged to the "world's people"; and was quite young enough to impress the more susceptible among his young lady pupils.

_August 27_.

In speaking of the handsome residences about and near Chappaqua, I have unintentionally overlooked one of the finest among them. It is situated about half-way between Chappaqua and Mount Kisco; and so far as I can judge by a view from the road, the grounds are both extensive and well cultivated. The house stands back from the road, and is quite imbedded in trees, and the lawn and flower-beds are very prettily laid out.

Upon asking Bernard one day, as we were driving to Mount Kisco, to whom this place belonged, he said that he had forgotten the owner's name, but believed he was now in Europe; and it was not until quite recently that I ascertained it was the property of Mr. Elliott O. Cowdin, of New York City, Paris, or Westchester County. I really do not know which place to accredit to him as his residence.

Yesterday Mr. Cowdin dined with us, and we had quite a merry time recalling our adventures upon leaving Paris in 1870. It was only three days before the battle of Sedan, when every one was rus.h.i.+ng away from the doomed city, that we also decided to leave; and Mr. Cowdin was very kind in helping us off. We had many tribulations and delays in procuring our tickets, and having our luggage registered, for thousands were waiting in the Gare St. Lazare to escape from the range of Prussian sh.e.l.ls; but between the energy of Mr. Cowdin and his servant Harry, and the talismanic name of Washburne (for our amba.s.sador had kindly given us his card to present at the ticket and freight offices), we succeeded in running the blockade much easier than we had antic.i.p.ated. Once in the waiting-room, we seated ourselves upon our bags, for every chair had been taken hours before, and waited for the twelve o'clock train. We sat patiently for an hour, and were then informed it would not start until six, for what reason we could not learn; for French officials can never be induced to give you any information.

At the close of another hour, we were not only white with alarm, supposing the Prussians were at the city gates, but were also in a starving condition, having eaten nothing since our eight o'clock breakfast of chocolate and rolls. What to do we did not know; the doors of the waiting-room were closed, and despite the shrieks and frantic kicks of the terrified and penned-up pa.s.sengers, no egress was permitted. Finally, our party of five helpless women decided to appeal to Mr. Cowdin, feeling confident that he would devise some means to relieve our forlorn condition. A piteous note was accordingly written, informing him that we should be prisoners until six o'clock, and appealing to his American chivalry to come and share our confinement with us, and to fetch some bread and b.u.t.ter, of which we stood sorely in need.

Among the employees of the station a messenger was found, and in less than an hour Mr. Cowdin's friendly face was seen, as he made his way through the crowd, followed by the invaluable Harry with a basket. An impromptu table-cloth, consisting of newspapers, was spread upon the floor, and we gathered about our feast, the other pa.s.sengers meantime eying us hungrily, as roast chicken, Bordeaux, and a four-pound loaf appeared from the basket.

That was my last meal in Paris, and although the circ.u.mstances appeared very amusing as we talked them over with Mr. Cowdin yesterday, they were anything but entertaining at that time, expecting momentarily as we did that a sh.e.l.l would explode among us.

_August 31_.

I have just returned from a walk to the station to meet our friend, Mrs. George Gilman, whom we expected would spend the day with us, but found instead a note from her saying that ill-health would prevent her from visiting us at present.

Mrs. Gilman is a dear friend of ours, and a charming and accomplished woman. Her elegant drawing-rooms upon Lexington Avenue are a resort for not only the fas.h.i.+onable world, but a favorite rendezvous for the princ.i.p.al vocalists and pianists of the city, for Mrs. Gilman is perhaps the only amateur in New York society whose voice equals Carlotta Patti's in extent, and the ease with which her flute-like tones reach G in alt. Her voice has been carefully trained by many of the great New York masters, and has also had the advantage of Paris instruction. Therefore we may congratulate ourselves that we possess in private life, one who would make so admirable a prima donna.

_September 6_.

My journal, about which I am usually so conscientious, has been neglected for nearly a week, for we have had a succession of visitors, and my time has been entirely taken up with drives, games of croquet, and starlight walks.

On Sat.u.r.day, several friends came up with papa in the morning train; some merely to pa.s.s the day, and others to make a longer stay with us.

Mr. James Parton, the well-known author, had not visited dear Chappaqua in twenty years, and was desirous of seeing the changes that time had effected in this lovely spot. Others, too, were visiting us for the first time, and preferred to see the wild, picturesque beauties of the place, rather than to drive, ride, or play croquet; consequently the company soon divided. One party strolled off through the woods, and followed the course of the brook up to our tiny cascade--now, however, swollen by the heavy rains we have recently had into quite a noisy and impetuous waterfall, while others who had earlier in the season spent long mornings with us under the pines and beneath the oaks on the side-hill, now enrolled themselves in Gabrielle's regiment, confident that she would lead them to a glorious victory on the field of croquet.

We did not a.s.semble again until our two o'clock dinner, and as soon as that meal was over, we started upon the long-contemplated picnic to Rye Lake. A large six-seated carriage and a pair of stout horses had been hired, and Ida's own phaeton and ponies were also at the door to convey our party to that most romantic sheet of water.

Every seat in the two conveyances was occupied, and all the available corners were filled with tightly packed baskets, containing charcoal and pine-cones to kindle a fire upon the smooth beach, tea-kettles and teapots, table linen, dishes and provisions. The drive was one of the most delightful that we have yet had, and was heightened by the dreamy haze of autumn, that is now faintly perceptible.

The lake is private property, and picnics are frowned upon; however, the most attractive gentleman in our party was sent to ask permission for us to pa.s.s the afternoon there, and a cordial a.s.sent was quickly granted.

A well-trimmed sward, shaded by fine old oaks, was selected as the most suitable place to lay the cloth, and then, to pa.s.s away the time until six o'clock, several of the party went out in a row-boat.

"We were absent an hour or more, playing cards, singing, and drifting about; now and then grazing a rock, or narrowly escaping an upset, owing to the disproportion of weight among the pa.s.sengers, and at sunset returned to our encampment. Here we found a blazing fire, and the tea-kettle singing joyously. An extensive meal was spread upon a neat white cloth, and we grouped about it upon our bright carriage rugs, so like leopard skins with their black spots upon a yellow ground. Hot tea was a very agreeable subst.i.tute for the lemonade that generally forms the beverage at picnics, and as we all had excellent appet.i.tes, the meal pa.s.sed off very pleasantly.

"What are we to do now!" inquired one restless being, as we walked down to the beach, leaving Bernard to consume the _debris_ of the feast and collect the dishes.

"I think this fire so comfortable," said one of the young ladies, "that I mean to remain beside it, as it is now dark and rather chill."

"Let us play whist by the firelight," was suggested by those who had not been out in the boat.

"Or, better still, have our fortunes told by its light," said Ida, throwing a couple of branches upon the burning coals.

"Delightful!" exclaimed Marguerite. "I have not forgotten that we have among us a Gypsy Queen, whose predictions are always realized;" turning to a pretty blonde, whose delicate features and sunny curls testified that she was only a gypsy through her talent for unveiling the future to her friends.

The rugs were accordingly spread out upon the beach, and we gathered about the fire whilst the cards were being shuffled and cut for the past, present, and future. A weird sight it was, and one that the great Rembrandt would have delighted to paint: a background of dark, silent trees, before us the motionless lake, illumined by the silver crescent then setting, while the faint glimmer of starlight, and the fiery glow of the burning wood, lit up the face of our young seeress, as with a puzzled brow, but a pretty air of faith, she bent over the talismanic cards.

In turn our fortunes were all told, and not a little wonder was excited when some hidden page of the past, as a former engagement, or a never-mentioned marriage, was disclosed.

One young man was told that he would live happily, but always be poor--a destiny that he received with a droll air of resignation and philosophy; while another was warned to beware of a blonde enemy, causing him to recoil with a look of mock terror from the fair-haired Philippe Hubert who sat beside him.

An elegant young Englishman was alternately inspirited and depressed, by hearing that an uncle in India was about to leave him a legacy, and that a tailor's bill of many years' standing was now upon its way to him, whilst for all the young ladies a brilliant future was predicted.

My fortune was, however, quite mysterious. I was told to beware of a male enemy, and two rivals, a blonde and a brunette, and was in imminent danger of poison. I was soon to be engaged to a poor man, but was to marry a millionnaire, who would leave me a widow at the end of five years' time. Whether I was then to

"--marry my own love,"

the oracle did not disclose.

Then ensued the long drive home. The air was chill but exhilarating, and we sung and told ghost stories, and were astonished, when at last we dashed through a white gate, to find ourselves at home once more.

It was ten o'clock the next morning before we were all a.s.sembled at the breakfast-table, and we had scarcely risen from our last cups of coffee, when a couple of friends arrived upon the slow Sunday train.

How we were now to amuse ourselves was the question for the proximity of a church compelled very quiet demeanor. Finally we had a brilliant idea: the stone barn which had been filled only a few days previous with fresh, sweet hay, would be just the place to spend the morning.

Accordingly we walked up there, pausing, however, on the way for a row on the pond in our pretty blue boat, and then ensued two charming hours. We mounted the hay-loft, and nestled down in the soft mounds (to the detriment of our black dresses, by the way, for upon emerging we were covered with burrs and straws), and being far from reproving ears we sung both sacred and secular music, and laughed at a droll impersonation, of Fechter's Claude--

"Ah! false one, It is ze Prince zow lovest, not ze man," etc.,

and an equally comic burlesque upon Forrest, and were very sorry to learn that the carriages were waiting to take us to Lake Wampas.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Stone Barn.]

"A new lake?" inquired a friend who had already accompanied us to Rye and Croton Lakes; "pray how many does Westchester County possess?"

Each new one is of course the prettiest, and beautiful as Rye Lake had been the previous night under the influence of the setting sun, and starlight, we all decided that Lake Wampas was simply perfect.

Dinner was ready upon our return, and before the dessert was placed upon the table a warning whistle was heard, and several of our friends were obliged to bid us a hasty adieu, and rush through Bischoff's garden to catch the train.

In the evening we walked up to the pond for a row among the water-lilies by starlight. There we found the bonny blue boat awaiting us, but the oars had disappeared. Whether Bernard disapproved of water-parties on Sunday, or had merely put the oars away for safety, we could not tell, but having gone so far, we were determined not to be disappointed, so we embarked, and with an old garden-rake, and a long pole to propel the boat, we succeeded, at all events, in having a very laughable row.

The next morning our friends left us; the play-days were over, and we once more settled ourselves to study.