The Bow of Orange Ribbon. Amelia E. Barr
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and stooped a little forlornly to admire the tulips and crocus-cups and little purple pansies; but his face brightened when he heard her calling him to breakfast, and very soon he saw her leaning over the half door, shading her eyes with both her hands, the better to watch his approach.
Lysbet was already in her place; so was Joanna, and also Bram; and a slim black girl called Dinorah was handing around fricasseed chicken and venison steaks, hot fritters and johnny-cake; while the rich Java berry filled the room with an aroma of tropical life, and suggestions of the spice-breathing coasts of Sunda. Joris and Bram discussed the business of the day; Katherine was full of her visit to Semple House the preceding evening. Dinorah was no restraint. The slaves Joris owned, like those of Abraham, were born or brought up in his own household; they held to all the family feelings with a faithful, often an unreasonable, tenacity.
And yet, this morning, Joris waited until Lysbet dismissed her handmaid, before he said the words he had determined to speak ere he began the work of the day. Then he put down his cup with an emphasis which made all eyes turn to him, and said—
"Katrijntje, my daughter, call not to-day, nor call not any day, until I tell you different, at Madam Semple's. The people who go and come there, I like them not. They will be no good to you. Lysbet, what say you in this matter?"
"What you say, I say, Joris. The father is to be obeyed. When he will not, the children can not."
"Joanna, what say you?"
"I like best of all things to do your pleasure, father."
"And you, Bram?"
"As for me, I think you are very right. I like not those English officers—insolent and proud men, all of them. It would have been a great pleasure to me to strike down the one who yesterday spurned with his spurred boot our good neighbour Jacob Cohen, for no reason but that he was a Jew"—
"Heigho! go softly, Bram. That which burns thee not, cool not."
"As he passed our store door where I stood, he said 'devil,' but he meant me."
"Only God knows what men mean. Now, then, little one, thy will is my will, is it not?"
She had drawn her chair close to her father's, and taken his big hand between her own, and was stroking and petting it as he spoke; and, ere she answered, she leaned her head upon his breast.
"Father, I like to see the English lady; and she is teaching me the new stitch."
"Schoone Lammetje! There are many other things far better for thee to learn; for instance, to darn the fine Flemish lace, and to work the beautiful 'clocks' on thy stockings, and to make perfect thy Heidelberg and thy Confession of Faith. In these things, the best of all good teachers is thy mother."
"I can do these things also, father. The lady loves me, and will be unhappy not to see me."
"Then, let her come here and see thee. That will be the proper thing. Why not? She is not better than thou art. Once thy mother has called on her; thou and Joanna, a few times too often. Now, then, let her call on thee. Always honour thyself, as well as others. That is the Dutch way; that is the right way. Mind what I tell thee."
His voice had gradually grown sterner; and he gently withdrew his hand from her clasp, and rose as a man in a hurry, and pressed with affairs: "Come, Bram, there is need now of some haste. The 'Sea Hound' has her cargo, and should sail at the noon-tide; and, as for the 'Crowned Bears,' thou knowest there is much to be said and done. I hear she left most of her cargo at Perth Amboy. Well, well, I have told Jerome Brakel what I think of that. It is his own affair."
Thus talking, he left the room; and Lysbet instantly began to order the wants of the house with the same air of settled preoccupation. "Joanna," she said, "the linen web in the loom, go and see how it is getting on; and the fine napkins must be sent to the lawn for the bleaching, and to-day the chambers must be aired and swept. The best parlour Katherine will attend to."
Katherine still sat at the table; her eyes were cast down, and she was arranging—without a consciousness of doing so—her bread-crumbs upon her Delft plate. The directions roused her from her revery, and she comprehended in a moment how decisive her father's orders were intended to be. Yet in this matter she was so deeply interested that she instinctively made an appeal against them.
"Mother, my mother, shall I not go once more to see Madam Gordon? So kind she has been to me! She will say I am ungrateful, that I am rude, and know not good manners. And I left there the cushion I am making, and the worsteds. I may go at once, and bring them home? Yes, mother, I may go at once. A young girl does not like to be thought ungrateful and rude."
"More than that, Katherine; a young girl should not like to disobey a good father. You make me feel astonished and sorry. Here is the key of the best parlour; go now, and wash carefully the fine china-ware. As to the rose-leaves in the big jars, you must not let a drop of water touch them."
"My cushion and my worsteds, mother!"
"Well, then, I will send Dinorah for them with a civil message. That will be right."
So Lysbet turned and left the room. She did not notice the rebellious look on her daughter's face, the lowering brows, the resentment in the glance that followed her, the lips firmly set to the mental purpose. "To see her lover at all risks"—that was the purpose; but how best to accomplish it, was not clear to her. The ways of the household were so orderly, so many things brought the family together during the day, Lysbet and Joanna kept such a loving watch over her, the road between their own house and the Semples' was so straight and unscreened, and she was, beside, such a novice in deception—all these circumstances flashing at once across her mind made her, for a moment or two, almost despair.
But she lifted the key given her and went to the parlour. It was a large, low room, with wainscoted walls, and a big tiled fireplace nearly filling one end of it. The blinds were closed, but there was enough light to reveal its quaint and almost foreign character. Great jars with dragons at the handles stood in the recesses made by large oak cabinets, black with age, and elaborately carved with a marvellous nicety and skill. The oval tables were full of curious bits of china, dainty Oriental wicker work, exquisite shells on lacquered trays, wonderfully wrought workboxes and fans and amulets. The odours of calamus and myrrh and camphor from strange continents mingled with the faint perfume of the dried rose leaves and the scent-bags of English lavender. Many of these rare and beautiful things were the spoils brought from India and Java by the sea-going Van Heemskirks of past generations. Others had come at long intervals as gifts from the captains of ships with whom the house did business. Katherine had often seen such visitors—men with long hair and fierce looks, and the pallor of hot, moist lands below the tan of wind and sunshine. It had always been her delight to dust and care for these various treasures; and the room itself, with its suggestive aromas, was her favourite hiding-place. Here she had made her own fairy tales, and built the enchanted castles which the less fortunate children of this day have clever writers build for them.
And at length the prince of her imagination had come! As she moved about among the strange carven toys and beautiful ornaments, she could think only of him—of his stately manner and dark, handsome face. Simple, even rustic, she might be; but she understood that he had treated her with as much deference and homage as if she had been a princess. She recalled every word he said to her as they sat under the water beeches. More vividly still she recalled the tender light in his eyes, the lingering clasp of his hand, his low, persuasive voice, and that nameless charm of fashion and culture which perhaps impressed her more than any other thing.
Among the articles she had to dust was a square Indian box with drawers. It had always been called "the writing-box," and it was partly filled with paper and other materials for letter-writing. She stood before the open lid thoughtfully, and a sudden overwhelming desire to send some message of apology to Mrs. Gordon came into her heart. She could write pretty well, and she had seen her mother and Joanna fold and seal letters; and, although she was totally inexperienced in the matter, she determined to make the effort.
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