- And that cup of nice hot tea! - I never relished
anything more in my life. I think we should never pass that house
without giving Hannah a call, and testifying our gratitude for her
good cheer."
Many times did we stop to inquire the way to Mrs. N - -'s, before we
ascended the steep, bleak hill upon which her house stood. At the
door, Mr. T - - deposited the sack of provisions, and he and young
C - - went across the road to the house of an English settler (who,
fortunately for them, proved more hospitable than Hannah J - -),
to wait until our errand was executed.
The house before which Emilia and I were standing had once been
a tolerably comfortable log dwelling. It was larger than such
buildings generally are, and was surrounded by dilapidated barns
and stables, which were not cheered by a solitary head of cattle.
A black pine-forest stretched away to the north of the house, and
terminated in a dismal, tangled cedar-swamp, the entrance to the
house not having been constructed to face the road.
The spirit that had borne me up during the journey died within me. I
was fearful that my visit would be deemed an impertinent intrusion.
I knew not in what manner to introduce myself, and my embarrassment
had been greatly increased by Mrs. S - - declaring that I must break
the ice, for she had not courage to go in. I remonstrated, but she
was firm. To hold any longer parley was impossible. We were standing
on the top of a bleak hill, with the thermometer many degrees below
zero, and exposed to the fiercest biting of the bitter, cutting
blast. With a heavy sigh, I knocked slowly but decidedly at the
crazy door. I saw the curly head of a boy glance for a moment
against the broken window. There was a stir within, but no one
answered our summons. Emilia was rubbing her hands together, and
beating a rapid tattoo with her feet upon the hard and glittering
snow, to keep them from freezing.
Again I appealed to the inhospitable door, with a vehemence which
seemed to say, "We are freezing, good people; in mercy let us in!"
Again there was a stir, and a whispered sound of voices, as if
in consultation, from within; and after waiting a few minutes
longer - which, cold as we were, seemed an age - the door was
cautiously opened by a handsome, dark-eyed lad of twelve years of
age, who was evidently the owner of the curly head that had been
sent to reconnoitre us through the window. Carefully closing the
door after him, he stepped out upon the snow, and asked us coldly
but respectfully what we wanted. I told him that we were two ladies,
who had walked all the way from Douro to see his mamma, and that we
wished very much to speak to her.
