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  THE SOAP MAKING OF REMEMBER BIDDLE

  "It may chance that you will not be able to return by Thanksgiving Day?"Remember Biddle asked with almost a sob in her voice.

  A little Puritan girl of long ago was Remember, dressed in a longstraight gown of gray stuff, heavy hobnailed shoes and wearing a whitekerchief crossed about her neck. She stood in the door of the little logfarm-house that looked out upon the dreary stretch of the Atlantic coastwith Plymouth Rock raising its gray head not so very far away.

  No wonder Remember felt unhappy. Her mother was at the door, mountedupon their horse, and ready to start away for quite a long journey asjourneys were counted in those days. She was going with a bundle ofherbs to care for a sick neighbor who lived a distance of ten milesaway. It had been an urgent summons, brought by the post carrier thatmorning. The neighbor was ill, indeed, and the fame of Mistress Biddle'sherb brewing was well known through the countryside.

  She leaned down from the saddle to touch Remember's dark braids. Thelittle girl had run out beside the horse and laid her cheek against hissoft side. Her father was far away in Boston, attending to someimportant matters of shipping. Her mother's going left Remember allalone. She repeated her question, "Shall I be alone for ThanksgivingDay, mother, dear?" she asked.

  "'SHALL I BE ALONE FOR THANKSGIVING DAY, MOTHER, DEAR?'"]

  Her mother turned away that the little daughter might not see that hereyes, as well, were full of sorrow.

  "I know not, Remember. I sent a letter this morning by the post carrierto Boston telling your father that I should wait for him at NeighborAllison's, and if I could leave the poor woman he could come home withme. I hope that we shall be here in time for Thanksgiving Day, but if itshould happen, Remember, that you must be alone; take no thought of yourloneliness. Think only of how much cause we have for being thankful inthis free, fertile land of New England. And keep busy, dear child. Youwill find plenty to do in the house until my return."

  Throwing the girl a good-bye kiss, Mistress Biddle gave the horse alight touch with her riding whip and was off down the road, her long,dark cloak blowing like a gray cloud on the horizon in the chillNovember wind.

  For a few moments Remember leaned against the beams of the doorlistening to the call of a flock of flying crows and the crackling ofthe dried cornstalks in the field back of the house. Beyond thecornfield lay the brown and green woods, uncut, save by an occasionalwinding Indian trail. The neighboring cabins were so far away that theylooked like toy houses set on the edge of other fields of driedcornstalks. Looking again toward the woods Remember shivered a little.She saw in imagination, a tall, dark figure in gay blanket and trailingfeather headdress stalk out from the depths of the thicket of pines andoaks. Then she laughed.

  "There hasn't an Indian passed here since early in the summer," she saidto herself. "Mother would not have left me here alone if she had notknown that I should be quite safe. I will go in now and play that I amthe mistress of this house, and I am getting it ready for company onThanksgiving Day. It will be so much fun that I shall forget all aboutbeing a lonely little girl."

  It was a happy play. Remember tied one of her mother's long aprons overher dress to keep it clean, and began her busy work of cleaning thehouse and making it shine from cellar to ceiling. She sorted the pilesof ruddy apples and winter squashes and pumpkins in the cellar, andrehung the slabs of rich bacon and the strings of onions. As she touchedthe bundles of savory herbs that hung about the cellar walls, Remembergave a little sigh.

  "I see no chance of these being used in the stuffing of a fat turkey forThanksgiving," she said to herself. "It may be that I shall have to eatnothing but mush and apple sauce for my dinner, and all alone. Ah,well-a-day!" She began to sing in her sweet, child voice one of thehymns that she had learned at the big white meeting-house:

  "The Lord is both my health and light; Shall men make me dismayed? Since God doth give me strength and might, Why should I be afraid?"

  As she sang, Remember lifted a bucket of soft soap that stood on thecellar floor and tugged it up to the kitchen. Then she went to work witha will.

  Several days passed before Remember had cleaned the house to hersatisfaction. On her hands and knees she scoured the floors, her rosyhands and arms drenched with the foaming soapsuds. Afterward shesprinkled sand upon the spotless boards in pretty patterns as was thefashion in those days. She swept the brick hearth with a broom made oftwigs, and she scoured the pewter and copper utensils until they were asbright as so many mirrors. She washed the wooden chairs until the bunchof cherries painted upon the back of each looked bright enough to pickand eat. She dusted the straight rush-bottomed chairs and the settlethat stood by the side of the fireplace. Even the tall clock in thecorner had its round glass face washed. Then Remember stood in thecenter of the kitchen looking at the good result of her work.

  "My mother, herself, could have done no better!" she thought. Then shelooked at the keg that had held their precious store of soft soap. Therewas no soap to be bought in those long-ago days; the Puritans wereobliged to make their own.

  "I have used up all the soap. Oh, what will my mother say at such waste?What shall I do?" Remember said, in dismay.

  She sat down by the fire and thought. Suddenly she jumped up. A happyplan had come to her.

  "I will make a mess of soap," Remember said to herself. "I have helpedmother to make soap many a time and I can do no more than try. It is yetsome days until Thanksgiving and I should be sadly idle with nothingmore to do, now that the house is put so well in order."

  The soap-making barrel, a hole bored in the bottom, stood in a corner ofthe cellar; it was light enough so that Remember could easily handle itand she was strong for her twelve summers and winters. In the bottom ofthe barrel she put a layer of clean, fresh straw from the shed and overthis she filled the barrel as far as she could with wood ashes. Then sherolled, and tugged, and lifted the barrel to a high bench that stood bythe kitchen door, taking care that the hole was just above a large,empty bucket. Then Remember brought pails of water and, standing on astool, poured the water into the barrel until it began to drip downthrough the ashes and the straw into the bucket below. It looked ratherdirty as it filtered down into the bucket but Remember took good carenot to touch it with her fingers for she knew that it had turned intolye. Late in the afternoon Remember took out a hen's egg and dropped itinto the bucket to see what would happen.

  "REMEMBER BROUGHT PAILS OF WATER"]

  "It floats!" she said. "Now I am sure that I made the lye right and Ican attend to the grease to-morrow."

  Remember had to start a huge fire the next day and she got out the greatblack soap kettle, filled it with the lye and hung it over the fire.Into this she put many scraps of meat fat and waste grease that hermother had been saving for just such a soap-making emergency as this. Itbubbled and boiled and Remember carefully skimmed from the top all thebones and skin and pieces of candle wicking that rose, as the lyeabsorbed the grease, and cooked it into a thick, ropy mixture. It lookedvery much like molasses candy as it boiled and after a while Rememberknew that it was done. She lifted the kettle off the fire and poured thethick, brown jelly, that was now good soft soap, into big earthenwarecrocks to cool.

  "I made the soap quite as well as my mother could," Remember said toherself with a great deal of satisfaction as she put the crocks, allsave one, in the cellar. This one she kept for use in the kitchen.

  "There's not another thing that I can think of to do," Remember saidnow. She looked out of the window at the bleak, bare fields behind whichthe November sun was just preparing to set in a flame-colored ball."Here it is the afternoon before Thanksgiving Day and mother and fatherare not home yet, and we haven't anything in the house for aThanksgiving dinner!" She looked toward the woods now. What was that?

  A speck of color that she could see in the narrow footpath between thetrees suddenly came nearer, growing larger and brighter all the time.Remember could distinguish the gaudy blanket, bright moccasins
, andfeather headdress of an Indian. Stalking across the field, he was fastapproaching their little log house which he could easily see from thewoods and which seemed to offer him an easy goal. Remember covered herface with her hands, trying in her terror to think what to do.

  The bolt on the kitchen door was but a flimsy protection at best.Remember knew that the Indian would be able to wrench it off with onetug of his brawny arm. She knew, too, that it had been the custom of theIndians who were encamped not far off to take the children of thecolonists and hold them for a high ransom.

  "The white face takes our lands; we take the papoose of the white face,"they had threatened, and they were cruel indeed to the children whomthey held, especially if their parents were a long time supplying thenecessary ransom. But it had been so long now since an Indian had beenseen in their little settlement, that Remember's mother had felt quitesafe in leaving her.

  Remember looked now for a place to hide. There was none. The cellarwould be the first place, she knew, where the Indian would look for her.The tall clock was too small a space into which to squeeze her fatlittle body; and there was no use hiding under the bed for she would bedragged out at once. Remember turned, now, hearing a footstep. TheIndian, big, brown, and frowning had crossed the threshold and stood inthe center of the room. His blanket trailed the floor; over his shoulderwas slung a pair of wild turkeys he had killed.

  Remember trembled, but she faced him bravely.

  "How!" she said, reaching out a kind little hand to him. The Indianshook his head, and did not offer to shake hands with the little girl.Instead, he pointed to the door, motioning to her that she was to followhim.

  Remember's mind worked quickly. She knew that Indians were fond oftrinkets and could sometimes be turned away from their cruel designs bymeans of very small gifts. She ran to her mother's work basket andoffered him in succession a pair of scissors, a case of bright, newneedles, a scarlet pincushion, and a silver thimble. Each, in turn, theIndian refused, shaking his head and still indicating by his gesturesthat Remember was to follow him.

  Now he grasped the little girl's hand and tried to pull her. There wasno use resisting. But just as they reached the door the Indian caughtsight of the crock of soft soap--dark, sticky, and strangely fascinatingto him. He stuck one long brown finger in it and started to put it inhis mouth, but Remember reached up and pulled his hand away. She shookher head and made a wry face to show him that it was not good to eat.

  "How?" he questioned, pointing to the soap.

  Remember pulled from his grasp. Pouring a dipperful of water in a basin,she took a handful of the soap and showed the Indian how she could washher hands. As he watched a look, first of wonder, and then of pleasure,crept into his face. He smiled and looked at his own hands. They werestained with earth and sadly in need of washing. Remember refilled thebasin with water and the Indian, helping himself to a huge handful ofthe soap, washed his hands solemnly as if it were a kind of ceremony.

  "THE INDIAN, HELPING HIMSELF TO A HUGE HANDFUL OF THE SOAP,WASHED HIS HANDS SOLEMNLY"]

  As Remember watched him, her heart beat fast indeed. "As soon as hefinishes he will take me away," she thought.

  Slowly the Indian dried his hands on the towel she gave him. Then hepicked up the crock of soft soap. He set it on his shoulder. Pointing tothe pair of turkeys that he had laid on the table to show that he wasgiving them to Remember in exchange for the soap, he strode out of thedoor and was soon lost to sight in the wood's path.

  Remember dropped down in a chair and could scarcely believe she wasreally safe. A quick clatter of hoofs roused her. She darted to thedoor.

  "Father, mother!" she cried.

  Yes, it was indeed they; her father riding in front with her mother inthe saddle behind.

  "Just in time for Thanksgiving!" they cried as they jumped down andembraced Remember.

  "And I'm here, too, and we have a pair of turkeys for dinner," Remembersaid, half smiles and half tears, as she told them her strangeadventure.