diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18079.txt | 3728 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18079.zip | bin | 0 -> 63164 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
5 files changed, 3744 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18079.txt b/18079.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..40196f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/18079.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3728 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Autumn, by Robert Nathan + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Autumn + + +Author: Robert Nathan + + + +Release Date: March 30, 2006 [eBook #18079] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +AUTUMN + +by + +ROBERT NATHAN + + + + + + + +New York +Robert M. McBride & Company +Copyright, 1921 +by Robert M. McBride & Company + + + + +TO D. M. N., AND TO OUR + +FRIEND HERBERT FEIS + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I Mrs. Grumble + II School Lets Out + III The Barlys + IV Mr. Jeminy Builds A house Out of Boxes + V Rain + VI Harvest + VII Mrs. Grumble Goes to the Fair + VIII The Turn of the Year + IX The Schoolmaster Leaves Hillsboro, + His Work There Seemingly at an End + X But He is Sought After All + XI And is Found in Good Hands + XII Mrs. Wicket + + + + +I + +MRS. GRUMBLE + +On Sunday the church bells of Hillsboro rang out across the ripening +fields with a grave and holy sound, and again at evening knocked +faintly, with quiet sorrow, at doors where children watched for the +first star, to make their wishes. Night came, and to the croaking of +frogs, the moon rose over Barly Hill. In the early morning the grass, +still wet with dew, chilled the bare toes of urchins on their way to +school where, until four o'clock, the tranquil voice of Mr. Jeminy +disputed with the hum of bees, and the far off clink of the +blacksmith's forge in the village. + +At four o'clock Mr. Jeminy, with a sigh, gathered his books together. +He sighed because he was old, and because the day's work was done. He +arose from his seat, and taking up his stick, passed out between the +benches and went slowly down the road. + +It was a warm spring day; the air was drowsy and filled with the scent +of flowers. A thrush sang in the woods, where Mr. Jeminy heard before +him the light voices of children. He thought: "How happy they are." +And he smiled at his own fancies which, like himself, were timid and +kind. + +But gradually, as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, he grew sad. +It seemed to him as if the world, strange and contrary during the day, +were again as it used to be when he was young. + +When he crossed the wooden bridge over Barly Water, the minnows, +frightened, fled away in shoals. Mr. Jeminy turned down toward the +village, where he had an errand to attend to. As his footsteps died +away, the minnows swam back again, as though nothing had happened. +One, larger than the rest, found a piece of bread which had fallen into +the water. "This is my bread," he said, and gazed angrily at his +friends, who were trying to bite him. "I deserve this bread," he added. + +Old Mr. Frye kept the general store in Hillsboro, and ran the post +office. It was easy to see that he was an honest man; he kept his shop +tidy, and was sour to everybody. Through his square spectacles he saw +his neighbors in the form of fruits, vegetables, stick pins, and pieces +of calico. Of Mr. Jeminy he used to say: "Sweet apples, but small, +very small; small and sweet." + +"Yes," said Farmer Barly, "but just tell me, who wants small apples?" + +Mr. Frye nodded his head. "Ah, that's it," he agreed. + +At that moment Mr. Jeminy himself entered the store. "I'd like to buy +a pencil," he said. "The pencil I have in mind," he explained, "is +soft, and writes easily, but has no eraser." + +"There you are," said the storekeeper; "that's five cents." + +"I used to pay four," said Mr. Jeminy, looking for the extra penny. + +"Well, perhaps you did," said Mr. Frye, "but prices are very high now." +And he moved away to register the sale. + +Farmer Barly, who was a member of the school board, cleared his throat, +and blew on his nose. "Hem," he remarked. "Good-day." + +"Good-day," said Mr. Jeminy politely, and went out of the store with +his pencil. Left to themselves, Mr. Frye and Mr. Barly began to +discuss him. "Jeminy is growing old," said Mr. Frye, with a shake of +his head. + +Mr. Barly, although stupid, liked to be direct. "I was brought up on +plus and minus," he said, "and I've yet to meet the man who can get the +better of me. Now what do you think of that, Mr. Frye?" + +Mr. Frye looked up, down, and around; then he began to polish his +spectacles. But he only said, "There's some good in that." + +"There is indeed," said Mr. Barly, closing one eye, and nodding his +head a number of times. "There is indeed. But those days are over, +Mr. Frye. When I was a child I had the fear of God put into me. It +was put into me with a birch rod. But nowadays, Mr. Frye, the children +neglect their sums, and grow up wild as nettles. I don't know what +they're learning nowadays." + +And he blew his nose again, as though to say, "What a pity." + +"Ah," said Mr. Frye, wisely, "there's no good in _that_." + +Mr. Jeminy knew his own faults, and what was expected of him: he was +not severe enough. As he walked home that evening, he said to himself: +"I must be more severe; my pupils tease each other almost under my +nose. To-day as I wrote sums on the black-board, I watched out of the +corner of my eye. . . . Still, a tweaked ear is soon mended. And it's +true that when they learn to add and subtract, they will do each other +more harm." + +The schoolmaster lived in a cottage on the hill overlooking the +village. He lived alone, except for Mrs. Grumble, who kept house for +him, and managed his affairs. Although they were simple, and easy to +manage, they afforded her endless opportunities for complaint. She was +never so happy as when nothing suited her. Then she carried her broom +into Mr. Jeminy's study, and looked around her with a gloomy air. "No, +really, it's impossible to go on this way," she would say, and sweep +Mr. Jeminy, his books and his papers, out of doors. + +There, in the company of Boethius, he often considered the world, and +watched, from above, the gradual life of the village. He heard the +occasional tonk of cows on the hillside, the creak of a cart on the +road, the faint sound of voices, blown by the wind. From his threshold +he saw the afternoon fade into evening, and night look down across the +hills, among the stars. He saw the lights come out in the valley, one +by one through the mist, smelled the fresh, sweet air of evening; and +promptly each night at seven, far off and sad, rolling among the hills, +he heard the ghostly hooting of the night freight, leaving Milford +Junction. + +"Here," he said to himself, "within this circle of hills, is to be +found faith, virtue, passion, and good sense. In this valley youth is +not without courage, or age without wisdom. Yet age, although wise, is +full of sorrow." + +While he was musing in this vein, the odor of frying bacon from the +kitchen, warmed his nose. So he was not surprised to see Mrs. Grumble +appear in the doorway soon afterward. "Your supper is ready," she +said; "if you don't come in at once it will grow cold." + +For supper, Mr. Jeminy had a bowl of soup, a glass of milk, bacon, +potatoes, and a loaf of bread. When Mrs. Grumble was seated, he bent +his head, and said: "Let us give thanks to God for this manifestation +of His bounty." + +During the meal Mrs. Grumble was silent. But Mr. Jeminy could see that +she had something important to say. At last she remarked, "As I was on +my way to the village, I met Mrs. Barly. She said, 'You'll have to buy +your own milk after this, Mrs. Grumble.' I just stood and looked at +her." + +Mr. Jeminy nodded his head. "I am not surprised," he said. And, +indeed, it did not surprise him. Now that the war was over, the +neighbors no longer came to his cottage with gifts of vegetables, +fruit, and milk. Mrs. Grumble looked at him thoughtfully, and while +she washed the plates at the kitchen sink, sighed from the bottom of +her soul. Although she liked Mr. Jeminy who, she declared, was a good +man, she felt, nevertheless, that in his company her talents were +wasted. "It is impossible to talk to Mr. Jeminy," she told Miss Beal, +the dress-maker, "because he talks so much." + +It was true; Mr. Jeminy liked to talk a great deal. But his +conversation, which was often about such people as St. Francis, or +Plotinus, did not seem very lively to Mrs. Grumble. "He talks about +nothing but the dead," she said to Miss Beal; "mostly heathen." + +"No," said Miss Beal. "How aggravating." + +Now, Mr. Jeminy, unheeding the sighs of his housekeeper, continued: +"But after all, I would not change places with Farmer Barly. For +riches are a source of trouble, Mrs. Grumble; they crowd love out of +the heart. A man is only to be envied who desires little." + +"It is always the same," said Mrs. Grumble; "the rich have their +pleasures, and the poor people their sorrows." + +"That," said Mr. Jeminy, "is the mistake of ignorance. For Epictetus +was a slave, and Saint Peter was a fisherman. They were poor; but they +did not consider themselves unfortunate. More to be pitied than either +Saint Peter or Epictetus, was Croesus, King of Lydia, who was probably +not as rich as Mr. Gary. But he knew how to use his wealth. Therefore +he was all the more disappointed when it was taken away from him by +Cyrus, the Persian. No, Mrs. Grumble, what you can lose is no great +good to any one. + +"If you wish," he added, "I will dry the dishes, and you can spend the +evening in the village." + +As he stood above the sink, rubbing the dishes with a damp cloth, he +thought: "When I die, I should like it said of me: By his own efforts, +he remained a poor man." And he stood still, the dishtowel in his +hand, thinking of that wealthy iron-master, whose epitaph is said to +read: Here lies a man who knew how to enlist in his service better men +than himself. + +When the dishes were dried, Mr. Jeminy retired to his den. This little +room, from whose windows it was possible to see the sky above Barly +Hill, blue as a cornflower, boasted a desk, an old leather chair, and +several shelves of books, among them volumes of history and travel, a +King James' Bible, Arrian's Epictetus, Sabatier's life of Saint +Francis, the Meditations of Antoninus, bound in paper, and a Jervas +translation of Don Quixote. Here Mr. Jeminy was at home; in the +evening he smoked his pipe, and read from the pages of Cervantes, whose +humor, gentle and austere, comforted his mind so often vexed by the +negligence of his pupils. + +On the evening of which I am speaking, Mr. Jeminy knocked the ashes out +of his pipe, and taking from his desk a bundle of papers, began to +correct his pupils' exercises. He was still engaged at this task when +Mr. Tomkins came to call. + +"A fine evening," said Mr. Tomkins from the doorway. + +"Come in, William," cried Mr. Jeminy, "come in. A fine evening, +indeed. Well, this is very nice, I must say." + +Mr. Tomkins was older than Mr. Jeminy. His once great frame was dried +and bent; his face was lined with a thousand wrinkles, and his lips +were drawn tight under the nose, until nose and chin almost met. But +his eyes were bright and active. Now he sat in Mr. Jeminy's study, his +large, knobbly hands, brown and withered as leaves in autumn, grasping +his hat. + +"Another year, Jeminy," he said, in a voice shrill with age, "another +year. Time to shingle old man Crabbe's roof again. I'm spry yet." +And resting a lean finger alongside his nose, he gave sound to a laugh +like a peal of broken bells. + +In his old age Mr. Tomkins was still agile; he crawled out on a roof, +ripped up rotted shingles, and put down new ones in their place. To +see him climb to the top of a ladder, filled Mr. Jeminy with anxiety. + +"You'll die," he said, "with a hammer in your hand." + +"Then," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll die as I've lived." + +"That's strange enough," said Mr. Jeminy, "when you come to think of +it. For men are born into this world hungry and crying. But they die +in silence and slip away without touching anything." + +Mr. Tomkins cleared his throat, and watched his fingers run around his +hat's brim. He wanted to tell Mr. Jeminy some news; but it occurred to +him that it was no more than a rumor. Finally he said: "There's a new +school-ma'am over to North Adams." He cocked his head sidewise to look +at the schoolmaster. "She knows more than you, Jeminy," he said. + +Mr. Jeminy sat bowed and still, his hands folded in his lap. He +remembered how he had come to Hillsboro thirty years before, a young +man full of plans and fancies. He was soon to learn that what had been +good enough for Great Grandfather Ploughman, was thought to be good +enough for his grandson, also. Mr. Jeminy remained in Hillsboro, at +first out of hope, later out of habit. At last it seemed to him as if +Hillsboro were his home. "Where else should I go?" he had asked +himself. "Here is all I have in the world. Here are my only friends. +Well, after all," he said to himself more than once, "I am not wasted +here, exactly." And he tried to comfort himself with this reflection. + +He had started out to build a new school in the wilderness. "I shall +teach my pupils something more than plus and minus," he declared. He +remembered a little verse he used to sing in those days: + + Laws, manuals, + And texts incline us + To cheat with plus + And rob with minus. + +But it had all slipped away, like sand through his fingers. Now he +hoped to find one child to whom he could say what was in his mind. + +One by one the brighter boys had drifted off to the county schools, +leaving the little schoolhouse to the dull and to the young. Some were +taken out of classes early, and added, like another pig, to the farms. +Girls, when they were old enough, were kept at home to help their +mothers; after a while they, too, married; then their education was +over. In the winter they nailed the windows shut; in the summer they +worked with the men, hoarded their pennies, and prayed to God at first, +but only wished at last, to do better than their neighbors. + +Of all whom Mr. Jeminy had taught reading, writing and arithmetic, not +one was either better or happier than in childhood. + +"Not one," said Mr. Jeminy, "is tidy of mind, or humble of heart. Not +one has learned to be happy in poverty, or gentle in good fortune." + +"There's no poverty to-day," said Mr. Tomkins simply. It really seemed +to him as though every one were well off, because the war was over. + +"There is more poverty to-day than ever before," said Mr. Jeminy. + +"Hm," said Mr. Tomkins. + +"Last fall," said Mr. Jeminy, "Sara Barly and Mrs. Grumble helped each +other put up vegetables. And Anna Barly came to my cottage, holding +out her apron, full of apples." + +"My wife, too," said Mr. Tomkins, "put up a great many vegetables." + +"But to-day," said Mr. Jeminy, "Mrs. Barly and Mrs. Grumble pass each +other without speaking. And because we are no longer at war, the bit +of land belonging to Ezra Adams, where, last spring, Mrs. Wicket +planted her rows of corn, is left to grow its mouthful of hay, to sell +to Mr. Frye." + +"Ah," said Mr. Tomkins wisely, "that's it. Well, Mrs. Wicket, now. +Still," he added, "he'll have a lot of nettles in that hay." + +"The rich," Mr. Jeminy continued, "quarrel with the poor, and the poor, +by way of answer, with rich and poor alike. And rich or poor, every +man reaches for more, like a child at table. That is why, William, +there is poverty to-day; poverty of the heart, of the mind, and of the +spirit. + +"And yet," he added stoutly a moment later, "I'll not deny there is +plenty of light; yes, we are wise enough, there is love in our +hearts . . . Perhaps, William, heaven will be found when old men like +you and me, who have lost our way, are dead." + +"Lost our way?" quavered Mr. Tomkins, "lost our way? What are you +talking about, Jeminy?" + +But the fire, burning so brightly before, was almost out. "Youth," +said Mr. Jeminy sadly . . . And he sat quite still, staring straight +ahead of him. + +"Well," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll be stepping on home." Clapping his hat +somewhat uncertainly onto his head, he rose to go. Mr. Jeminy +accompanied him to the door. + +"Good-night," he said. + +"Good-night," said Mr. Tomkins. And off he went along the path, to +tell his wife, as he got into bed, that she was a lucky woman. But Mr. +Jeminy stood in the doorway, gazing out across the hills, like David +over Hebron. Below him the last late lanterns of the village burned in +the valley. He heard the shrill kreef kreedn kreedn of the tree frogs, +the cheep of crickets, the lonely barking of a dog, ghostly and far +away; he breathed the air of night, cold, and sweet with honeysuckle. +Age was in bed; only the young moved and whispered in the shadows; +youth, obscure and immortal; love and hope, love and sorrow. From the +meadows ascended the choir of cicada: katy did, katy didn't, katy +did. . . . + +Mr. Jeminy turned and went indoors. + + + + +II + +SCHOOL LETS OUT + +The next day being a holiday, Mr. Jeminy lay in bed, watching, through +his window, the branches of an oak tree, which is last of all to leaf. +When he finally arose, the morning was already bright and hot; the +rooms were swept; all was in order. + +Later in the day he followed Mrs. Grumble to the schoolhouse, carrying +a pail, soap, a scrubbing brush, and a broom. After Mr. Jeminy had +filled the pail with water at the school pump, Mrs. Grumble got down on +her knees, and began to scrub the floor. The schoolmaster went ahead +with the broom. "Sweep in all the corners," she said. "For," she +added, "it's in the corners one finds everything." As she spoke, the +brush, under her freckled hands, pushed forward a wave of soapy water, +edged with foam, like the sea. + +Mr. Jeminy swept up and down with a sort of solemn joy; he even took +pride in the little mountain of brown dirt he had collected with his +broom, and watched it leap across the threshold with regret. He would +have liked to keep it. . . . Then he could have said, "Well, at least, +I took all this dirt from under the desks." + +The truth is that Mr. Jeminy was not a very good teacher. Although, as +a young man, he had read, in Latin and Greek, the work of Stoics, +Gnostics, and Fathers of the Church, and although he had opinions about +everything, he was unable to teach his pupils what they wished to +learn, and they, in turn, were unable to understand what he wanted them +to know. But that was not entirely his fault, for they came to school +with such questions as: "How far is a thousand miles?" + +"It is the distance between youth and age," said Mr. Jeminy. Then the +children would start to laugh. + +"A thousand miles," he would begin. . . . + +By the time he had explained it, they were interested in something else. + +This summer morning, a dusty fall of sunlight filled the little +schoolroom with dancing golden motes. It seemed to Mr. Jeminy that he +heard the voices of innumerable children whispering together; and it +seemed to him that one voice, sweeter than all the rest, spoke in his +own heart. "Jeminy," it said, "Jeminy, what have you taught my +children?" + +Mr. Jeminy answered: "I have taught them to read the works of +celebrated men, and to cheat each other with plus and minus." + +"Ah," said another voice, with a dry chuckle like salt shaken in a +saltcellar, "well, that's good." + +"Who speaks?" cried Mr. Jeminy. + +"What," exclaimed the voice, "don't you know me, old friend? I am plus +and minus; I am weights and measures. . . ." + +"Lord ha' mercy," cried Mrs. Grumble from the floor, "have you gone +mad? Whatever are you doing, standing there, with your mouth open?" + +"Eh!" said Mr. Jeminy, stupidly. "I was dreaming." + +A red squirrel sped across the path, and stopped a moment in the +doorway, his tail arched above his back, his bright, black eyes peering +without envy at Mrs. Grumble, as she bent above the pail of soap-suds. +Then, with a flirt of his tail, he hurried away, to hide from other +squirrels the nuts, seeds, and acorns strewn by the winds of the autumn +impartially over the earth. + +In the afternoon, Mr. Jeminy went into his garden, and began to measure +off rows of vegetables. "Two rows of beans," he said, "and two of +radishes; they grow anywhere. I'll get Crabbe to give me onion sets, +cabbages, and tomato plants. Two rows of peas, and one of lettuce; I +must have fine soil for my lettuce, and I must remember to plant my +peas deeply. A row of beets. . . ." + +"Where," said Mrs. Grumble, who stood beside him, holding the hoe, "are +you going to plant squash?" + +". . . and carrots," continued Mr. Jeminy hurriedly. . . . + +"We must certainly have a few hills of squash," said Mrs. Grumble +firmly. + +"Oh," said Mr. Jeminy, "squash. . . ." + +He had left it out on purpose, because he disliked it. "You see," he +said finally, looking about him artlessly, "there's no more room." + +"Go away," said Mrs. Grumble. + +From his seat under a tree, to which he had retired, Mr. Jeminy watched +Mrs. Grumble mark the rows, hoe the straight, shallow furrows, drop in +the seeds, and cover them with earth again. As he watched, half in +indignation, he thought: "Thus, in other times, Ceres sowed the earth +with seed, and, like Mrs. Grumble, planted my garden with squash. I +would have asked her rather to sow melons here." Just then Mrs. +Grumble came to the edge of the vegetable garden. + +"Seed potatoes are over three dollars a bushel," she said: "it's hardly +worth while putting them in." + +"Then let's not put any in," Mr. Jeminy said promptly, "for they are +difficult to weed, and when they are grown you must begin to quarrel +with insects, for whose sake alone, I almost think, they grow at all." + +"The bugs fall off," said Mrs. Grumble, "with a good shaking." + +"Fie," said Mr. Jeminy, "how slovenly. It is better to kill them with +lime. But it is best of all not to tempt them; then there is no need +to kill them." + +And as Mrs. Grumble made no reply, he added: + +"That is something God has not learned yet." + +"Please," said Mrs. Grumble, "speak of God with more respect." + +After supper Mr. Jeminy sat in his study reading the story of Saint +Francis, the Poor Brother of Assisi. One day, soon after the saint had +left behind him the gay affairs of town, to embrace poverty, for Jesus' +sake, and while he was still living in a hut of green branches near the +little chapel of Saint Damian, he beheld his father coming to upbraid +him for what he considered his son's obstinate folly. At once Saint +Francis, who was possessed of a quick wit, began to gather together a +number of old stones, which he tried to place one on top of the other. +But as fast as he put them up, the stones, broken and uneven, fell down +again. "Aha," cried old Bernadone, when he came up to his son, "I see +how you are wasting your time. What are you doing? I am sick of you." + +"I am building the world again," said Francis mildly; "it is all the +more difficult because, for building material, I can find nothing but +these old stones." + +Mr. Jeminy gave his pupils their final examination in a meadow below +the schoolhouse. There, seated among the dandelions, with voices as +shrill as the crickets, they answered his questions, and watched the +clouds, like great pillows, sail on the wind from west to east. Under +the shiny sky, among the warm, sweet fields, Mr. Jeminy looked no more +important than a robin, and not much wiser. Had the children been +older, they would have tried all the more to please him, but because +they were young, they laughed, teased each other, blew on blades of +grass, and made dandelion chains. Mr. Jeminy examined the Fifth +Reader. "Bound the United States," he said. + +"On the west by the Pacific Ocean," began a red-cheeked plowboy, to +whom the ocean was no more than hearsay. + +"Where is San Francisco?" + +"San Francisco is in California." + +"Where is Seattle?" + +But no one knew. Then Mr. Jeminy thought to himself, "I am not much +wiser than that. For I think that Seattle is a little black period on +a map. But to them, it is a name, like China, or Jerusalem; it is +here, or there, in the stories they tell each other. And I believe +their Seattle is full of interesting people." + +"Well, then," he said, "let me hear you bound Vermont." + +That was something everybody knew. + +He took the First and Second Reader through their sums. "Two apples +and two apples make . . ." + +"Four apples." + +"And three apples from eight apples leave . . ." + +"Five apples." + +When spelling time came, the children, going down to the foot, rolled +over each other in the grass, with loud shouts. At last only two were +left to dispute the letters in asparagus, elephant, constancy, and +philosophical. Then Mr. Jeminy gathered the children about him. + +"The year is over," he said, "and you are free to play again. But do +not forget over the summer what you learned with so much difficulty +during the winter. Let me say to you who will not return to school: I +have taught you to read, to write, to add and subtract; you know a +little history, a little geography. Do not be proud of that. There +are many things to learn; but you would not be any happier for having +learned them. + +"You will ask me what this has to do with you. I would like to teach +you to be happy. For happiness is not in owning much, but in owning +little: love, and liberty, the work of one's hands, fellowship, and +peace. These things have no value; they are not to be bought; but they +alone are worth having. Do not envy the rich man, for cares destroy +his sleep. And do not ask the poor man not to sing, for song is all he +has. + +"Love poverty, and labor, the poverty of love, the wealth of the heart. + +"Be wise and honest farmers. + +"School is over. You may go." + +The children ran away, laughing; the boys hurried off together to the +swimming hole, their casual shouts stealing after them down the road. +Mr. Jeminy, lying on his back in the grass, listened to them sadly. As +the voices grew fainter and fainter, it seemed to him as if they were +saying: "School is over, school is over." And he thought: "They are +counting the seasons. But to the old, the year is never done." + +Mr. Frye, who had been sitting quietly by the road during Mr. Jeminy's +little speech to the children, now got up, and went back to the +village, shaking his head solemnly with every step. + + + + +III + +THE BARLYS + +The two hired men on Barly's farm rose in the dark and crept +downstairs. By sun-up, Farmer Barly was after them, in his brown +overalls; he came clumping into the barn, dusty with last year's hay, +and peered about him in the yellow light. He opened the harness room, +and took out harness for the farm wagons; he went to ask if the horses +had been watered. + +The cows were in pasture; in the wagon shed the two men, before a tin +basin, plunged their arms into water, flung it on their faces, and +puffed and sighed. The shed was cold, and redolent of earth. Outside, +the odor of coffee, drifting from the house, mingled in the early +morning air with clover and hay, cut in the fields, but not yet stored. + +Anna Barly, from her room, heard her mother moving in the kitchen, and +sat up in bed. The patch-work quilt was fallen on the floor, where it +lay as sleepy as its mistress. She tossed her hair back from her face; +it spread broad and gold across her shoulders, and the wide sleeves of +her nightdress, falling down her arms, bared her round, brown elbows as +she caught it up again. + +In the kitchen, the two hired men, their faces wet and clean, poured +sugar over their lettuce, and talked with their mouths full. + +"I hear tell of a borer, like an ear-worm, spoiling the corn. . . . +But there's none in our corn, so far as I can see." + +"Never been so much rain since I was born." + +"A bad year." + +"Well," said Mrs. Barly, "that's no wonder, either, with prices what +they are, and you two eating your heads off, for all the work you do." + +"Now, then," said her husband hastily, "that's all right, too, mother." + +Anna stood at the sink, and washed the dishes. Her hands floated +through the warm, soapy water like lazy fish, curled around plates, +swam out of pots; while her thoughts, drowsy, sunny in her head, +passed, like her hands, from what was hardly seen to what was hardly +felt. + +"Look after the milk, Anna," said her mother, "while I go for some +kindlings." She went out, thin, stooped, her long, lean fingers +fumbling with her apron; and she came back more bent than before. She +put the wood down with a sigh. "A body's never done," she said. + +Anna looked after the milk, all in a gentle phlegm. Her mother cooked, +cleaned, scrubbed, carried water, fetched wood, set the house to +rights; in order to keep Anna fresh and plump until she was married. +Anna, plump and wealthy, was a good match for any one: old Mr. Frye +used to smile when he saw her. "Smooth and sweet," he used to say: +"molasses . . . hm . . ." + +Now she stood dreaming by the stove, until her mother, climbing from +the cellar, woke her with a clatter of coal. "Why, you big, awkward +girl," cried Mrs. Barly, "whatever are you dreaming about?" + +Anna thought to herself: "I was dreaming of a thousand things. But +when I went to look at them . . . there was nothing left." + +"Nothing," she said aloud. + +"Then," said her mother doubtfully, "you might help me shell peas." + +The two women sat down together, a wooden bowl between them. The pods +split under their fingers, click, cluck; the peas fell into the bowl +like shot at first, dull as the bowl grew full. Click, cluck, click, +cluck . . . Anna began to dream again. "Oh, do wake up," said her +mother; "one would think . . ." + +Anna's hands went startled into the peas. "I must be in love," she +said with half a smile. + +Mrs. Barly sighed. "Ak," she said. + +Anna began to laugh. After a while she asked, "Do you think I'm in +love?" + +"Like as not," said her mother. + +"Well, then," Anna cried, "I'm not in love at all--not now." + +Mrs. Barly let her fingers rest idly along the rim of the bowl. "When +I was a girl . . ." she began. Then it was Anna's turn to sigh. + +"It seems like yesterday," remarked Mrs. Barly, who wanted to say, "I +am still a young woman." + +Anna split pods gravely, her eyes bent on her task. The tone of her +mother's voice, tart and dry, filled her mind with the sulky thoughts +of youth. "There's fewer alive to-day," she said, "than when you were +a girl." + +Mrs. Barly knew very well what her daughter meant. "Be glad there's +any left," she replied, as she turned again to her shelling. + +Anna's round, brown finger moved in circles through the peas. "I'm too +young to marry," she said, at last. + +"No younger than what I was." + +But it seemed to Anna as though life had changed since those days. For +every one was reaching for more. And Anna, too, wanted more . . . more +than her mother had had. "If I wait," she said in a low voice, +"to . . . see a bit of life . . . what's the harm?" + +The pod in Mrs. Barly's hand cracked with a pop, and trembled in the +air, split open like the covers of a book. "I declare," she exclaimed, +"I don't know what to think . . . well . . . wait . . . I suppose you +want to be like Mrs. Wicket?" + +"No, I don't," said Anna. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Barly, in a shaking voice, "yes . . . wait . . . +you'll see a bit of something . . . a taste of the broom, +perhaps. . . ." + +While the two women looked after the house, the hired men worked in the +fields, under the hot sun, their wet, cotton shirts open at the neck, +their faces shaded with wide straw hats. Farmer Barly leaned against +one side of a tumbled-down wooden fence, and old Mr. Crabbe against the +other. + +"This year," said Farmer Barly, "I'm going to put up a silo in my barn. +And instead of straw to cover it, I'm going to plant oats on top." + +"Go along," said Mr. Crabbe. + +"Well, it's a fact," said Mr. Barly. "I'm building now, back of the +cows." + +"Digging, you might say," corrected Mr. Crabbe. + +"Building, by God," said Mr. Barly. + +Mr. Crabbe tilted back his head and cast a look of wonder at the sky. +"A hole is a hole," he said finally. + +"So it is," agreed Mr. Barly, "so it is. It takes a Republican to find +that out." And, greatly amused at his own wit, Mr. Barly, who was a +Democrat, slapped his knee and burst out laughing. + +"Yes, sir," said Mr. Crabbe solemnly, with pious joy, "I'm a +Republican . . . a good Republican, Mr. Barly, like my father before +me." He smote his fist into his open palm. "I'll vote the Democrats +blue in the face. If a man can't vote for his own advantage, what's +the ballot for? I say let's mind our own business. And let me get my +hands on what I want." + +"Get what you can," said Mr. Barly. + +"And the devil take the hindmost." + +"It's all the same to me," quoth Mr. Barly, "folks being mostly alike +as two peas." + +Mr. Crabbe spat into the stubble. "The way I look at it," he said, +"it's like this: first, there's me; and then there's you. That's the +way I look at it, Mr. B." + +And he went home to repeat to his wife what he had said to Farmer +Barly. "I gave it to him," he declared. + +In another field, Abner and John Henry, who had been to war, also +discussed politics. They agreed that the pay they received for their +work was inadequate. It seemed to them to be the fault of the +government, which was run for the benefit of others besides themselves. + +That afternoon, Mr. Jeminy, with Boethius under his arm, came into +Frye's General Store, to buy a box of matches for Mrs. Grumble. As he +paid for them, he said to Thomas Frye, who had been his pupil in +school: "These little sticks of wood need only a good scratch to +confuse me, for a moment, with the God of Genesis. But they also +encourage Mrs. Grumble to burn, before I come down in the morning, the +bits of paper on which I like to scribble my notes." + +At that moment, old Mrs. Ploughman entered the store to buy a paper of +pins. "Well," she cried, "don't keep me waiting all day." But when Mr. +Jeminy was gone, she said to Thomas Frye, "I guess I don't want any +pins. What was it I wanted?" + +Presently she went home again, without having bought anything. "It's +all the fault of that old man," she said to herself; "he mixes a body +up so." + +On his way home Mr. Jeminy passed, at the edge of the village, the +little cottage where the widow Wicket lived with her daughter. Seeing +Mrs. Wicket in the garden, he stopped to wave his hand. Under her +bonnet, the young woman looked up at him, her plain, thin face flushed +with her efforts in the garden patch. "I've never seen such weeds," +she cried. "You'd think . . . I don't know what you'd think. They +grow and grow . . ." + +Mr. Jeminy went up the hill toward his house, carrying the box of +matches. As he walked, the little white butterflies, which danced +above the road, kept him company; and all about him, in the meadows, +among the daisies, the beetles, wasps, bees, and crickets, with fifes, +flutes, drums, and triangles, were singing joyously together the +Canticle of the Sun: + +"Praised be the Lord God with all his creatures, but especially our +brother, the sun . . . fair he is, and shines, with a very great +splendor . . . + +"Praised be the Lord for our sister, the moon, and for the stars, which +he has set clear and lovely in heaven. + +". . . (and) for our brother, the wind, and for air and cloud, calm and +all weather . . . + +". . . (and) for our mother, the earth, which does sustain us and keep +us . . . + +"Praised be the Lord for all those who pardon one another . . . and who +endure weakness and tribulation; blessed are they who peaceably shall +endure . . ." + +Slowly, to the tonkle of herds in pasture, the crowing of cocks, and +the thin, clear clang of the smithy, the full sun sank in the west. +For a time all was quiet, as night, the shadow of the earth, crept +between man and God. + +After supper Thomas Frye, in his father's wagon, went to call on Anna +Barly. + +From her porch where she sat hidden by vines which gave forth an odor +sweeter than honey, the night was visible, pale and full of shadows. +To the boy beside her, timid and ardent, the silence of her parents +seemed, like the night, to be full of opinions. + +"Well . . . shall we go for a ride?" + +Anna called in to her mother, "I'm going for a ride with Tom." + +"Don't be late," said her mother. + +The two went down the path, and climbed into the buggy; soon the yellow +lantern, swung between its wheels, rolled like a star down the road to +Milford. + +"Why so quiet, Tom?" + +"Am I, Ann?" + +"Angry?" + +"Just thinking . . . so to say." + +"Oh." And she began to hum under her breath. + +"I was just thinking," he said again. + +Then, solemnly, he added, "about things." + +"About you and me," he wound up finally. + +When she offered him a penny for his thoughts, he said, "Well . . . +nothing." + +"Dear me." + +At his hard cluck the wagon swept forward. "You know what I was +thinking," he said. + +"Do I?" asked Anna innocently. + +"Don't you?" + +"Perhaps." + +So they went on through the dark, under the trees, to Milford. When +their little world, smelling of harness, came to a halt in front of the +drug store, they descended to quench their thirst with syrup, gas, +milk, and lard. Then, with dreamy faces, they made their way to the +movies. + +Now their hands are clasped, but they do not notice each other. For +they do not know where they are; they imagine they are acting upon the +screen. It is a mistake which charms and consoles them both. "How +beautiful I am," thinks Anna drowsily, watching Miss Gish. "And how +elegant to be in love." + +Later Anna will say to herself: "Other people's lives are like that." + +On the way home she sat smiling and dreaming. The horse ran briskly +through the night mist; and the wheels, rumbling over the ground, +turned up the thoughts of simple Thomas Frye, only to plow them under +again. + +"Ann," he said when they were more than half-way home, "don't you care +for me . . . any more?" As he spoke, he cut at the black trees with +his long whip. + +"Yes, I do, Tom." + +"As much as you did?" + +"Just as much." + +"More, Ann?" + +"Maybe." + +"Then . . . will you? Say, will you, Ann?" + +"I don't know, Tom. Don't ask me. Please." + +"But I've got to ask you," he cried. + +"Oh, what's the good." And she looked away, to where the faint light +of the lantern fled along beside them, over the trees. + +"Is it," he said slowly, "is it no?" + +"Well, then--no." + +Thomas was silent. At last he asked, "Is it a living man, Ann?" + +"No," said Anna. + +"Is it a dead man, now?" + +Anna moved uneasily. "No, it isn't," she said. "'Tisn't anybody." + +But Thomas persisted. "Would it be Noel, if he warn't dead in France?" + +"Maybe." + +"You're not going to keep on thinking of him, are you?" + +"I don't plan to." + +"Then--" and Thomas came back to the old question once more, "why not?" + +"Why not what?" + +"Take me, then?" + +"Well," she said vaguely, "I'm too young." + +"I'd wait." + +"'Twouldn't help any. I want so much, Tom . . . you couldn't give me +all I want." + +He said, "What is it I couldn't give you?" + +"I don't know, Tom . . . I want what other people have . . . +experiences . . ." + +At his bitter laugh, she was filled with pity for herself. "Is it so +funny?" she asked. "I don't care." + +"Whatever's got into you, Ann?" + +"I don't know there's anything got into me beyond I don't want to grow +old--and dry. . . ." + +"I don't see as you can help it any." + +But Anna was tipsy with youth: she swore she'd be dead before she was +old. + +"Hush, Ann." + +"Why should I hush?" she asked. "It's the truth." + +"It's a lie, that's what it is," said Thomas. + +"Do you hate me, Tom?" she said. And she sat looking steadily before +her. + +"I don't know what's got into you. You act so queer." + +"I want to be happy," she whispered. + +"Then . . . you can do as you like for all of me." + +But as they rode along in silence, wrapped in mist, she drew closer to +him, all her reckless spirit gone. "There . . . you've made me cry," +she said, and put her hand, cold and moist, into his. + +"Aren't you going to kiss me, Tom?" + +He slapped the reins bitterly across his horse's back. "What's the +good of that?" he asked, in turn. + +"Perhaps," she said faintly, "there isn't any. Oh, I don't know . . . +what's the difference?" + +And so they rode on in silence, with pale cheeks and strange thoughts. + + + + +IV + +MR. JEMINY BUILDS A HOUSE OUT OF BOXES + +Mr. Jeminy liked to call on Mrs. Wicket, whose little cottage, at the +edge of the village, on the way to Milford, had belonged to Eben Wicket +for nearly fifty years. Now it belonged to the widow of Eben's son, +John. Mr. Jeminy remembered John Wicket as a boy in school. He was a +rogue; his head was already so full of mischief, that it was impossible +to teach him anything. So he was not much wiser when he left school, +than when he entered it. However, Mr. Jeminy was satisfied with his +instruction. "With more knowledge," the old schoolmaster thought to +himself, "he might do a great deal of harm in the world. So perhaps it +is just as well for him to be ignorant." And he consoled himself with +this reflection. + +A year later John Wicket ran away from home, taking with him the money +which his father kept in a stone jug in the kitchen. Old Mr. Wicket +refused to send after him. "I didn't need the money," he said, "and I +don't need him. Well, they're both gone." + +But after a while, since his son was no longer there to plague him, he +began to feel proud of him. "An out and out scamp," he said, with +relish. "Never seen the like." + +John Wicket was gone for three years, no one knew where. At last Eben +received news of him again. His son, who had been living all this time +in a nearby village, fell from a ladder and broke his neck. "Just," +said Eben Wicket, "as I expected." + +No one, however, expected to see his widow come to live with her +father-in-law. The old man himself went to fetch her and her year-old +child. She proved to be a small, plain body, with an air of fright +about her, as though life had surprised her. Out of respect for Eben, +as they put it, the gossips went to call. They found her shy, and +inclined to be silent; they drank their tea, and examined her with +curiosity, while she, for her part, seemed to want to hide away. + +"As who wouldn't, in her place," said Mrs. Ploughman. + +It was agreed that, having married an out-and-out rascal, she ought to +be willing to spend the remainder of her life quietly. So she was left +to herself, which seemed, on the face of it, to be about what she +wanted. She tended Eben's house, drove the one cow to pasture, and +sang to little Juliet from morning till night the songs she remembered +from her own childhood. + +During that time no one had any fault to find with her, excepting old +Mrs. Crabbe, who thought she should have called her child Mary instead +of Juliet. "It's not a proper name," she said to Mrs. Tomkins. "It +isn't in the Bible, Mrs. Tomkins. You'd do as well to call the child +Salomy. Salomy's in the Bible." + +When Eben Wicket died, early in 1917, he left his house and about an +acre of land to his daughter-in-law. She was poor; still, she had +enough to get along on. She was young, but every one thought of her as +a woman whose life was over. So when Noel Ploughman took to keeping +company with her, the gossips were all aflitter. It was June; the +regulars were on their way to France; and what with the war, and Mrs. +Wicket, the village had plenty to talk about. Old Mrs. Ploughman said +nothing, but regarded her friends with a gloomy and thoughtful air. On +the other hand, Miss Beal, the dressmaker, saw no reason to keep her +opinions to herself. "It's a scandal," she said to her friend Mrs. +Grumble; "what with Eben Wicket scarcely cold in his grave, and John a +thief, with his neck broke and heaven only knows what else besides." + +Nevertheless, that summer Noel Ploughman's sober, honest face was often +to be seen in Mrs. Wicket's garden patch, among the beans and the +lettuces. Who can say what they found in one another to admire? In +his company she was both happy and regretful, while he, seeing her by +turns quiet and gay, could not determine which he found more charming. +They talked over the weather together, and discussed the crops. Love +comes slowly in the north; there is time for every one to take a hand +in it. August passed without either having mentioned what was in their +hearts. Then Mrs. Ploughman made up her mind to put an end to it. One +day, when Noel was in Milford, she came to call on Mrs. Wicket. One +can imagine what she said to the young woman, who was already a mother +and a widow. The next day Mrs. Wicket appeared in her garden, pale and +composed. Those who had occasion to pass the little cottage at the +edge of the village, remarked that she no longer hummed under her +breath the gay tunes of her childhood. + +"Her sin has found her out," said Miss Beal. "She's fallen by the way." + +"You'd think," said Mrs. Crabbe, "she'd behave herself a speck, after +the life she's had." + +Mrs. Grumble also was of the opinion that Mrs. Wicket had done wrong in +allowing herself to care for Noel Ploughman. For it seemed to the +gossips that Mrs. Wicket's life was, by rights, no longer her own to do +with. She was the earthly remains of a sinner; she had no right to +enjoy herself. + +Two days later Noel Ploughman enlisted, "for the duration of the war." +His grandmother accepted the congratulations of Mrs. Crabbe and the +sympathy of Mrs. Barly with equal satisfaction. It seemed to her that +she had done her duty as she saw it. But when Noel was killed in +France a year later, she felt that Mrs. Wicket had killed him. "Now," +she croaked to Mrs. Crabbe, "I hope she's satisfied." + +She seemed to be; she took the news of Noel's death with curious calm. +It was almost as if she had been expecting it, looking for it . . . one +might have thought she had been waiting for it. . . . After a while, +she began to sing again. Her voice, as she crooned to Juliet, was +musical, but quavery. It provoked the good women of the village, who +began to think that perhaps, after all, she had "had her way." +"There's this much about it," said Miss Beal; "no one else will have +him now." + +Mrs. Grumble agreed with her. She disliked Mrs. Wicket because Mr. +Jeminy liked her. He pitied the young woman who had had the misfortune +to marry a thief, and he forgave her for wanting to be happy, because +it did not seem to him that to have been the wife of a good-for-nothing +was much to settle down on. In his opinion, life owed her more than +she had got. + +"She is simple and kind," he said to Mrs. Grumble. "She has had very +little to give thanks for." + +"She'll have more, then, if she can," replied Mrs. Grumble with a toss +of her head as though to say, "it's you who are simple." + +And she looked the other way, when they met on the road. Mr. Jeminy, +on the other hand, often went to call at the little house at the edge +of the village. The young widow, who had no other callers, felt that +one friend was enough when he talked as much as Mr. Jeminy. While he +laid open before her the great books of the past, illuminating their +pages with his knowledge and reflections, she listened with an air of +tranquil pleasure. She counted the stitches on her sewing, and +answered "sakes alive," in the pauses. + +One day in April she put on her best dress, and took the stage to +Milford. When she came home again, in the evening, she brought with +her a decorated shell for her friend. But it happened that Thomas Frye +also came home from Milford, by the same stage. That was what Mrs. +Grumble was waiting for. "Now she's at it again," said Mrs. Grumble. +"She's bound to have some one," she declared; "one or another, it's all +the same." And she gazed meaningly at Mr. Jeminy, who started at once +for his den, as though he were looking for something. + +Then she was delighted with herself, and retired to the kitchen. + +It was useless for Mr. Jeminy to retreat to his den. For sooner or +later, Mrs. Grumble always found something to do there. She would come +in with her broom and her mop, and look around. Then Mr. Jeminy would +walk hastily out of the house and descend to the village. There, it +would occur to him to call on Mrs. Wicket, because he happened to have +with him a book he thought she would like to look at, or a flower for +Juliet. Mrs. Wicket received each book with gratitude, and looked to +see if there were any pictures in it, before giving it back again. +Juliet, on the other hand, wished to know the names of all the flowers. +When Mr. Jeminy repeated their names in Latin, from the text-book on +botany, she clapped her hands, and jumped up and down, because it was +so comical. + +Now, in August, Mr. Jeminy was building her a doll's house in Mrs. +Wicket's tumbledown barn. It was the sort of work he liked to engage +in; no one expected him to be accurate, it was only necessary to use +his imagination. But Juliet, swinging her legs on top of the feed bin, +regarded him with round and serious eyes. For in Juliet's opinion, Mr. +Jeminy was involved in a difficult task; and she was afraid he might +not be able to go through with it. + +"How many rooms," she said, "is my doll's house going to have?" + +"I had counted," said Mr. Jeminy, "on two." And he went over the +plans, using his hammer as a pointer. "Here is the bedroom," he said, +"and there is the kitchen. There's where the stove is going to be." + +Juliet followed him without interest. It was apparent that she was +disappointed. + +"Where's the parlor?" she demanded. + +"Must there be a parlor?" asked Mr. Jeminy, in surprise. + +"What do you think?" said Juliet. "I have to have a place for Anna to +keep company in." + +Anna was the youngest of her three dolls; that is to say, Anna was +smaller than either Sara or Margaret. It seemed to Juliet that to be +without a parlor was to lack elegance. Mr. Jeminy rubbed his chin. +"Isn't Anna very young," he asked, "to keep company in the parlor?" + +"No, she isn't," said Juliet. + +Then, as Mr. Jeminy made no reply, she added, "She's six, going on +seven." + +Mr. Jeminy sighed. "Is she indeed?" he remarked absently. "It is a +charming age. I wish I were able to see the world again through the +eyes of six, going on seven. What a noble world it would seem, full of +pleasant people." + +"So," declared Juliet, "we have to have a parlor." + +However, she could not sit still very long. + +Presently she hopped down from the feed bin. "Look," she said, "this +is the way to fly." She began to dance about, waving her arms. +"This," she declared, "is the way the bees go." And she ran up and +down, crying "buzz, buzz." + +She decided to play house, by herself. Arranging her three dolls, made +of rags and sawdust, on top of the bin, she stood before them, with her +fingers in her mouth. Then all at once she began to play. + +"My goodness," she exclaimed, "I'm surprised at you. Look at your +clothes, every which way. Margaret, do sit up. And Sara--you'll be +the death of me, with all my work to do yet, and everything." + +"How do you do, Mrs. Henry Stove," she added, addressing a three-legged +stool, "come right in and sit down. + +"Terrible hot weather we're having. Worst I ever see." + +She moved busily about, humming a song to herself. "I declare, it's +time you went to school, children," she said finally, stopping to look +at her family. + +Without trouble, she became the school teacher. Propping her three +dolls more firmly against the wall, she took her stand directly in +front of them. "Do you know your lessons, children?" she asked. Then +she squeaked back to herself, "Yes, ma'am." + +"Well, then, Margaret, what's the best cow for butter?" + +Mr. Jeminy began to laugh. But almost at once he became serious and +confused. For it occurred to him that he did not know what cow was +best for butter. "This child," he thought, "who cannot tell me why it +is necessary to take two apples from four apples, is nevertheless able +to distinguish between one cow and another. She is wiser than I am." + +He stood gazing thoughtfully at Juliet, and smiling. The sun of late +afternoon, already about to sink in the west, was shining through the +window, covered with dust and cobwebs. And Mr. Jeminy, watching the +dust dancing in the sun, thought to himself: "I should like to stay +here; it is peaceful and friendly. I should like to help Mrs. Wicket +plant her little garden in the spring, and plow it under in the autumn. +Now it is growing late and I must go home again." + +Juliet had tired of her play. "Tell me a story," she said. "Tell me +about the war, Mr. Jeminy. Tell me about Noel Ploughman." + +But Mr. Jeminy shook his head. "No," he said, "it is time to drive +your mother's cow home from the fields. Some other day I will tell you +about the great wars of old, fought for no other reason than glory and +empire, which disappointed no one, except the vanquished. But there is +no time now. Come; we will go for the cow together." + +Hand in hand they went down the road toward Mr. Crabbe's field, where +Mrs. Wicket rented pasturage for her cow. The sun was sinking above +the trees; and they heard, about them, in the fields, the silence of +evening, the song of the crickets and cicadas. + +They found the cows gathered at the pasture bars, with sweet, misty +breath, their bells clashing faintly as they moved. "Go 'long," cried +Juliet, switching her little rod, to single out her own. And to the +patter of hoofs and the tonkle of bells, they started home again. + +Mrs. Wicket, in the kitchen, watched them from her window, in the +clear, fading light. "How good he is," she thought. And she turned, +with a smile and a sigh, to set the table for Juliet's supper. + +Juliet was singing along the roadside. "A tisket," she sang, "a +tasket, a green and yellow basket . . ." And she chanted, to a tune of +her own, an old verse she had once heard Mr. Jeminy singing: + + When I was a young man, + I said, bright and bold, + I would be a great one, + When I was old. + + When I was a young man, + But that was long ago, + I sang the merry old songs + All men know. + + When I was a young man, + When I was young and smart, + I think I broke a mirror, + Or a girl's heart. + +Mr. Jeminy walked in the middle of the road, under the dying sky, +already lighted by the young moon, in the west. As he walked, the +fresh air of evening, blowing on his face, with its sweet odors, the +twilight notes of birds among the leaves, the faint acclaim of bells, +and Juliet's childish singing, filled his heart with unaccustomed +peace, moved him with gentle and deliberate joy. He remembered the +voices he had heard in the little schoolhouse in the spring. + +"Jeminy, what are you doing?" + +Then Mr. Jeminy raised his head to the sky, in which the first stars of +night were to be seen. + +"I am very busy now," he said, proudly. + + + + +V + +RAIN + +From her dormer window, Anna Barly peered out at the wet, gray morning. +The ground was sopping, the trees black with the night's drenching. In +the orchard a sparrow sang an uncertain song; and she heard the +comfortable drip, drip, drip from the eaves. It was damp and fresh at +the window; the breeze, cold and fragrant after rain, made her shiver. +She drew her wrapper closer about her throat, and sat staring out +across the sodden lawn, with idle thoughts for company. + +She thought that she was young, and that the world was old: that rain +belonged to youth. Old age should sit in the sun, but youth was best +of all in bad weather. "There's no telling where you are in the rain. +And there's no one spying, for every one's indoors, keeping dry." Yes, +youth is quite a person in the rain. + +With slim, lazy fingers, she began to braid her long, fair hair. It +seemed to her that folks were always peering and prying, to make sure +that every one else was like themselves. "You're doing different than +what I did," they said. + +Anna wanted to "do different." Yet she was without courage or wisdom. +And because she was sulky and heedless, Mrs. Ploughman called her Sara +Barly's rebellious daughter. As Mrs. Ploughman belonged to the +Methodist side of the town, Mrs. Tomkins was usually ready to disagree +with her. But on this occasion, all Mrs. Tomkins could think to say, +was: "Well, that's queer." + +"But what's she got to be rebellious over?" she asked, peering brightly +at Mrs. Ploughman. + +"Perhaps," said Mrs. Ploughman, "she's sorry she wasn't born a boy." + +"Well," cried Mrs. Tomkins, "I never heard of such a thing." + +"There's lots you never heard of, Mrs. Tomkins," said Mrs. Ploughman. + +"And plenty I never hope to hear," said Mrs. Tomkins promptly. "My +life!" + +After breakfast, Anna helped her mother with the housework. She took a +hand in making the beds, and put her own room in order by tumbling +everything into the closet and shutting the door. Then she went into +the kitchen to help with the lunch. When Mrs. Barly saw her dreaming +over the carrots, she asked: + +"What are you gaping at now?" + +"Nothing." + +Then Mrs. Barly grew vexed. "You're not feeble-minded, I hope," she +said. + +"No, I'm not," said Anna. + +"I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Barly. + +When Anna said that she was not thinking of anything, she believed that +she was telling the truth. But as a matter of fact, she was thinking +of Thomas Frye. She wanted him to be in love with her, although she +said to herself: "I am not in love with any one." Sometimes she +thought that her heart was buried in France, with Noel Ploughman. +However, she was mistaken. The tear she dropped in secret over his +death, was for her own youth, out of her timid, clumsy, sweet-and-sour +feelings. + +In the afternoon she went for a walk. The rain, starting again after +breakfast, had stopped, but the sky was still overcast, the air damp +and searching. From the trees overhead as she passed, icy drops rained +down upon her; she felt the silence all about her, and saw, from the +rises, the gray hills, the rolling mist, and the low clouds, trailing +above the woods, now light, now dark. + +She was disappointed because life was no different than it was. She +had hoped to find it as delightful as in those happy days before the +war, when she played at kissing games and twined dandelion wreaths in +her hair. But now it did not amuse her to play at post-office; she was +sad because she was no longer able to be gay. As she passed the little +cottage belonging to Mrs. Wicket, she thought to herself: "Yes, you've +seen something of life. But not what I want to see, exactly. Look at +you." Like Mrs. Grumble, she believed that Mrs. Wicket had nothing +more to live for. "There you are," she said, "and there you'll be. +Life doesn't mean even as much as a hayride, so far as you're concerned. + +"You, God," she cried, "put something in my way, just once." + +At that moment Juliet, who had been peeking out from behind the house, +came skipping down the path to the road. As she drew near, her +progress became slower; finally she stood still, and balanced herself +on one leg, like a stork. + +"Hello," she said. Then she looked up and down the road, to see what +there was to talk about. + +"I have a little house Mr. Jeminy made me out of boxes," she said at +last. + +"No," said Anna. + +"Well, that's a fact," said Juliet, who had once heard Mr. Frye say, +"Well, that's a fact," to Mr. Crabbe. + +"My goodness," said Anna, "isn't that elegant?" And she looked down at +Juliet, who was staring solemnly up at her. + +"Yes, it is," said Juliet. + +"What were you doing," asked Anna, "when I came along?" + +"I was playing going to Milford," said Juliet. "Do you want to play +with me?" + +It seemed to Juliet that playing was something for any one to do. + +Anna began to laugh. She had a mind to say, "Do you think I'm as +little as you are?" But instead, she found herself thinking, "Oh, my, +wouldn't it be fun." + +"Why," she cried, "I declare, I do want to play with you." + +"All right," said Juliet. And she turned soberly back to the barn, +behind the house. But Anna sat down in the grass. "Just you wait," +she said, "till I get my shoes and stockings off. I'm going to play +proper." + +Presently their happy voices, linked in laughter, rose from behind the +house, where Juliet was showing Anna how to play store. She tied her +apron around her little belly, and came forward rubbing her hands. +"Would you like some nice licorice?" she asked. "Everything's very +dear." + +When she was tired of playing store, she began to imitate old Mrs. +Tomkins, the carpenter's wife. "This is the way to have the +rheumatism," she said. And she hopped around on one foot. + +After they were through playing, they sat quietly together in the hay, +in the barn, without anything more to say. Anna was warm and happy; +she wanted to hug Juliet, to hold her tight, to rock up and down with +her. "There," she thought, "if I only had one like her." + +"What are you thinking about?" she asked, to tease her. + +"I was just thinking," said Juliet, "it's fun to play with people." + +Anna felt her heart give a sudden twist. "Why, you dear, odd little +thing," she cried. And taking the child in her arms, she covered the +tiny head with kisses. But Juliet drew away. + +"I'm not little," she said. "I'm old." + +"So am I old," said Anna. She felt the joy run out of her; it left her +empty. "I expect everybody in the world is old," she said. She +watched her hands move about in the hay like great spiders. + +"Is it fun to be old, do you think?" asked Juliet. + +"I don't know," said Anna. "I don't expect it is, much." + +"Mother is old," said Juliet. "What do old people do?" + +Anna looked out through the barn door across the wet fields, the +drenched hillsides, shrouded in mist. "I don't know," she said. And +she got up to go home. + +"Well, good-by," said Juliet. + +Just then Mrs. Wicket came in from the road, with a basket on her arm. +When she saw Anna standing in front of the barn she grew pink and +confused. For she thought that Anna had come to call on her. "Good +afternoon," she said. "I was out. I'm real sorry. Won't you come in?" + +"Oh, no," said Anna. "I was going on . . . I only stopped for a +minute. . . ." + +And without another word she ran down the path, and out of the gate. +Mrs. Wicket stood looking after her in silence. Then, with a sigh, she +turned, and went indoors. But Anna ran and ran until she was tired. +As she ran she kept saying to herself, over and over, "I won't be like +that, I won't, I won't." + +It seemed to her as though she were running away from Hillsboro itself, +running away from Mrs. Wicket, from her mother, from Thomas Frye, from +Anna Barly, from everything she wouldn't be. . . . + +"I won't," she cried, "I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't." + +"Never." + +Mr. Jeminy, who was seated on his coat by the side of the road, got up +with a smile. "Well, Anna Barly," he said. + +"Ak," she whispered, clapping both hands to her mouth, "how you scared +me." She could feel her heart beating with fright; her lips trembled, +her eyes filled with tears. She stood staring at Mr. Jeminy, who +stared gravely back at her. "Are you going to run away from me, too?" +he asked, at last. + +"No," said Anna. Then, all at once, she burst out crying. "I can't +help it," she cried, between her sobs. "I can't help it. Don't look +at me." + +"No," said Mr. Jeminy, "I won't." And he gazed up at the tree tops, +dark and sharp against the cold, gray sky. + +Anna cried herself out. Then pale and ashamed, she started home again +with Mr. Jeminy. "I don't know what got into me," she said. "I don't +know what you'll think." + +"I think," declared Mr. Jeminy, looking up at the sky, "I think--why, I +think this wet weather will pass, Anna Barly. Yes, to-morrow will be +cold and clear." + +Anna did not answer him. She was tired; she had played, she had cried, +now she wanted to rest. + +In Frye's General Store, Mr. Frye and Mr. Crabbe were disputing a game +of checkers. They sat opposite each other, stared at the checkerboard, +and stroked their chins. Farmer Barly stood watching them. He puffed +on his pipe, and nodded his head at every move. But all the while he +was thinking about Anna. "Pretty near time she was settling down," he +thought. + +Mr. Frye jumped over two, and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied +smile. The hops of his own men put him into the best of humor. It was +not that he wanted to win; he only wanted to do all the jumping. "Let +me do the taking," he would have said, "and you can do the winning." +When Mr. Crabbe hopped over three in a row, Mr. Frye became gloomy. He +felt that Mr. Crabbe was getting all the pleasure. "You're too spry +for me," he said. "You're like a flea. Well. . . ." + +"It's your turn, Mr. F.," said Mr. Crabbe. + +Mr. Frye looked at the board with distaste. There were no more jumps +for him to make. He pushed a round black checker forward. + +"There you are," he said. + +"Here I go," declared Mr. Crabbe. And he began hopping again. + +Mr. Frye shook his head. "I don't know as I'm feeling very good +to-day," he told Farmer Barly. + +As he was speaking, Anna Barly entered the store, on her way home. +Thomas Frye, who was behind the counter, came forward to meet her. +When she saw him, her cheeks, which were pale, grew red. "He can see I +was crying," she thought. "Well, I don't care. I hate him. What did +I stop for?" + +She remembered that her mother had wanted a spool of white cotton. +"Number eleven," she said. + +When she saw her father and Mr. Frye in the corner, she grew sulkier +than ever. "They're just laying to settle me down," she thought. And +turning to hide her face, still stained with tears, she made believe to +wave to some one, out the window. + +Mr. Crabbe took another man. "Tsck," said Mr. Frye; "maybe I'd better +go and see what Anna wants. Thomas don't appear to know what he's +about." + +"Leave them be," said Mr. Crabbe, "leave them be." And he winked first +at Mr. Barly, and then at Mr. Frye. "Don't go spoiling things," he +said. + +Mr. Frye allowed his mouth to droop in a thin smile. "Young people are +slow to-day," he remarked. "They act like they had something on their +minds. Green fruit . . . slow to ripe. In my time we went at it +smarter." And he looked thoughtfully at Anna Barly. He saw her in the +form of acres of land, live stock, farm buildings, and money in the +bank. "Molasses," he thought; "yes, sir, molasses. Maple sugar." But +when he looked at his son Thomas, he frowned. "Go on," he wanted to +say, "go on, you slowpoke." + +Farmer Barly also frowned at Thomas Frye. He felt that he was being +hurried. "She's well enough where she is," he thought. "She's young +yet. A year or two more . . ." + +"Well," said Mr. Crabbe, "I look forward to the day." And he waved his +hand kindly in the air. "It's your move, Mr. F." + +Mr. Frye arose, and walked toward the door, where Thomas was bidding +Anna good-by. "See you to-night," Thomas whispered; "heh, Anna?" + +"Please yourself," said Anna. And off she went, without looking at Mr. +Frye, who had come to speak to her. When she was gone, Mr. Frye gave +his son a keen glance. In it was both curiosity and malice. But +Thomas turned away. It seemed to him that women must have been easier +to understand when his father was young. For no one could understand +them now. + +While the storekeeper's back was turned, Mr. Crabbe rearranged the +checkerboard. He took up two of Mr. Frye's men and put them in his +pocket. Then he winked at Mr. Barly, as though to say: "I'm just a +leetle too smart for him." + +Farmer Barly winked back. It amused him to have Mr. Frye beaten +unfairly. Mr. Frye wanted to get his daughter away from him. "Well," +he said in his mind, to Mr. Frye, "just go easy. Just go easy, Mr. +Frye." And he winked again at Mr. Crabbe. "That's right," he said, +"give it to him." + +When Mr. Jeminy left Anna, at the edge of the village, he went to call +on Grandmother Ploughman. He found her in the company of old Mrs. +Crabbe, who had brought her knitting over, for society's sake. Mrs. +Ploughman received him with quiet dignity, due to a sense of the wrong +she had suffered, for which she blamed Mrs. Wicket, and the Democratic +Party. Mr. Ploughman, she often said, had been a good Republican all +his life. Unfortunately, he was dead; otherwise, things would have +been different. + +It seemed to her that the country was being run by a set of villains. +"The world is in a bad way," she declared. "I don't know what we're +coming to." And an expression of bleak satisfaction illuminated her +face, wrinkled with age. + +"Yes," said Mr. Jeminy, "these are unhappy times. I am afraid we are +leaving behind us a difficult task for those who follow. They had a +right to expect better things of us, Mrs. Ploughman." + +"I've not left anything behind," said Mrs. Ploughman decidedly; "not +yet." + +"I should hope not," ejaculated Mrs. Crabbe. "No." + +"It's the young," said Mrs. Ploughman, "who get the old into trouble. +Nothing ever suits them until they're in mischief; and then it's up to +their elders to pull them out again. I know, for I've seen it, father +and son." + +"It is the old," said Mr. Jeminy, "who get the young into trouble." + +"Is it, indeed?" said Mrs. Ploughman. + +"Well, I don't believe it." And she gave Mr. Jeminy a bright, peaked +look. + +"Then," she continued, "when you've done for them, year in and year +out, off they go, and that's the end of it." + +"Ah, yes," croaked Mrs. Crabbe; "off they go." + +"If it isn't one thing," said Mrs. Ploughman, "it's another. Trouble +and death--that's a woman's lot in this world, like the Good Book says." + +"Death is the end of everything," remarked Mrs. Crabbe. + +"I'm not afraid to die," Mrs. Ploughman declared. "There's things to +do the other side of the grave, same as here. And it's a joy to do +them, in the light of the Lord. I can tell you, Mrs. Crabbe, I won't +be sorry to go. My folks are waiting there for me." Her voice +trembled, and she rocked up and down to compose herself. "He needn't +try to mix me up," she thought to herself; "not in my own home. No." + +"Then," said Mr. Jeminy, "you believe in an after life, Mrs. Ploughman?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Ploughman firmly, directing her remarks to Mrs. +Crabbe, "I do. I believe there's a life hereafter, when our sorrows +will be repaid us. There weren't all those hearts broke for nothing, +Mrs. Crabbe, nor for what's going on here now, with strikes, and +famine, and bloody murders." + +"That's real edifying, Mrs. Ploughman," said Mrs. Crabbe, "real +edifying. Yes," she exclaimed with energy, "these are terrible times. +Now they give me tea without sugar in it. For there's no sugar to be +had. Well, I won't drink it. I spit it out, when nobody's looking." + +And she plied her needles with vigor, to show what she thought of such +an arrangement. + +"As I was saying," said Mrs. Ploughman, "it's the young who get the old +into trouble. And artful folk, who'd ought to know better, with the +life they've had. I've had no peace in this life. But I'll have it +hereafter." + +At this reflection upon Mrs. Wicket, Mr. Jeminy rose to go. "You are +right," he said; "no one will disturb you." And he went home to Mrs. +Grumble. + +"Where have you been all day?" she demanded. + +Mr. Jeminy smiled. He knew that Mrs. Grumble thought he had been +spending the afternoon at Mrs. Wicket's. "I have been to call on Mrs. +Ploughman," he said. "There I met old Mrs. Crabbe." + +Then Mrs. Grumble hurried out into the garden to pick a mess of young +beans for supper, because Mr. Jeminy liked them better than squash. +The bowl of squash she returned to the ice box. "I'll eat it myself, +to-morrow," she thought. + +"Supper will be a little late," she said to Mr. Jeminy, "because the +stove won't draw in wet weather." + + + + +VI + +HARVEST + +Mr. Jeminy, clad in a pair of brown, earthy overalls, a blue, cotton +shirt, and a straw hat, full of holes, was helping Mr. Tomkins dig +potatoes, up on Barly Hill. From the field on the slopes above the +village, he could see the hills across the valley, misted in the sun. +Above him stretched the shining sky, thronged with its winds, the low +clouds of early autumn trailing their shadows across the woods. All +was peace; he saw September's yellow fields, and felt, on his face, the +cool fall wind, with its smoke of burning leaves, mingled with the odor +of spaded earth, and fresh manure. + +With every toss of his fork he covered with earth the little piles of +straw and ordure which Mr. Tomkins had spread on the ground. As he +advanced in this manner, small flocks of sparrows rose before him, and +flew away with dissatisfied cries. "Come," he said to them, "the world +does not belong to you. I believe you have never read the works of +Epictetus, who says, 'true education lies in learning to distinguish +what is ours, from what does not belong to us.' However, you have a +more modern spirit; for you believe that whatever you see belongs to +you, providing you are able to get hold of it." + +He was happy; in the warm, noon-day drowse, he felt, like Abraham, the +grace of God within him, and found even in the humblest sparrow enough +to afford him an opportunity to discuss morals with himself. + +"There'll be potatoes," said Mr. Tomkins, "enough to last all winter +for the two of us. That's riches, Jeminy; where's your talk now of the +world being poor?" + +"Some of these potatoes," said Mr. Jeminy, bending over, "are rotted +from the wet weather." + +"To-morrow," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll borrow a harrow from Farmer Barly. +And next spring I'll plant corn here on the hill. Table corn, that is. +Then we'll have a corn-husking, Jeminy; you and I, and the rest of the +young ones." And he burst out laughing, in his high, cracked voice. + +"Do you remember the last corn-husking?" asked Mr. Jeminy. "It was in +the autumn before the war. Anna Barly and Alec Stove lost themselves +in the woods. And Elsie Cobbler burned her fingers. How she cried and +carried on; Anna came running back, to see what it was all about. But +before the evening was over, she was off again, with Noel Ploughman." + +Mr. Tomkins nodded his head. Timid in the presence of Mr. Jeminy's +books, he was happy and hearty in his own potato patch. "I remember," +he said. "I remember more than you do, Jeminy. I can look back to the +first husking bee I ever was at. That was in '62. A year later I +shouldered a gun, and went off with the drafts of '63. Your speaking +of Noel put me in mind of it. + +"When I got home again," he continued, "there was nothing for me to do. +In those days folks did their own work. Then there was time for +everything. But the days are not as long as they used to be when I was +young. Now there's no time for anything. + +"But Noel was a good man. He was handy, and amiable. He could lay a +roof, or mend a thresher, it was all the same to him. What do you +think, Jeminy? Anna Barly won't forget him in a hurry--heh?" + +"No," said Mr. Jeminy; "no, Anna won't forget him in a hurry. That is +as it should be, William. She believes that she has suffered. And if +she fools herself a little, I, for one, would be inclined to forgive +her." + +"She won't fool herself any," said Mr. Tomkins; "not Anna. Wait and +see." + +The shadows of late afternoon stretched half across the field when Mr. +Jeminy laid down his fork, and started to return home. As he followed +Mr. Tomkins down the hill, he saw the tops of the clouds lighted by the +descending sun, and heard, across the valley, the harsh notes of a +cow's horn, calling the hands on Ploughman's Farm in from the fields. + +He stopped a moment at a shadowy spring, hidden away among the ferns, +for a cup of cold, clear water. Holding the cup, made of tin, to his +lips, he observed: + +"Thus, of old, the farmer stooped to refresh himself. When he was +done, he gave thanks to the rustic god, who watched his house, and +protected his flocks. They were the best of friends; each was modest +and reasonable. To-day God is like a dead ancestor; there is no way to +argue with him." + +"I'm glad," said Mr. Tomkins, "that the minister isn't here to listen +to you. Come along now; I've plenty still to do before supper. The +widow Wicket's gate is down. But I've promised to set a fence for +Farmer Barly first." + +"You need help, William," remarked Mr. Jeminy thoughtfully; "you need +help. I must see what I can do." And he went home, down the hill, +after Mr. Tomkins. + +The next day he started out early in the morning. When Mrs. Grumble +asked him where he was going, he replied, "I must step over to Mr. +Tomkins, to help him with something." + +From Mr. Tomkins he borrowed a saw, a plane, a hammer, and a box of +nails. Then he hurried off to mend Mrs. Wicket's gate. On the way he +stopped to gather an armful of goldenrod for his friend, and also to +pick a yellow aster for himself, from Mrs. Cobbler's garden. + +When he arrived at Mrs. Wicket's cottage, the widow's pale face and +listless manner, filled him with alarm. "I've been up with Juliet," +she said. "The child has a touch of croup. It's nothing. She's +better this morning." And she gave him her hand, still cold with the +chill of night. + +"Good heavens," exclaimed Mr. Jeminy; "I am sure Mrs. Grumble would +have been glad to keep you company." + +Mrs. Wicket smiled. But she did not answer this declaration, which Mr. +Jeminy knew in his heart to be untrue. + +Putting down his tools, he began to examine the gate. "Hm," he said. +"Hm. Yes, I'll soon have this fixed for you." Mrs. Wicket stood +watching him with a gentle smile. "You're very kind," she said. "It's +very kind of you, Mr. Jeminy. Most folks are too proud to turn a hand +for me, no matter what was to happen." + +"Tut," said Mr. Jeminy. + +"Well, it's a fact," said Mrs. Wicket gravely. "I've never felt +loneliness like I do here. Not ever. Because I've had trouble, Mr. +Jeminy, and known sorrow, folks leave me alone. I'd go away . . . only +where would I go?" + +"Sorrow," said Mr. Jeminy, "is a good friend, Mrs. Wicket. Sorrow and +poverty are close to our hearts. They teach the spirit to be resolute +and indulgent. + +"One must also learn," he added, "to bear sorrow without being vexed by +it." + +"I've never had sorrow without being vexed by it," said Mrs. Wicket. +"To my way of thinking, sorrow comes so full of troubles, it's hard to +tell what's one, and what's the other." + +"Sorrow," said Mr. Jeminy, "comes only to the humble and the wise. It +is the emotion of a gentle and courageous spirit. But wherever trouble +is found, there is also to be found envy, pride, and vanity. It is +good to be humble, Mrs. Wicket; in humility lie the forces of peace. +The humble heart is an impregnable fortress." + +And he tapped his breast, as though to say, "Here is a whole army." + +"Yes," she mused, "yes . . . but the heart's liable to break, too, +after a while." + +"Not the humble heart," said Mr. Jeminy firmly. "No . . . you cannot +break the humble heart." + +Mrs. Wicket stood gazing at the ground, twisting her apron with her +hands. On her face was a look of pity for Mr. Jeminy, because she had +heard that he was not to teach school any longer. "It will be a hard +blow to him," she thought. + +"Few," continued Mr. Jeminy, "go very long without their share of +sorrow. And sorrow is not a light thing to bear, Mrs. Wicket. +Poverty, also, falls to the lot of most of us; and it is not easy to be +poor. Yet to be poor, to be sad, and to be brave, is indeed the best +of life. He who wants little for himself, is a happy man. If he is +wise, he will pity those who have more than they need. He will not +envy them; he will see the trouble they are making for themselves. +There is no end of pity in this world, Mrs. Wicket; like love, it makes +rich men of us all." + +Mrs. Wicket nodded her head. "Yes," she said, "it's a blessing to feel +pity. It makes you strong, like. The humble heart is a power of +strength." + +And she went back to Juliet, who had begun to cough again. Left to +himself, Mr. Jeminy regarded the gate-post with a thoughtful air. But +inwardly he was very much pleased with himself. + +That year they kept harvest home before September was fairly done. In +the meadows the hay, gathered in stacks, shone in the moonlight like +little hills of snow; and in the shadows the crickets hopped and sang, +repeating with shrill voices, the murmurs of lovers, hidden in the +woods. + +Anna Barly and her friends watched the moon come up along the road to +Adams' Forge. In Ezra Adams' haywagon they were singing the harvest +in. Their voices rolled across the fields in lovely glees, rose in the +old, familiar songs, broke into laughter, and died away in whispers. +Thus they renewed their interrupted youth, and celebrated the return of +peace. + +It was a cold, still night, with dew white as frost over the ground. +Anna, huddled in the hay, could see her breath go out in fog; while the +moon, shining in her face, seemed to veil in shadow the forms of her +companions--Elsie Cobbler with her round, soft elbow over Brandon +Adam's face, Susie Ploughman murmuring to Alec Stove . . . She was +chilly and wakeful; and watching the moon through miles of empty sky, +heard, as if from far away, the singing up front, back of the driver's +seat, and Thomas, whispering at her side. + +"What a grand night. Clear as a bell." + +"Yes," said Anna, "It's lovely." + +She lay back against the posts of the haywagon, her young face lifted +to the sky. Her heart was full; the beauty of the night, the hoarse, +familiar sounds, the shining, silent fields, and the pale, lofty sky, +filled her with longing and regret. She closed her eyes; was it Noel, +there, or Thomas? It was love, it was youth to be loved, to be held, +to be hugged to her breast. + +"Listen . . . they're singing Love's Old Sweet Song." + +The song died out, leaving the night quiet as before, cold, silvery, +urgent. She drew nearer to him; he breathed the simple fragrance of +her hair, and felt the faint warmth of her body, close to his. Then +silence seized upon Thomas Frye; he grew sad without knowing why. The +figures at his side, curled in the hay, seemed to him ghostly as a +dream. Poor Thomas; he was addled with moonlight; moonlight over Anna, +over him, moonlight over the hills, over the road, and voices unseen in +the shadows, and shadows unheard all around him. + +"I could go on like this till the end of time." + +"Could you?" + +"I could ride like this forever and ever." + +Anna lay quiet, lulled by the cold and the gentle movement of the +wagon, now fast, now slow. "Together?" she asked. "Like this?" + +"That's what I mean." + +His hand touched hers; their fingers twined about each other. "I +know," said Anna. She, too, could have gone on forever, dreaming in +the moonlight. Noel . . . Thomas . . . what was the difference? +"Don't talk. Look at the trees, up against the moon. Look at my +breath; there's a regular fog of it." + +"Are you cold?" He bent to wrap the heavy blanket more snugly about +her. He wanted to say: "You belong to me, and I belong to you." And +at that moment, with all her heart, Anna wanted to belong to some one, +wanted some one to belong to her . . . + +"Thanks, Tom--dear." + +The haywagon crossed the first rise, south of the village. Below the +road, a rocky field swept downward to the woods, pale green and silver +in the moonlight; and beyond, far off and faint, rose Barly Hill, with +Barly's lamp burning as bright for all the distance, as if it hung just +over those trees, still, and faint with shadows. + +"See," said Anna, "there's our light." + +But Thomas did not even lift his head to look. In the chilly, solemn, +night air, he was warm and drowsy with his own silence, which being all +too full of things to say was like to turn him into sugar with pure +sorrow. And Anna, her round lips parted with desire, waited for him to +speak, and held his hand tighter and tighter. + +"Starlight," she murmured, "starbright, very first star I see to-night, +wish I may, wish I might . . ." + +"Sky's full of stars," said Thomas. + +"Do you know what I wished?" + +"Do I?" + +"Don't you?" + +He looked at her in silence; awkwardly, then, she drew him down, until +her lips brushed his cheek. + +"Look at Elsie," she murmured. "Did you ever?" + +But Thomas would not look at Elsie; not until Anna had told him her +wish. "Wish I may, wish I might . . ." + +"Have the wish . . ." + +But she would only whisper it in his ear. + +Miles away, in Mrs. Wicket's cottage, Mr. Jeminy sat dreaming, and +rocking up and down. He had come to keep an eye on Juliet, so that +Mrs. Wicket could sit with Mrs. Tomkins, who was feeling poorly. While +Juliet, at his feet, played with her dolls, Mr. Jeminy gave himself up +to reflection. He thought: "The little insects which run about my +garden paths at home, and eat what I had intended for myself, are not +more lonely than I am. For here, within the walls of my mind, there is +only myself. And you, Anna Barly, you cannot give poor Thomas Frye +what he wishes. Do not deceive yourself; when you are gone, he will be +as lonely as before. Come, confess, in your heart that pleases you; +you would not have it otherwise. We are all lenders and borrowers +until we die; it is only the dead who give." + +When Juliet was tired of playing, she put her dolls to bed, and settled +herself in Mr. Jeminy's lap. There, while the lamplight danced across +the walls, drowsy with sleep, she ended her day. "Tell me a story. +Tell me about the big, white bull, who swam over the sea." + +"Hm . . . well . . . once upon a time there was a great white +bull . . ." + +Then Mr. Jeminy rehearsed again the story of long, long ago, while the +bright eyes closed, and the tired head drooped lower and lower; while +the autumn moon rose up above the hills, and the haywagon rumbled along +the road, to the sound of laughter and cries. + +But Thomas Frye and Anna Barly were no longer seated in the hay, +watching the harvest in. Unobserved by the others, they had stolen +away before the wagon reached Milford. Now they were lying in a field, +looking up at the stars, quieter than the crickets, which were singing +all about them. + + + + +VII + +MRS. GRUMBLE GOES TO THE FAIR + +September's round moon waned; Indian summer was over. One morning in +October Miss Beal, the dressmaker, had taken her sewing to Mr. +Jeminy's, in order to spend the day with Mrs. Grumble. There, as she +sat rocking up and down in the kitchen, the fall wind brought to her +nose the odor of grapes ripening in the sun. The corn stood gathered +in the fields, and in the yellow barley stubble the grasshopper, old +and brown, leaped full of love upon his neighbor. Mrs. Grumble, beside +a pile of Mr. Jeminy's winter clothes, sorted, mended, and darned, +while the sun fell through the window, bright and hot across her +shoulders. She kept one eye on the oven where her biscuits were +baking, counted stitches, and listened to Miss Beal, who tilted +solemnly forward in her chair when she had anything to say, and moved +solemnly back again when it was over. + +"Mrs. Stove," declared Miss Beal, leaning forward and looking up at +Mrs. Grumble, "won't have a new dress this year. Well, she's right, +material is dreadful to get. As I said to her: Mrs. Stove, your old +dress will do; just let me fix it up a little. No, she says, she'll +wear it as it is." + +"Look at me," said Mrs. Grumble. "Here's an old rag. But I get along." + +"Indeed you do," said Miss Beal. "Still," she added, speaking for +herself, "one has to live." + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Grumble airily. + +"Goodness," exclaimed the dressmaker. "Gracious, Mrs. Grumble." + +"I declare," avowed Mrs. Grumble, "what with things costing what they +do, and every one so mean, I'd die as glad as not, out of spite." + +"I wouldn't want to die," said Miss Beal slowly. "It's too awful. I +want to stay alive, looking around." + +"You're just as curious," said Mrs. Grumble. "Well, there, I'm not. +Men are a bad lot. You can't trust a one of them. Not for long." + +"Yes," sighed Miss Beal, "there's a good deal I want to see. I'd like +to see Niagara Falls, Mrs. Grumble." + +"Lor'," said Mrs. Grumble, "a lot of water." + +"All coming down," said the dressmaker, "crashing and falling." + +"I'd rather see a circus," declared Mrs. Grumble. + +"Would you now?" asked Miss Beal, and her fingers ran in and out, in +and out, faster than ever, "would you, now? Well, then . . . there's a +fair at Milford this blessed afternoon." + +"Would you go along?" asked Mrs. Grumble. + +"Glory," said Miss Beal. + +"I was going anyhow," said Mrs. Grumble. + +Then Miss Beal began to giggle. "Well, I declare," she remarked, "I +feel that young." + +"Go away," said Mrs. Grumble; "to hear you talk . . ." She was in the +best of humor. + +"All the young folks will be there," said Miss Beal. "I heard as how +Alec Stove was going with Susie Ploughman. And there's Thomas +Frye . . . and Anna Barly . . ." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Grumble. + +Miss Beal held up her thread against the light. "There's a queer +thing," she admitted. "I can't make head nor tail of it. Do you think +there's an understanding between them, Mrs. Grumble?" + +"If there is," said Mrs. Grumble, "then Thomas has more sense than I +gave him credit for. Because how any one could have an understanding +with that wild thing, is more than I can see." + +"How she carries on," agreed Miss Beal, "first with Noel, when he was +alive, and now with him." + +"Ah," remarked Mrs. Grumble, "those are the new ideas. She has her +head full of them. Only the other day, down to the store, I heard her +say to Mr. Frye: 'It's the old who are always getting the young into +trouble.'" + +"Just think of that," said Miss Beal. + +"To my way of thinking," continued Mrs. Grumble, "the shoe is on the +other foot. What with the young folks growing up so wild, we must all +be as busy as thieves to keep what belongs to us." + +"And what belongs to us, Mrs. Grumble?" asked the dressmaker, lifting +from her lap a dress designed for Mrs. Sneath, the butcher's wife. + +"No more than what we can get," replied Mrs. Grumble, with a shake of +her head. "And that's little enough." + +"Then," said Miss Beal, "what do you think Anna Barly meant by saying +'twas the old had got her into trouble?" + +"Why, bless your soul," said Mrs. Grumble. + +Miss Beal, from the front of her chair, regarded her friend with round +and serious eyes. "I don't rightly know, Mrs. Grumble," she said, "but +I came on her yesterday, and I declare if she hadn't been crying. Last +night I dreamed old Mrs. Tomkins died. And you know, Mrs. Grumble, +dream of the dead . . ." + +"Go away," said Mrs. Grumble. + +"Mind," quoth Miss Beal, "I don't mean to say there's anything as +shouldn't be. Still, nothing would surprise me." + +"There's no use talking," cried Mrs. Grumble, "because I don't believe +a word of it." But she felt it her duty to add: "For all I never saw +Anna look so poorly." + +"A touch of influenza," answered Miss Beal, "so Sara Barly says. Lord +save us: a big healthy girl like Anna." + +"It's the healthy ones who get it," said Mrs. Grumble with a sigh. +"God moves in a mysterious way." + +"His wonders to perform." + +Mrs. Grumble arose and placed a kettle of water on the stove. "We'll +have some tea," she said, "and I'll cook you some fritters. Jeminy is +out. Then we'll go to the fair." + +"Glory," said Miss Beal. + +After lunch the two women put on their bonnets and went to take their +seats in the Milford stage. As the wagon set out, creaking and +crowded, everyone began to talk; and so, with cheeks reddened by the +wind, rolled, still talking, into Milford. + +The fair grounds were in a meadow, bounded on one side by a stream, +and, beyond it, a wood already brown and blue with cold. Over the dead +grass the bright colors of the fair shone in the sun; one could hear +the music and the voices almost a mile away. On the other side of the +field rose a gentle slope covered with goldenrod and white and purple +blooms in which the bees and wasps were still busy. There, above the +crowd of men and women, the happy insects were bringing to a close +their own bazaar, begun amid the showers of early spring. Here was the +bee, with his milch-cow, the ant with her souvenir, and the mild +cricket, amused like Miss Beal by everything. Here, also, the wealthy +spider, slung upon her twig, waited in patience for the homeless fly. +And as, in comfort, she fed upon his juices, she exclaimed: "The right +to fasten my web to this twig is a serious matter. For without me the +fly would be wasted, and would not obtain a proper burial." + +"I am very comfortable here," she added, "and I believe I have a right +to this place, which, but for me, would be only a twig, and of no use +to anybody." + +Below, in the meadow, our two friends went arm in arm about the fair +grounds; Miss Beal bought, as her first purchase, a spool of ribbon; +and Mrs. Grumble had her fortune told. They rode on the carousel, all +the while thinking: "This is really too silly." As Mrs. Grumble +climbed down from her wooden horse, she said to herself: "I'm having as +good a time as that little girl with the pigtails, who is going around +for the fifth time." + +If they turned west, their eyes were filled with the afternoon sun; +when they looked east, they saw the maples, yellow and green, against +the farther woods, the autumn sky, swept by its bright winds. All +about them men and women rejoiced in the sunshine, told each other it +was a fine day, and looked for some cause of dispute. + +"The races are going to begin," said Mrs. Grumble, and taking her +friend by the arm, made her way toward the track, where she could see +the horses going gravely up and down. "There is a good one," she said; +"see how he jumps about." + +The drivers wheeled into line, and sped away with a rush; the band +played and the spectators shouted. + +"Oh, my," said Miss Beal, "look there." And she pointed to where Mr. +Jeminy, close to the fence, was dancing up and down, waving his hat in +the air. "Why, the old fool," said Mrs. Grumble. + +"At his age," echoed Miss Beal. + +But it did not amuse Mrs. Grumble to hear anyone else find fault with +Mr. Jeminy. "He's enjoying himself," she said. "I don't know as how +we've any call to make remarks." + +"I only said 'at his age,'" replied Miss Beal hastily. But when she +thought it over, it occurred to her that she was right, and Mrs. +Grumble was wrong. Without courage on her own account, she was able to +defend with energy the general opinion. "I said 'at his age,'" she +repeated more firmly. + +Mrs. Grumble folded her hands, and assumed a forbidding expression. "I +expect," she said, "that Mr. Jeminy is old enough to do as he pleases." + +"Maybe he is," answered the dressmaker, nettled by her friend's tone, +"maybe he is. And maybe there's others old enough to know what's right +in a man of his years, Mrs. Grumble." + +"At any rate," remarked Mrs. Grumble, "it's not for you to say." + +"It's not alone me is saying it," replied Miss Beal. "What's more," +she added, "for all I don't like to repeat this to you, Mrs. Grumble, +there's many think Mr. Jeminy is too old to teach school any longer. +There's some would like to see a young woman at the schoolhouse." + +"Oh," said Mrs. Grumble. + +Miss Beal laid her hand on her friend's arm in a gesture at once +triumphant and consoling. "Never you mind," she said; "trouble comes +to all." + +Mr. Jeminy went home from the fair with a light heart. He started +early, because he liked to walk; and he carried in his hand a bit of +lace for Mrs. Grumble. As he went down the road, beneath the turning +leaves, and through the shadows cast by the descending sun, he began to +sing, out of the fullness of his heart, the following song: + + The Lord of all things, + With liberalitee, + Maketh the small birds, + To sing on every tree. + + The Lord of all things, + He maketh also me; + Giveth me no wings, + Giveth me no words. + +When Mr. Jeminy had sung as much as he liked, he went on to say: "In +autumn the birds go south by easy stages; to-day their songs are +departed from these woods, where there is none left but the catbird, to +creak upon the bough. Soon snow will cover the earth, in which nothing +is growing. But you, happy song birds, will build your nests far away, +in green and windy trees, and your quarrels will fill distant valleys +with music." + +When Mr. Jeminy was nearly home he looked behind him and saw Thomas +Frye and Anna Barly returning from the fair. He drew aside to let them +pass, and with the sun shining in his eyes, he thought to himself, +"Only the young are happy to-day." + + + + +VIII + +THE TURN OF THE YEAR + +A fortnight later, the dress-maker was called in haste to Barly Farm, +to sew coarse and fine linen, and a dress for Anna to be married in. +But it all had to be done within the week, towels, sheets, +pillow-cases, table-cloths, and aprons. "More than a body could sew in +a month," she declared. For Anna was going to have a baby. "Do what +you can," said Mrs. Barly, "and we'll have to get along with that." +And so we find Miss Beal at the farm by eight each morning, wishing the +day were longer, to enable her tongue to catch up to her fingers; for +she thought that she knew a thing or two, and could see what was +directly in front of her nose. "I'm nobody's fool," she said, as she +guided the cloth, snapped the thread, and rocked the treadle of the +sewing machine; and she sang to herself from morning to evening. As +the only songs she knew were from the hymnal, she sang, with a heart +overflowing with praise: + + Ah how shall fallen man + Be just before his God? + If He contend in righteousness, + We sink beneath His rod. Amen. + +or again: + + Who place on Sion's God their trust + Like Sion's rock shall stand, + Like her immovable be fixed + By His almighty hand. Amen. + +She was happy; it seemed to her that God, to whom she lifted up her +prayers, was wise and active, watching every sparrow. She was +satisfied that young folks were no better off than in her own day, but +might expect to find themselves, if they fell from grace, as wretched +as in the past. When Sara Barly had made the dress-maker comfortable +in the spare room, she went down to the kitchen in search of Anna. But +Anna was in the barn with Tabitha, the cat, whose new-born kittens +filled her with glee. Mrs. Barly stood in the middle of the kitchen, +as idle as her pots, and looked out through the window at the brown and +yellow fields. When she had tied her apron on, she felt dull and +tired; it seemed to her as if she were no longer virtuous, yet had not +received anything in return for what she had given. And because she +felt as if she had been cheated, she, also, lifted up her voice to God. +"Oh, God," she said, "all my life I never did anything like that." + +By way of answer, she heard the low hum of the sewing machine, and the +alleluias of the dressmaker, singing as though she were in church. + +Farmer Barly was down in the south pasture, with the schoolmaster's +friend, Mr. Tomkins; he wanted to put up a swinging gate between the +south field and the road. But all at once he felt like saying: "I +don't want a gate at all; I want a fence to shut people out." For when +he thought of Anna, in the gay autumn weather, he felt old and moldy. + +"A bad year," said Mr. Tomkins; "still, I guess you're not worrying. I +understand you put a silo in your barn. But I suppose you have your +own reasons for doing it. A good year for cows, what with the grass. +I hear you're thinking of buying Crabbe's Jersey bull. A fine animal; +I'd like him myself." + +"You're welcome to him," said Mr. Barly. + +"Ah," said Mr. Tomkins, "he's beyond me, Mr. Barly, beyond my means. +I'm not a rich man. But I have my health." + +"What are riches?" asked Mr. Barly. "They're a source of trouble, Mr. +Tomkins. They teach a young girl to waste her time." + +"Well, trouble," said Mr. Tomkins. + +"But what's trouble? Between you and me, a bit of trouble is good for +us all. Then we're liable to know better." + +Mr. Barly shook his head wearily. "I don't know," he said; "folks are +queer crotchets." + +"Why, then," said Mr. Tomkins, "so they are; and so would I be, as +crotchety as you like, if I owned anything beyond the | little I have." + +"Small good it would do you," said Mr. Barly. "Life is a heavy cross, +having or not having, what with other people doing as they please." +And taking leave of Mr. Tomkins, he went home, thinking that in a world +where people robbed their neighbors, it were better not to possess +anything. + +As he passed the potato patch, he heard Abner singing, without much +tune to his voice, a song he had learned in the army. "Ay," muttered +Mr. Barly, "go on--sing. You've learned that much, anyway. I may as +well sing, myself, for all the good I've ever had attending to my +business. I'll sing a good one; then I'll be right along with +everybody, and let come what may." + +Anna, too, heard Abner singing, as she knelt in front of the basket +where the mother cat lay with her four blind kittens. "You see, +Tabby," she said, "people still sing. A lot of them learned to sing in +the war, and now they're home, they may as well sing as cry. Oh, +Tabby, I wanted to sing, too . . . now look at me. + +"I went out so grand," she said. "I was going to find all sorts of +things. But what did I find?" + +At that moment, John Henry entered the barn, smoking his corncob pipe. +When the smell of smoke reached Anna, she grew weak and ill, and +stumbling back to the house, went upstairs to rest. But even to climb +the stairs made her catch her breath. Now, before breakfast of a +morning, she was deathly sick; afterwards she was tired, and ready to +cry over anything. Poor Anna; she was dumb with shame. "I'm worse +than Mrs. Wicket," she said to herself, over and over again. "I'm +worse than Mrs. Wicket. My life is ruined. I'd be better dead." + +And what of honest Thomas? He was pale with fright. It seemed to him +as if the devil had reached up, and caught him by the leg. He was in +for it. But like a fly in a web, he could not believe that it was not +some other fly. "Oh, God," he prayed, "look down . . . say something +to me." + +When Mr. Jeminy was told that Thomas Frye and Anna Barly were to be +married, he exclaimed: "What a shame. + +"Yes," he continued with energy, "what a shame, Mrs. Grumble. They did +as they were bid. Now they know that love is a trap to catch the +young, and tie them up once and for all, close to the kitchen sink." + +"No one bade them do what they'd no right to do," said Mrs. Grumble. + +"They did," replied Mr. Jeminy sensibly, "only what they were meant to +do. Youth was not made for the chimney corner, Mrs. Grumble. And love +is not all one piece. We make it so, because we are timid and +indolent. We like to think that one rule fits everything; that +everything is simple and familiar. Even God, Mrs. Grumble, in your +opinion, is an old man, like myself." + +"He is not," said Mrs. Grumble. + +"Yes," continued Mr. Jeminy, "you believe that God is an old man, +insulted by everything. Now he has been insulted by Anna Barly, who +did as she had a mind to. Well, well . . ." + +"No matter," said Mrs. Grumble comfortably, "there's the baby; you +can't get around that." + +"Mrs. Grumble," said Mr. Jeminy earnestly, "I am going to Farmer Barly. +I am going to say to him, 'Let me have Anna's baby, and we'll say no +more about it.' Yes, that is what I am going to do." + +"Well," gasped Mrs. Grumble, throwing herself back in her chair, "well, +I never . . . so that's it . . . I can tell you this: the day that +baby comes into this house, I go out of it. Why, who ever heard of +such a thing? No, indeed." + +"There," she thought to herself, "that's what comes of people like Mrs. +Wicket." + +"Mrs. Grumble," said Mr. Jeminy. + +"I've no more to say," said Mrs. Grumble. + +"Mrs. Grumble," pleaded Mr. Jeminy, "I am an old man. There is nothing +left for me to do in the world any more. I am sure you would be +pleased with Anna's baby. Let us do this much for youth; for the new +world." + +"I declare," cried Mrs. Grumble, "you'll drive me clean out of my wits. +The new world . . . you mean Sodom and Gomorrah, more like. The new +world . . . sakes alive." + +"Mrs. Grumble," said Mr. Jeminy, "the old world is dead and gone. Let +the young be free to build a new world. It will be happier than ours. +It will be a world of love, and candor. Perhaps it will be also a +world of poverty. That would not do any harm, Mrs. Grumble." + +"A fine world," said Mrs. Grumble. "At least, I won't live to see much +of it, I've that to be thankful for." + +"Finer than what it is," retorted Mr. Jeminy, losing his temper, "finer +than what it is. Not the same, sad pattern." + +"The old pattern is good enough for me," replied Mrs. Grumble. + +"You're a fossil," said Mr. Jeminy. + +Then Mrs. Grumble raised her voice in prayer. "Lord," she prayed, +"don't let me forget myself. Because if I do . . ." + +"Yes, that's it," cried Mr. Jeminy, "stop up your ears . . ." And out +he went in a rage. Mrs. Grumble, left alone, looked after him with +flashing eyes and a heaving bosom. "Oh," she breathed, "if I could +only lay my hands on him." + +But when she did, at last, lay hands on him, it was not in the way she +looked for, as she sat rocking up and down, waiting for him to come +home again. + + + + +IX + +THE SCHOOLMASTER LEAVES HILLSBORO, + HIS WORK THERE SEEMINGLY AT AN END + +Mr. Jeminy came slowly out of the post-office, and turned up the road +leading to his house. In one hand, crumpled in his pocket, he held his +dismissal from Hillsboro school: "On account of age," it said. Next +morning, at nine o'clock, the new teacher was coming to take over the +little schoolhouse, with its splintered desks, the dusty blackboard, +and the colored maps. + +As he walked, the sun sank in the west, and evening crept up the road +after him. The air was damp; he could see his breath pass out in fog +before his face. The wind, blowing above his head, showered down the +last dried, yellow leaves upon his path; before him he saw the chilly +sky with its faint, lonely star, and over him the half moon, like a +slice; and he heard the autumn wind, steady and cold. "You fields," he +said, "you trees, you meadows and little paths, I do not believe you +wanted to dismiss me. You must have enjoyed the daisy chains my pupils +used to weave for you in the spring. Now they will learn the use of +figures and percents, and the names of cities I have forgot. I will +never hear again the voices of children at the playhour come tumbling +in through the school windows. For at my age one does not begin to +teach again. But it is ridiculous to say that I am an old man." + +It grew darker and darker, the trees creaked and popped in the cold, or +groaned like bass viols; and all along the roadside Mr. Jeminy could +see the feeble glimmer of fireflies, fallen among the leaves. He said +to them, "Little creatures, my flame is also spent. But I do not +intend, like you, to lie by the roadside in the wind, and keep myself +warm with memories. Now I am going where I can be of use to others. +For I am brisk and tough, and do not hope to gain by my efforts more +than I deserve." + +Thus, following his thoughts, Mr. Jeminy passed, without knowing it, +the house where Mrs. Grumble, sitting by the stove, awaited his return. +The moon, riding out the wind above his head, peered down at him +between the branches, as he stepped from shadow into moonlight, and +again into shadow. Under the trees the dry, fallen leaves stirred +about his feet, and other leaves, which he could not see, fell near him +in the dark. As he passed the little orchard belonging to Mrs. Wicket, +he heard the ripe apples dropping in the night. + +In the gray of dawn, he found himself approaching a farmhouse somewhere +south of Milford, whose lighted lamp, pale yellow in the early +twilight, drew him from the road, across the fields. As he turned +through the tumbled gate, a woman came to the door, her dress billowing +back from her in the breeze. + +"Come in, old man," she said. + + + + +X + +BUT HE IS SOUGHT AFTER ALL + +In Mrs. Tomkin's garden the hydrangeas were already pink with frost, +and the leaves of the maples, fallen upon the ground, covered the earth +with patches of yellow and red. By the side of the road, piles of +leaves, raked together by Mr. Tomkins, were set on fire; they burned +with a crackle and a roar, and gave off an odor at once pungent and +regretful, which mingled in the fresh autumn air with the fragrance of +grapes and cider, as the last apples of the season, too old and ripe to +keep, went to the press back of the barn. + +Juliet liked to play in Mrs. Tomkins' garden, where the hens, each +anxious to be not the first, but the second, ran after each other as +though to say, "You go and see, and I'll come and look." + +Now she sat on the steps of Mrs. Tomkins' porch with her doll Sara, +while her mother, Mrs. Wicket, watched at the bedside of Mrs. Grumble, +who was very ill. Juliet did not realize how ill she was; she thought +Mrs. Grumble might have croup. But Mrs. Ploughman, who sat on the +porch with Mrs. Tomkins, knew that Mrs. Grumble had pneumonia. "Got," +she explained, "by setting up that night, when Mr. Jeminy never came +home." + +"No," said Mrs. Tomkins, "he never came home. If it had been me, in +Mrs. Grumble's place, I'd have gone to bed, instead of parading around +with a lantern all night, catching my death." + +"Mr. Jeminy," said Mrs. Ploughman, "was a queer man, and no mistake. I +remember the day he stepped in to pay me a call. Mrs. Crabbe was with +me. 'Mrs. Ploughman,' he said, 'and you, Mrs. Crabbe, we're leaving a +lot of trouble behind us.' Fancy that, Mrs. Tomkins--as though I'd up +and go any minute. 'Mr. Jeminy,' I said, 'I'm not afraid to die. When +my time comes, I'll go joyfully.'" + +"No doubt you will," said Mrs. Tomkins comfortably. + +"Well," said Mrs. Ploughman, "it's a good thing, in my opinion, he was +made to give up teaching school. It's a wonder the children know +anything at all, Mrs. Tomkins. I declare, it used to mix me up +something terrible, just to listen to him." + +Mrs. Tomkins gazed at her sewing with thoughtful pleasure. "It was a +hard blow to him," she said. "He did his best. Maybe he was a little +queer. But he harmed no one. He used to tell the children stories. + +"How is Mrs. Grumble," she asked, "to-day?" + +"Weak," said Mrs. Ploughman; "very weak, out of her mind part of the +time with the fever." + +"Do you calculate she'll die, Mrs. Ploughman?" + +"I don't know. But I don't calculate she'll live, Mrs. Tomkins. +Still, we must hope for the best. This is the way it was; first the +influenza, and then the pneumony. Double pneumony, the doctor says. +There's a lot of it around again, like last year. It takes the young +and the hardy. It won't get me. No. + +"There's nothing to do for it," she added, "nothing, that is, beyond +nursing." + +"If it wasn't for Mrs. Wicket," said Mrs. Tomkins, "I expect she'd have +been dead before this. Mrs. Wicket's a capable woman in things like +that. Capabler than Miss Beal. There was no one else ever made me so +comfortable. I have to say that about her; Mrs. Grumble's getting the +best of care. And I'm looking after Juliet. Not that she's any +trouble; she's as quiet as a mouse, playing all day long with her +dolls." + +But Mrs. Ploughman could not find it in her heart to forgive Mrs. +Wicket for having been the cause of her grandson Noel's death. "Yes," +she said, "I expect Mrs. Grumble's getting good care. But when a +body's dying, 'tisn't so much care you want, as salvation. I wouldn't +want any Jezebel hanging over my deathbed, Mrs. Tomkins, thank you." + +Mrs. Tomkins, who attended each Sunday the little Baptist church at +Adams' Forge, did not believe that she and Mrs. Ploughman would meet in +heaven. However, she did not choose this moment to mention it. "It +may be as you say, Mrs. Ploughman," she remarked, "or it may be that +we've been too hard oh Mrs. Wicket. Mind you, I don't speak for her +life with that bad egg of Eben Wicket's. But we ought to forgive +others as we would have others forgive us." + +"You needn't quote Gospels to me," declared Mrs. Ploughman; "I'm as +easy to forgive as the next one, where there's a reason for it. I +don't hold it against Mrs. Wicket that she drove my Noel to his death. +No. I forgive her for it. And I don't blame Mr. Jeminy for going off, +if he had a mind to, and leaving Mrs. Grumble to catch the pneumony." + +"No," said Mrs. Tomkins. + +"But there's this much queer," said Mrs. Ploughman: "The way she takes +on in the fever. She does nothing but call him back, Mrs. Tomkins. +'Mr. Jeminy,' she hollers, 'where's the old rascal?' she says. Then +she goes on about his being in some trouble, and she has to get him out +of it. 'He's in the toils,' she says; 'he's with the scarlet woman.'" + +"My life!" exclaimed Mrs. Tomkins. + +"I declare," said Mrs. Ploughman, "I wouldn't be Mrs. Wicket, or Miss +Beal, not for a thousand dollars." + +Mrs. Tomkins sighed. "It's real sad," she said. "I'd like to find Mr. +Jeminy; it would ease the old woman's last hours. But he's likely far +away by this time. And there's no one could spare the time to go after +him, even if a body knew where he was. Though I've an idea he went +south, through Milford. Walking, I should say." + +"The ole vagabone," exclaimed Mrs. Ploughman. + +"Yes," Mrs. Tomkins declared with energy, "it's a wicked sin, Mrs. +Ploughman, for him to be away now, and Mrs. Grumble taken down mortal. +He's been a good friend to William for nigh on twenty years. I'd go +after him myself, if it weren't for my rheumatism." + +"Well," said Mrs. Ploughman, "I never heard of such a thing." + +"There's lots you never heard of, Mrs. Ploughman," said Mrs. Tomkins. +And folding her hands, she gazed at her friend with quiet satisfaction. + +Little Juliet, playing on the steps with her doll Sara, missed none of +this conversation, only a part of which, however, she understood. +While she dressed and undressed her child, made of rags and sawdust, +put her to sleep and woke her up again, she was listening with +attention first to Mrs. Tomkins, and then to Mrs. Ploughman. + +"Let's play you're Mrs. Grumble," she told Sara. And she covered the +doll with her handkerchief. Sara did not mind the square piece of +cambric, which Juliet often used to carry small handfuls of earth from +one place to another. "I'm mother," said Juliet. Rising to her feet, +she went out into the garden, and returned again. "My dear Mrs. +Grumble," she exclaimed, "how do you feel to-day?" + +"Very poorly, thank you," replied Sara, in that curious squeak with +which all of Juliet's children answered their mother. + +"Well, that's too bad," said Juliet. "Where does it hurt you, Mrs. G.?" + +"In the stummick," squeaked Sara. + +Juliet shook her head soberly. "Dear me," she said. "Well, cheer up, +Mrs. Grumble; what would you like to have?" + +"Ice cream," said Sara hopefully, "and fritters." + +"All right," said Juliet. She went back into the garden, whence she +presently returned with a few dead leaves and some mud. "Here," she +said; "here's the ice cream. And here's the fritters. Don't get sick, +now, will you?" + +"No," said Sara. + +Her mother gazed at her with sympathy. "What else would you like?" she +inquired. + +"I'd like Mr. Jeminy," squeaked Sara. "He's in the toils." + +"I'll go and see if I can find him," said Juliet. And she began to +look about for a twig, or a small branch, suitable for Jeminy. But all +at once she grew thoughtful. It had occurred to her that to look for +Mr. Jeminy in the flesh would be a delightful adventure. It would +please every one. She sat down on the porch steps to think it over. + +In the first place, it would be necessary to slip off unobserved. For +although Mrs. Tomkins, by her own account, would be glad to have Mr. +Jeminy back again, Juliet felt that she could not explain to Mrs. +Tomkins exactly what she intended to do. As for the trip, an umbrella +in case of rain, and the company of Sara would be sufficient. Then it +was only a question of walking in the direction of Milford, before she +came on Mr. Jeminy in the middle of the road; so Mrs. Tomkins had said. + +With Sara under her arm, she tiptoed around to the rear of the house, +skipped through the yard, climbed the low fence, and hurried home. +There she put on her best bonnet, and took her mother's umbrella from +the closet. Then she went back to her own room and took down her penny +bank. Holding it upside down, she began to shake it as hard as she +could. But only five pennies fell out. "That's enough," she decided. +It seemed to her that with five pennies she could buy almost anything. + +When she went to bid good-by to her family, she decided that Sara was +not the doll she would take along with her, after all. For Anna had a +bonnet, whereas Sara had none. Anna also wore a new dress, made for +her by Mrs. Wicket out of an old petticoat. Sara was better company, +but Anna would be more respected along the road. + +"I guess I'll take you, Anna," said Juliet. "No use your pulling a +face, Sara," she added; "it won't get you anything. You can't go. So +you may as well know it. Maybe if you're good, I'll bring you +something back." + +And off she went down the road to Milford, Anna under one arm and the +umbrella under the other. + +For a while, as she walked, she told herself stories. She believed +that she was the princess of one of Mr. Jeminy's fairy tales; then Anna +became a duchess, or an old queen. The fact that nothing unusual +happened to her, did not seem to her of any importance; she saw the +russet fields, the bare woods, the solemn clouds, and far off shine and +shadow; and walked with serious pomp for her own delight, as long as +she was able. + +But after a while she grew tired, and sat down by the roadside to rest. +As she sat there, the sun sank lower, and the gathering chill of +evening made itself felt in the air. Then for the first time doubt as +to the wisdom of her course presented itself to her. + +"We're going to catch it when we get home," she told Anna. + +With a feeling of dismay, she remembered how far away from home she +was. The hush of evening, the silence of the fields, filled her head +with vague fears. She held her doll tightly to her breast for comfort. +The little red squirrel, flirting along the low stone wall, seemed to +peer at her as though to say; "This is where I live. But where do you +live? You can't live here; I won't have it." Juliet began to shiver +with cold. + +"Oh, goodness," she whispered to Anna, "I'm going to catch it when I +get home." + +But to start for home again in the gloom, took more courage than she +had left her. Grasping her umbrella, her five pennies, and her doll, +she retreated to the middle of the road. "Mr. Jeminy," she cried, "Mr. +Jeminy, where are you?" + +The silence, more ghostly than before, was not to be endured. "Mr. +Jeminy," she called at the top of her voice, "Mr. Jeminy, Mr. Jeminy, +Mr. Jeminy. + +"Oh, please come back." + +She was saved the ignominy of tears. For at that moment she heard from +down the road a sound of wheels, and the beat of hoofs. And presently +a farm wagon, drawn by an old white horse, approached her in the +twilight. + +"Well, bite me," said the farmer, peering at her over the front of the +wagon. "Are you lost, child?" + +"No, sir," said Juliet. Now that she was found, she was in the best of +spirits, all sprightliness and wheedle. "I'm not lost. I'm looking +for somebody." + +"Do tell," said the farmer. "A friend of yourn?" + +"An old man," said Juliet. "An old, old man. He's a friend of mine. +I have to tell him to come home as fast as he can, because it's a +wicked sin." + +"Does he live hereabouts?" asked the farmer. + +"He used to," said Juliet, "but he ran away. Now Mrs. Grumble's sick, +he ought to come home again, and ease her last hours." + +The farmer began to chuckle. "What's the old gaffer's name?" + +"Mr. Jeminy," said Juliet. + +"Hop in," said the farmer. "I'll take you along. He's been stopping +with Aaron Bade, over to the Forge. I declare, if that don't beat all. +Curl up in the hay, child, it'll keep you warm. What were you doing, +hollering for him?" + +"Yes, sir," said Juliet. + +The farm wagon started on again, through the rapidly falling dusk. +Juliet, under a blanket in the hay, looked up at the tall figure of the +farmer, set like a giant above her. + +"Mister," she said. + +"Yes, ma'am?" + +"Did he come with a scarlet woman, did you hear?" + +"Not so far as I know. No, he came all alone, early in the morning. +Wasn't anybody with him." + +Beneath her blanket, Juliet hugged Anna to her breast. "There, you +see," she whispered. And in her fresh, young voice, she began to sing, +while the wagon rattled down the road to Milford, a song she had heard +her mother singing the year Noel Ploughman died. + + "Love is the first thing, + Love goes past. + Sorrow is the next thing, + Quiet is the last. + + Love is a good thing, + Quiet isn't bad, + But sorrow is the best thing + I've ever had." + + + + +XI + +AND IS FOUND IN GOOD HANDS + +From the Bade farmhouse, a mile below Hemlock Mountain, the road winds +down to Adams' Forge, past Aaron Bade's stony fields. To the north +lies Milford; but to the south lies that enchanting land, blue in the +distance, misty in the sun, which the heart delights to call its home. + +It is the land we see from any hilltop. As we gaze at its far off +rises, its hazy, shadowy valleys, we feel within us a longing and a +faint melancholy. There, we think, dwell the friends who would love +us, if we were known to them, and there, too, must be found the beauty +and the happiness that we have failed to discover where we are. It +seems to us that there, in the distance, we should be happier, we +should be more amiable and more dignified. + +Aaron Bade, tied to his rocky farm on the slopes above Adams' Forge, +remembered with a feeling of pleasure his one journey as far south as +Attleboro. He had been obliged to return home before he had found the +happiness which he had expected to find. However, once he was home, he +realized that he had left it behind him, in Attleboro, or just a little +further south . . . + +Now, at forty, he was neither happy nor unhappy, but turned back in his +mind to the fancies of his youth, and enjoyed, in imagination, the +travels denied him in reality. + +He had no love for the farm, which had belonged to his father; an old +flute, on which his father used to play, was more of a treasure to him. +Often in summer, as day faded, and the dews of night descended; when +the clear lights in the valley were set twinkling one by one, leaving +the uplands to the winds and stars, Aaron Bade, perched upon his +pasture bars, piped to the faintly glowing sky his awkward thoughts and +clumsy feelings. + +In the morning he took leave of his wife, and with his hoe slung over +his shoulder, made his way down to the cornfield. There, seated upon a +stone, he saw himself in Attleboro again, pictured to himself the +countryside beyond, and before noon, was half way round the world, +leaving friends behind him in every land. Then, with a sigh, he would +go in among the corn with his weeder, only to stand dreaming at every +rustle of wind, seeing, in his mind, the smoke of distant cities, +hearing, in fancy, the booming of foreign seas. + +His wife was no longer a young woman. As a girl she had also had hopes +for herself. It seemed to her, when she chose Aaron Bade, that in his +company, life would be surprising and delightful. She expected to see +something of the world--he spoke of it so much. But she was mistaken. +For Aaron's travels were all of the mind. And she soon discovered that +the more he talked, the more there remained for her to do. Thus her +hopes died away; between the stove and the chickens, and what with +cleaning, washing, sweeping and dusting, she rarely found time nowadays +for more than a shake of her head, never very pretty, and at last no +longer young, at the thought of what she had looked for, what she had +meant to find. In short, from hopeful girl, Margaret Bade was, +sensibly enough, turned practical woman; and when, on clear afternoons, +with his work still to do, Aaron would take his flute down into the +fields, she did his chores, as well as her own, with the wise remark +that after all, they had to be done. + +Nevertheless, when the dishes were washed--when the shadows of evening +crept in past the lamp, no longer able to exclude them, she began to +feel lonely and sad. And as the notes of Aaron's flute mingled with +the night sounds, the chirp of crickets, the hum of insects, she felt, +rather than thought, "Life is so much spilt milk. And all that comes +of fancies, is Aaron's flute, playing down there in the pasture." + +It was to this family that Mr. Jeminy came in the chilly dawn, on his +way, apparently, to the ends of the earth, and, after breakfast, fell +asleep in the hayloft, leaving them both gaping with pleasure and +curiosity. For he came, Aaron had to admit, like a tramp; but spoke, +Margaret thought, like the Gospels. "He's from roundabout," she said; +"I hope he doesn't think to try and sell us anything. Men with +something to sell always talk like the minister first." + +But Aaron, with his mind on the far off world across the smoky autumn +hills, was pained at such a suggestion. "You're wrong, mother," he +said solemnly. "No, sirree. He's not from roundabout. And he's no +common tramp either. He's come a distance, I believe." + +"Then," said Margaret with regret, "I suppose he'll be going on again." + +Aaron Bade stared attentively at one brown hand. "We could use a man +on the farm," he said. + +It gave his wife no pleasure to be obliged to agree with him. + +"There's plenty still for a man to do, after you're done," she said. +But she smiled almost at once; for like the women of that north +country, crabbed and twisted as their own apple trees, she loved her +husband for the trouble he gave her. + +"It's a queer thing," said Aaron; "he has the look of a bookish man. +Like old St. John Deakan down to the Forge, only St. John don't know +anything, for all his looks." + +"His talk was elegant," Mrs. Bade agreed. She stood still for a +moment, looking down at her pots and pans. "He's seen a deal of life, +I dare say," she added casually--so casually as to make one almost +think that she herself had seen all she wanted to see. + +"Well," said Aaron, "that's what schooling does for a man. It gives +him a manner of talking, along with something to say." + +Margaret, bent over her work again, plunged her red, wet arms up to the +elbow in hot, soapy water. "You'll never lack talk, Aaron," she +remarked; "or suffer for want of something to say. But it isn't +washing my pots for me, nor bringing in the corn . . ." + +"I'm going along now," said Aaron. "If the old man wakes before I'm +back again, don't hurry him off, mother; I'd be glad to talk with him a +bit before he goes." + +"Who said anything about hurrying him off?" cried Mrs. Bade. "He can +stay till doomsday, for all I care. He can sit and talk to me, while +you're blowing on your flute. It'll be real companionable." + +And she turned back to her pots and pans, a faint smile causing her +mouth to curl down at one end, and up at the other. + +Mr. Jeminy awoke in the afternoon. It was the nature of this kind and +simple man to accept without question the hospitality of people he had +never seen before; for he felt friendly toward every one. As he sat +down to supper with the Bades, he bowed his head, and offered up a +grace, with all his heart: + +"Abide, O Lord, in this house; and be present at the breaking of bread, +in love and in kindness. Amen." + +During the meal, Aaron Bade asked Mr. Jeminy many questions, to +discover what the old man hoped to do. "I suppose," he said, "you've +come a good distance." + +"Yes," said Mr. Jeminy gravely, "I have come a good distance." + +Aaron Bade gave his wife a look which said plainly, "There, you see, +mother." + +"Where is your home, old man?" asked Mrs. Bade kindly. + +"I have no home," said Mr. Jeminy. + +Aaron Bade cleared his throat. "Are you bound anywhere in particular?" +he asked. + +"No," said Mr. Jeminy. + +"Then," said Aaron Bade, "we'd admire to have you stay with us, if it's +agreeable to you." + +Mr. Jeminy looked about him at the homely kitchen, with its brown +crockery set away neatly on the shelves. "If I stay with you," he +said, "I should like to work in the fields, and help with the sowing +and the harvesting." + +"So you may," said Aaron Bade. + +Mr. Jeminy looked at Margaret. "And you, madam?" he asked. "Would you +care for the company of a garrulous old man at evening in your kitchen?" + +Margaret blushed with pleasure. "Yes," she said. + +"Very well," said Mr. Jeminy; "I will stay." + +In this fashion Mr. Jeminy settled down at Bade's Farm, as farm hand to +Aaron Bade. At the end of a week he felt that he had nothing to +regret. He was active and spry, and believed himself to be useful. In +fact, he could not remember when he had been so happy. High on his +hill, he heard October's skyey gales go by above his head, and in the +noonday drowse, watched, from the shade of a tree, the crows fly out +across the valley, with creaking wings and harsh, discordant cries. In +the early morning, he came tip-toeing down the stairs; from the open +doorway he marked day rise above the east in bands of yellow light, and +saw the foggy clouds of dawn slip quietly away, rising from the +valleys, drifting across the hills; in the afternoon he labored in the +fields, and at night, his tired body filled his mind with comfortable +thoughts. + +On his way to lunch, he stopped at the woodpile to get an armful of +kindling for Mrs. Bade. The sober way she looked at him as he came in, +hid from all but herself the almost voluptuous pleasure it gave her +merely to be waited on, a pleasure she was more than half afraid to +enjoy, for fear at jealous heaven might take it away, and leave her +with all her work to do, and bad habits besides. + +Therefore, as she ladled out potatoes, two to a plate, she seemed, to +look at her, busier than ever; and far from being grateful, might have +been used to favors every day of her life, whereas all the while she +was saying ecstatically to herself, "Lord, make me humble." + +For she saw in Mr. Jeminy all she had fancied as a girl, and lost hope +in as a woman. Life . . . life was, then, to be had--leastways, a view +of it, a good view of it--was to be heard of, by special act of Grace, +on Bade's Farm, at Adams' Forge--of all places. So she dressed in her +neatest, and was kinder than ever to Aaron, who was missing it. For +she felt it was all just for her; she alone saw Mr. Jeminy for what he +was, a grand, unusual peephole on the world. It was her own private +peep, she thought. But she was wrong. Aaron was peeping as hard as +she, and pitying her, as she was pitying him, for all he thought she +was missing. + +As for Mr. Jeminy, he let them think what they pleased. At first he +was silent, out of shame. But later he enjoyed it as much as they did. +"In Ceylon," he would say, "the tea fields . . ." + +One day, a week after his arrival, Mr. Jeminy took the plow horse, +Elijah, to the village to be shod. There the fragrance of wood fires +mingled with a sweeter smell from barns and kitchens. As it was the +hour when school let out, the yard in front of the schoolhouse was +filled with children on their way home; laughing and calling each +other, their voices rose in minor glees along the road, like the +squabble of birds. And Mr. Jeminy, in front of the smithy, watched +them go by, while his thoughts as follows: + +"There," he said to himself, "its arms of texts, goes the new world. +Within those careless heads and happy hearts we must look for courage, +for wisdom and for sacrifice. Yet I believe they have the same +thoughts as anybody else. That is to say, they suppose it is God's +business to look after them. Yes, they are like their parents: they +are carried away by what they are doing, which they do not believe +could be done otherwise. One can see with what coldness, or even +blows, they receive the advances of other little children, who wish to +play with them. Well, as for those others, they go off at once, and +play by themselves. One of them, whose hat has been taken by the rest, +is digging in the earth with a bent twig, sharpened at one end. +Possibly he is digging for a treasure, which will be of no value to +anybody but himself. When he is older, he will be sorry he is not a +child again." + +At this point, Elijah being shod and ready, he ceased his reflections +and went call for Aaron at the post-office. As the rode home together, +the old schoolmaster, sunk in reverie, remained silent. But Aaron +wanted to talk, now that he had some one to talk to. + +"We'll get around to the wood to-morrow, and lay in another cord or +two." + +"As you like." + +"They're saying down to the store that feed will be higher than ever +this winter. I suppose we'd better lay in a store. I can't sell a few +barrels of potatoes, though I did want to save them." + +Mr. Jeminy roused himself with an effort. "I had the horse shod all +around," he said. + +Aaron nodded. "I guess it's just as well," he replied. "Did you ask +about fixing the harrow?" + +"It will take a week," said Mr. Jeminy. "I said to go ahead, figuring +that we had the whole winter before us." + +"We could do with a new harrow," said Aaron, "only there's no way to +pay for it." + +Mr. Jeminy shook the reins over Elijah's back. "I have a little +money," he began, "laid away . . ." + +"You're very kind," said Aaron, "but I don't figure to take advantage +of it. Still, living's hard; so much trouble. Take me; here I am +bound down to a farm's got as many rocks in it as anything else. I've +been as far south as Attleboro, but I've never had a view of the world, +like you've had. I'll die as I've lived, without anything to be +grateful for, so far as I can see." + +"You've had more to be grateful for than I ever had," said Mr. Jeminy +simply, "and I'm not complaining." + +"Go along," said Aaron; "you're speaking out of kindness. But it +doesn't fool me any. I know you've led a wandering life, Mr. Jeminy. +But I'd admire to see a little something of the world myself." + +Above them the smoke from Aaron's chimney, thin and blue, rose bending +like an Indian pipe in the still air. And Mr. Jeminy gazed at it in +silence, before replying: + +"You have had the good things of life, Aaron Bade." + +"Have I?" said Aaron bitterly. "I'm sure I didn't know it. What are +the good things of life, Mr. Jeminy?" + +"Love," said Mr. Jeminy, "peace, quiet of the heart, the work of one's +hands. Perhaps it is human to wish for more. But to be human is not +always to be wise. Do you desire to see the world, Aaron Bade? Soon +you would ask to be home again." + +"Well, I don't know about that," said Aaron. + +"Ah," said Mr. Jeminy, "love is best of all." + +And once again he relapsed into silence. In the evening he drove the +cows in. High up on Hemlock, Aaron, among his slow, thin tunes, +thought to himself: "There go the cows. Mr. Jeminy understands me; +he's a traveled man." And he played his flute harder than ever, +because Mr. Jeminy, who had seen, as Aaron thought, all Aaron had +wanted to see, breathed the airs of foreign lands, and sailed the seven +seas, was setting Aaron's cows to right, in Aaron's tumbled barn. + +In the kitchen, Margaret, going to light the lamp, smiled at her +thoughts, which were timid and gay. She was happy because Mr. Jeminy, +who had seen so many elegant women, helped her with her apple jellies, +and brought her kindlings for the stove. + +When the cows were milked, Mr. Jeminy came out of the barn, and stood +looking up at the sky, yellow and green, with its promise of frost. "A +cold night," he said to himself, "and a bright morning." He could hear +the wind rising in the west. "Winter is not far off," he said, and he +carried the two warm, foaming milkpails into the kitchen. + +As he was eating his supper, a wagon came clattering down the road and +stopped at the door. "There's Ellery Deakan back from Milford," said +Margaret at the window. "I wonder what he wants at this time of night. +Looks to be somebody with him. Go and see, Mr. Jeminy. I've the +pudding to attend to." + + + + +XII + +MRS. WICKET + +Mrs. Grumble was dying. She lay without moving, one wasted hand +holding tightly to the fingers of Mrs. Wicket, who sat beside the bed. +There, where Mrs. Grumble had worked and scolded for twenty years, all +was still; while the clock on the dresser, like a solemn footstep, +seemed to deepen the silence with its single, hollow beat. + +But if it was quiet in the schoolmaster's house, it was far from being +quiet in the village, where Mrs. Tomkins was going hurriedly from house +to house in search of Mrs. Wicket's runaway daughter. Mrs. Wicket, who +was dozing, did not hear the anxious voices calling everywhere for +Juliet. To Mrs. Grumble, the sound was like the dwindling murmur of a +world with which she was nearly done. She felt that her end was +approaching, and remarked: + +"I hope I haven't given you too much trouble, Mrs. Wicket." + +Mrs. Wicket tried to assure Mrs. Grumble that she had not been any +trouble to her. But Mrs. Grumble said weakly: + +"Maybe when I was out of my head . . ." + +"Don't you fret yourself a mite about that," cried Mrs. Wicket; "for +that's all over. Now you're going to get well." + +"No," said Mrs. Grumble, "no, I'm not going to get well. I'm going to +die." She thought over, in silence, what she had just said, and it +appeared to satisfy her. At the thought of death she was calm and +willing. "I remember," she remarked, "how I used to have a horror of +dying. I was afraid to die, without having done anything to make me +out different from anybody else. But I guess nobody's any different +when it comes to dying, Mrs. Wicket. It feels easy and natural." + +"Don't you so much as even think of it," said Mrs. Wicket. + +Mrs. Grumble smiled. "There's no use trying to fool me," she declared. +"I'm not afraid any more. I'd like to see Mr. Jeminy before I go. I'd +like to know he was in good hands. I'd like to think you'd look after +him a bit, Mrs. Wicket, when I'm gone." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Wicket, "set your mind at rest." + +"You've been very kind to me," said Mrs. Grumble, with difficulty. +"You've had a hard time of it here in Hillsboro. You're a good woman, +Mrs. Wicket. I'm glad you'll be here for him when he comes home. I +took care of him for twenty years. As though he were my own." + +"I'll care for him the same," said Mrs. Wicket, "as though he were my +own." + +Mrs. Grumble seemed to be content with this promise, for she remained +for some time sunk in silence. At last she said, "He'll come in time +for me to see him again. He won't leave me to die alone, not after I +took care of him for twenty years. + +"I remember the time he brought me a bit of lace from the fair over to +Milford. He used to give me a lot of trouble. But he didn't forget to +bring me home a piece of lace from the fair. I put it on my petticoat. + +"He's on his way home now, Mrs. Wicket: yes, I can feel he's coming +home." + +Mrs. Wicket, who had been up with Mrs. Grumble the night before, let +her head droop forward on her breast. "I don't doubt it," she said. +And in the silence of the sickroom, she presently fell asleep. Mrs. +Grumble lay with wide open eyes, staring at the door through which Mr. +Jeminy was to come. She felt quiet and happy; it seemed to her that +her pain was already over and done with. Framed in the doorway, in the +yellow lamplight, she beheld the fancies of her youth, the memories of +the past. She saw again the woman she had been, and watched, with eyes +filled with compassion, her early sorrows, and the troubles of her +later years. "It was all of no account," she said to herself, "but it +doesn't matter now." And she set herself to wait in patience for Mr. +Jeminy, who she never doubted would come to help her die. + +Meanwhile the schoolmaster, in Aaron Bade's wagon, was rattling along +the road, with Juliet tight asleep in his arms. As he drew near his +home, he saw in the distance Barly Hill, and the lights of Barly Farm +shining across the valley. "I am coming home again," he said to them; +"I have no longer any pride. So now I know that I am an old man." + +But later a feeling of peace took possession of his heart. "Yes," he +said, "I am an old man. The world is not my affair any more. I belong +to yesterday, with its triumphs and its failures; I must share in the +glory, such as it is, of what has been done. The future is in the +hands of this child, sound asleep by my side. It is in your hands, +Anna Barly, and yours, Thomas Frye. But you must do better than I did, +and those with whom I quarreled. To youth is given the burden and the +pain. Only the old are happy to-day. + +"Children, children, what will become of you?" + +When Mr. Jeminy, with Juliet in his arms, strode in through Mrs. +Grumble's door, Mrs. Wicket rose to her feet, her hands pressed to her +bosom with delight and alarm. Mr. Jeminy gave Juliet to her mother. +"Take the child home," he said. Then with timid, hesitant steps, he +approached Mrs. Grumble's bed. + +"You've been a long time coming," she said. "I'm tired." + +"I'm here now," replied Mr. Jeminy; "I am not going away any more." + +"No," said Mrs. Grumble, "you'd better stay home and attend to things. +I won't be here much longer." + +Mr. Jeminy wanted to say "nonsense," but he was unable to speak. +Instead he took Mrs. Grumble's hand in both of his. "Are you going to +leave me, dear friend?" he asked. + +Mrs. Grumble smiled; then she gave a sigh. "Look what you called me," +she said. And they were both silent, thinking of the past together. +In the distance the crisp footsteps of Mrs. Wicket died away down the +hill. And presently nothing was to be heard but the steady ticking of +the clock on the mantel. Then Mr. Jeminy, for once, could find nothing +to say. It seemed to him that instead of the clock's ticking, he heard +the footsteps of death in the house, on the stair . . . tik, tok, tik, +tok . . . And he sighed, with sadness and horror, "Ah, my friend," he +thought, "are you as frightened as I am?" + +Presently he saw that Mrs. Grumble was trying to lift herself up in +bed. "I'm going now," she said. Her voice was low, but resonant. +"Mrs. Wicket will look after you. She's a good woman, Mr. Jeminy. My +mind's at peace. I never knew death was so simple and ordinary. It's +almost like nothing." + +She sank back; her voice gave out and she began to cough. "You will +only tire yourself by talking," said Mr. Jeminy. "Rest now. Then in +the morning . . ." + +"No," said Mrs. Grumble faintly, "there'll be no morning for me, unless +it's the morning of the Lord. Not where I'm going." + +"You are going where I, too, must go," said Mr. Jeminy. "You are going +a little before me. Soon I shall come hurrying after you." + +"It's nearly over," said Mrs. Grumble. "I did what I could." Her mind +began to wander; she spoke some words to herself. + +"You, God," said Mr. Jeminy aloud, "this is your doing. Then come and +be present; receive the forgiveness of this good woman, to whom you +gave, in this life, poverty and sacrifice." + +"Please," whispered Mrs. Grumble, "speak of God with more respect." +They were her last words; it was the end. A spasm of coughing shook +her; for a moment she seemed anxious to speak. But as Mr. Jeminy bent +over her, her breath failed; her head fell back, and with a single, +frightened glance, Mrs. Grumble passed away, without saying what she +had intended. + +Mr. Jeminy closed her eyes, and folded her hands across her breast. +"She is gone already," he thought; "she is far away. She has pressed +ahead, so swiftly, beyond sight or hearing." + +He bent his head. "You made me comfortable in my life, Mrs. Grumble," +he said, "yet at the end I could do nothing for you. But you will not +think badly of me for that. + +"Now you are hurrying through eternity. To you, these few slow hours +before the dawn are no different from to-morrow or yesterday; they will +never pass. + +"Do you see, at last, the meaning of the spectacle you have just +quitted? Do you understand what I, for all my wisdom, do not +understand? You are free to ask God to explain it to you; you can say, +'I saw armies with banners, and scholars with their books.' Perhaps he +will tell you the meaning of it. But for us, who remain, it has no +meaning. Well, we say, this is life. We laugh, applaud, talk +together, and think about ourselves. And one by one we slip away, no +wiser than before. + +"We are like the bees, who work from dawn till dark, gathering honey in +the fields and in the woods. But we are not as wise as the bees, for +each one grasps what he can, and cries, 'this is mine.' Then seeing +that it is of no use to him, he adds, 'What will you give me for it?'" + +And he began to think of the past. It seemed to him that he was in +school again. It was spring; and the children came romping into the +schoolroom, their arms full of books and flowers. Summer passed; he +saw Anna Barly crying by the roadside, under the gray sky. He heard +himself saying to Mrs. Grumble: "Yes, that's right, stop up your +ears . . ." And he saw himself walking toward Milford in the +moonlight, under the falling leaves. "Who, now," he thought, "will +drive me out of doors because my room is in disorder, or burn, when I +am away, the scraps of paper on which I have scribbled my memoranda?" + +He bowed his head. "Rest quietly, Mrs. Grumble," he said. "Your +troubles are over. For you there is neither doubt nor grief; life does +not matter to you any more. Nor does it matter very much to me. For +there is no one now to care what I do. I am no trouble to anybody." + +The chilly breath of morning filled the valley with mist, fine, gray, +imperceptible in the faint light of dawn. And a farmer's cart, as it +rattled down the road, woke, in his chair, the old schoolmaster from +the reverie into which he had fallen. + +Faint and clear the early lights of the village went out, leaving the +valley empty and cold. A freight train whistled at the junction, and +crept, with tolling bell, over the switches, to the south. + +The sun, rising, poured its yellow light into Mrs. Grumble's room, +illuminating the bed, with its silent burden, and the still figure +huddled in the chair. Slowly, and with difficulty, Mr. Jeminy got to +his feet and crossed to the window. There his gaze encountered Mrs. +Wicket, coming up the hill. + +Blowing on his hands, Mr. Jeminy went to meet her in the early sunshine. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN*** + + +******* This file should be named 18079.txt or 18079.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18079 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/18079.zip b/18079.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..787430a --- /dev/null +++ b/18079.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3585a37 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #18079 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18079) |