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+Project Gutenberg's The Queen's Twin and Other Stories, by Sarah Orne Jewett
+
+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: The Queen's Twin and Other Stories
+
+Author: Sarah Orne Jewett
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2008 [EBook #24822]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUEEN'S TWIN AND OTHER STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN'S TWIN
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT
+
+
+
+
+BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
+
+The Riverside Press, Cambridge
+
+
+M DCCC XCIX
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT
+
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+SUSAN BURLEY CABOT
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  THE QUEEN'S TWIN
+  A DUNNET SHEPHERDESS
+  WHERE'S NORA
+  BOLD WORDS AT THE BRIDGE
+  MARTHA'S LADY
+  THE COON DOG
+  AUNT CYNTHY DALLETT
+  THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING
+
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN'S TWIN.
+
+I.
+
+The coast of Maine was in former years brought so near to foreign
+shores by its busy fleet of ships that among the older men and women
+one still finds a surprising proportion of travelers.  Each
+seaward-stretching headland with its high-set houses, each island of a
+single farm, has sent its spies to view many a Land of Eshcol; one may
+see plain, contented old faces at the windows, whose eyes have looked
+at far-away ports and known the splendors of the Eastern world.  They
+shame the easy voyager of the North Atlantic and the Mediterranean;
+they have rounded the Cape of Good Hope and braved the angry seas of
+Cape Horn in small wooden ships; they have brought up their hardy boys
+and girls on narrow decks; they were among the last of the Northmen's
+children to go adventuring to unknown shores.  More than this one
+cannot give to a young State for its enlightenment; the sea captains
+and the captains' wives of Maine knew something of the wide world, and
+never mistook their native parishes for the whole instead of a part
+thereof; they knew not only Thomaston and Castine and Portland, but
+London and Bristol and Bordeaux, and the strange-mannered harbors of
+the China Sea.
+
+One September day, when I was nearly at the end of a summer spent in a
+village called Dunnet Landing, on the Maine coast, my friend Mrs. Todd,
+in whose house I lived, came home from a long, solitary stroll in the
+wild pastures, with an eager look as if she were just starting on a
+hopeful quest instead of returning.  She brought a little basket with
+blackberries enough for supper, and held it towards me so that I could
+see that there were also some late and surprising raspberries sprinkled
+on top, but she made no comment upon her wayfaring.  I could tell
+plainly that she had something very important to say.
+
+"You have n't brought home a leaf of anything," I ventured to this
+practiced herb-gatherer.  "You were saying yesterday that the witch
+hazel might be in bloom."
+
+"I dare say, dear," she answered in a lofty manner; "I ain't goin' to
+say it was n't; I ain't much concerned either way 'bout the facts o'
+witch hazel.  Truth is, I 've been off visitin'; there's an old Indian
+footpath leadin' over towards the Back Shore through the great heron
+swamp that anybody can't travel over all summer.  You have to seize
+your time some day just now, while the low ground 's summer-dried as it
+is to-day, and before the fall rains set in.  I never thought of it
+till I was out o' sight o' home, and I says to myself, 'To-day 's the
+day, certain!' and stepped along smart as I could.  Yes, I 've been
+visitin'.  I did get into one spot that was wet underfoot before I
+noticed; you wait till I get me a pair o' dry woolen stockings, in case
+of cold, and I 'll come an' tell ye."
+
+Mrs. Todd disappeared.  I could see that something had deeply
+interested her.  She might have fallen in with either the sea-serpent
+or the lost tribes of Israel, such was her air of mystery and
+satisfaction.  She had been away since just before mid-morning, and as
+I sat waiting by my window I saw the last red glow of autumn sunshine
+flare along the gray rocks of the shore and leave them cold again, and
+touch the far sails of some coast-wise schooners so that they stood
+like golden houses on the sea.
+
+I was left to wonder longer than I liked.  Mrs. Todd was making an
+evening fire and putting things in train for supper; presently she
+returned, still looking warm and cheerful after her long walk.
+
+"There 's a beautiful view from a hill over where I 've been," she told
+me; "yes, there 's a beautiful prospect of land and sea.  You would n't
+discern the hill from any distance, but 't is the pretty situation of
+it that counts.  I sat there a long spell, and I did wish for you.  No,
+I did n't know a word about goin' when I set out this morning" (as if I
+had openly reproached her!); "I only felt one o' them travelin' fits
+comin' on, an' I ketched up my little basket; I didn't know but I might
+turn and come back time for dinner.  I thought it wise to set out your
+luncheon for you in case I did n't.  Hope you had all you wanted; yes,
+I hope you had enough."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed," said I.  My landlady was always peculiarly bountiful
+in her supplies when she left me to fare for myself, as if she made a
+sort of peace-offering or affectionate apology.
+
+"You know that hill with the old house right on top, over beyond the
+heron swamp?  You 'll excuse me for explainin'," Mrs. Todd began, "but
+you ain't so apt to strike inland as you be to go right along shore.
+You know that hill; there 's a path leadin' right over to it that you
+have to look sharp to find nowadays; it belonged to the up-country
+Indians when they had to make a carry to the landing here to get to the
+out' islands.  I 've heard the old folks say that there used to be a
+place across a ledge where they 'd worn a deep track with their
+moccasin feet, but I never could find it.  'T is so overgrown in some
+places that you keep losin' the path in the bushes and findin' it as
+you can; but it runs pretty straight considerin' the lay o' the land,
+and I keep my eye on the sun and the moss that grows one side o' the
+tree trunks.  Some brook's been choked up and the swamp's bigger than
+it used to be.  Yes; I did get in deep enough, one place!"
+
+I showed the solicitude that I felt.  Mrs. Todd was no longer young,
+and in spite of her strong, great frame and spirited behavior, I knew
+that certain ills were apt to seize upon her, and would end some day by
+leaving her lame and ailing.
+
+"Don't you go to worryin' about me," she insisted, "settin' still's the
+only way the Evil One 'll ever get the upper hand o' me.  Keep me
+movin' enough, an' I 'm twenty year old summer an' winter both.  I
+don't know why 't is, but I 've never happened to mention the one I 've
+been to see.  I don't know why I never happened to speak the name of
+Abby Martin, for I often give her a thought, but 't is a dreadful
+out-o'-the-way place where she lives, and I haven't seen her myself for
+three or four years.  She's a real good interesting woman, and we 're
+well acquainted; she 's nigher mother's age than mine, but she 's very
+young feeling.  She made me a nice cup o' tea, and I don't know but I
+should have stopped all night if I could have got word to you not to
+worry."
+
+Then there was a serious silence before Mrs. Todd spoke again to make a
+formal announcement.
+
+"She is the Queen's Twin," and Mrs. Todd looked steadily to see how I
+might bear the great surprise.
+
+"The Queen's Twin?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, she 's come to feel a real interest in the Queen, and anybody can
+see how natural 't is.  They were born the very same day, and you would
+be astonished to see what a number o' other things have corresponded.
+She was speaking o' some o' the facts to me to-day, an' you 'd think
+she 'd never done nothing but read history.  I see how earnest she was
+about it as I never did before.  I 've often and often heard her allude
+to the facts, but now she's got to be old and the hurry's over with her
+work, she 's come to live a good deal in her thoughts, as folks often
+do, and I tell you 't is a sight o' company for her.  If you want to
+hear about Queen Victoria, why Mis' Abby Martin 'll tell you
+everything.  And the prospect from that hill I spoke of is as beautiful
+as anything in this world; 't is worth while your goin' over to see her
+just for that."
+
+"When can you go again?" I demanded eagerly.
+
+"I should say to-morrow," answered Mrs. Todd; "yes, I should say
+to-morrow; but I expect 't would be better to take one day to rest, in
+between.  I considered that question as I was comin' home, but I
+hurried so that there wa'n't much time to think.  It's a dreadful long
+way to go with a horse; you have to go 'most as far as the old Bowden
+place an' turn off to the left, a master long, rough road, and then you
+have to turn right round as soon as you get there if you mean to get
+home before nine o'clock at night.  But to strike across country from
+here, there 's plenty o' time in the shortest day, and you can have a
+good hour or two's visit beside; 't ain't but a very few miles, and
+it's pretty all the way along.  There used to be a few good families
+over there, but they 've died and scattered, so now she 's far from
+neighbors.  There, she really cried, she was so glad to see anybody
+comin'.  You 'll be amused to hear her talk about the Queen, but I
+thought twice or three times as I set there 't was about all the
+company she 'd got."
+
+"Could we go day after to-morrow?" I asked eagerly.
+
+"'T would suit me exactly," said Mrs. Todd.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+One can never be so certain of good New England weather as in the days
+when a long easterly storm has blown away the warm late-summer mists,
+and cooled the air so that however bright the sunshine is by day, the
+nights come nearer and nearer to frostiness.  There was a cold
+freshness in the morning air when Mrs. Todd and I locked the house-door
+behind us; we took the key of the fields into our own hands that day,
+and put out across country as one puts out to sea.  When we reached the
+top of the ridge behind the town it seemed as if we had anxiously
+passed the harbor bar and were comfortably in open sea at last.
+
+"There, now!" proclaimed Mrs. Todd, taking a long breath, "now I do
+feel safe.  It's just the weather that's liable to bring somebody to
+spend the day; I 've had a feeling of Mis' Elder Caplin from North
+Point bein' close upon me ever since I waked up this mornin', an' I
+didn't want to be hampered with our present plans.  She's a great hand
+to visit; she 'll be spendin' the day somewhere from now till
+Thanksgivin', but there 's plenty o' places at the Landin' where she
+goes, an' if I ain't there she 'll just select another.  I thought
+mother might be in, too, 'tis so pleasant; but I run up the road to
+look off this mornin' before you was awake, and there was no sign o'
+the boat.  If they had n't started by that time they wouldn't start,
+just as the tide is now; besides, I see a lot o' mackerel-men headin'
+Green Island way, and they 'll detain William.  No, we 're safe now,
+an' if mother should be comin' in tomorrow we 'll have all this to tell
+her.  She an' Mis' Abby Martin's very old friends."
+
+We were walking down the long pasture slopes towards the dark woods and
+thickets of the low ground.  They stretched away northward like an
+unbroken wilderness; the early mists still dulled much of the color and
+made the uplands beyond look like a very far-off country.
+
+"It ain't so far as it looks from here," said my companion
+reassuringly, "but we 've got no time to spare either," and she hurried
+on, leading the way with a fine sort of spirit in her step; and
+presently we struck into the old Indian footpath, which could be
+plainly seen across the long-unploughed turf of the pastures, and
+followed it among the thick, low-growing spruces.  There the ground was
+smooth and brown under foot, and the thin-stemmed trees held a dark and
+shadowy roof overhead.  We walked a long way without speaking;
+sometimes we had to push aside the branches, and sometimes we walked in
+a broad aisle where the trees were larger.  It was a solitary wood,
+birdless and beastless; there was not even a rabbit to be seen, or a
+crow high in air to break the silence.
+
+"I don't believe the Queen ever saw such a lonesome trail as this,"
+said Mrs. Todd, as if she followed the thoughts that were in my mind.
+Our visit to Mrs. Abby Martin seemed in some strange way to concern the
+high affairs of royalty.  I had just been thinking of English
+landscapes, and of the solemn hills of Scotland with their lonely
+cottages and stone-walled sheepfolds, and the wandering flocks on high
+cloudy pastures.  I had often been struck by the quick interest and
+familiar allusion to certain members of the royal house which one found
+in distant neighborhoods of New England; whether some old instincts of
+personal loyalty have survived all changes of time and national
+vicissitudes, or whether it is only that the Queen's own character and
+disposition have won friends for her so far away, it is impossible to
+tell.  But to hear of a twin sister was the most surprising proof of
+intimacy of all, and I must confess that there was something remarkably
+exciting to the imagination in my morning walk.  To think of being
+presented at Court in the usual way was for the moment quite
+commonplace.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+Mrs. Todd was swinging her basket to and fro like a schoolgirl as she
+walked, and at this moment it slipped from her hand and rolled lightly
+along the ground as if there were nothing in it.  I picked it up and
+gave it to her, whereupon she lifted the cover and looked in with
+anxiety.
+
+"'T is only a few little things, but I don't want to lose 'em," she
+explained humbly.  "'T was lucky you took the other basket if I was
+goin' to roll it round.  Mis' Abby Martin complained o' lacking some
+pretty pink silk to finish one o' her little frames, an' I thought I 'd
+carry her some, and I had a bunch o' gold thread that had been in a box
+o' mine this twenty year.  I never was one to do much fancy work, but
+we 're all liable to be swept away by fashion.  And then there's a
+small packet o' very choice herbs that I gave a good deal of attention
+to; they 'll smarten her up and give her the best of appetites, come
+spring.  She was tellin' me that spring weather is very wiltin' an'
+tryin' to her, and she was beginnin' to dread it already.  Mother 's
+just the same way; if I could prevail on mother to take some o' these
+remedies in good season 'twould make a world o' difference, but she
+gets all down hill before I have a chance to hear of it, and then
+William comes in to tell me, sighin' and bewailin', how feeble mother
+is.  'Why can't you remember 'bout them good herbs that I never let her
+be without?' I say to him--he does provoke me so; and then off he goes,
+sulky enough, down to his boat.  Next thing I know, she comes in to go
+to meetin', wantin' to speak to everybody and feelin' like a girl.
+Mis' Martin's case is very much the same; but she 's nobody to watch
+her.  William's kind o' slow-moulded; but there, any William's better
+than none when you get to be Mis' Martin's age."
+
+"Hadn't she any children?" I asked.
+
+"Quite a number," replied Mrs. Todd grandly, "but some are gone and the
+rest are married and settled.  She never was a great hand to go about
+visitin'.  I don't know but Mis' Martin might be called a little
+peculiar.  Even her own folks has to make company of her; she never
+slips in and lives right along with the rest as if 'twas at home, even
+in her own children's houses.  I heard one o' her sons' wives say once
+she 'd much rather have the Queen to spend the day if she could choose
+between the two, but I never thought Abby was so difficult as that.  I
+used to love to have her come; she may have been sort o' ceremonious,
+but very pleasant and sprightly if you had sense enough to treat her
+her own way.  I always think she 'd know just how to live with great
+folks, and feel easier 'long of them an' their ways.  Her son's wife 's
+a great driver with farm-work, boards a great tableful o' men in hayin'
+time, an' feels right in her element.  I don't say but she 's a good
+woman an' smart, but sort o' rough.  Anybody that's gentle-mannered an'
+precise like Mis' Martin would be a sort o' restraint.
+
+"There's all sorts o' folks in the country, same 's there is in the
+city," concluded Mrs. Todd gravely, and I as gravely agreed.  The thick
+woods were behind us now, and the sun was shining clear overhead, the
+morning mists were gone, and a faint blue haze softened the distance;
+as we climbed the hill where we were to see the view, it seemed like a
+summer day.  There was an old house on the height, facing southward,--a
+mere forsaken shell of an old house, with empty windows that looked
+like blind eyes.  The frost-bitten grass grew close about it like brown
+fur, and there was a single crooked bough of lilac holding its green
+leaves close by the door.
+
+"We 'll just have a good piece of bread-an'-butter now," said the
+commander of the expedition, "and then we 'll hang up the basket on
+some peg inside the house out o' the way o' the sheep, and have a
+han'some entertainment as we 're comin' back.  She 'll be all through
+her little dinner when we get there, Mis' Martin will; but she 'll want
+to make us some tea, an' we must have our visit an' be startin' back
+pretty soon after two.  I don't want to cross all that low ground again
+after it's begun to grow chilly.  An' it looks to me as if the clouds
+might begin to gather late in the afternoon."
+
+Before us lay a splendid world of sea and shore.  The autumn colors
+already brightened the landscape; and here and there at the edge of a
+dark tract of pointed firs stood a row of bright swamp-maples like
+scarlet flowers.  The blue sea and the great tide inlets were
+untroubled by the lightest winds.
+
+"Poor land, this is!" sighed Mrs. Todd as we sat down to rest on the
+worn doorstep.  "I 've known three good hard-workin' families that come
+here full o' hope an' pride and tried to make something o' this farm,
+but it beat 'em all.  There 's one small field that's excellent for
+potatoes if you let half of it rest every year; but the land 's always
+hungry.  Now, you see them little peaked-topped spruces an' fir balsams
+comin' up over the hill all green an' hearty; they 've got it all their
+own way!  Seems sometimes as if wild Natur' got jealous over a certain
+spot, and wanted to do just as she 'd a mind to.  You 'll see here; she
+'ll do her own ploughin' an' harrowin' with frost an' wet, an' plant
+just what she wants and wait for her own crops.  Man can't do nothin'
+with it, try as he may.  I tell you those little trees means business!"
+
+I looked down the slope, and felt as if we ourselves were likely to be
+surrounded and overcome if we lingered too long.  There was a vigor of
+growth, a persistence and savagery about the sturdy little trees that
+put weak human nature at complete defiance.  One felt a sudden pity for
+the men and women who had been worsted after a long fight in that
+lonely place; one felt a sudden fear of the unconquerable, immediate
+forces of Nature, as in the irresistible moment of a thunderstorm.
+
+"I can recollect the time when folks were shy o' these woods we just
+come through," said Mrs. Todd seriously.  "The men-folks themselves
+never 'd venture into 'em alone; if their cattle got strayed they 'd
+collect whoever they could get, and start off all together.  They said
+a person was liable to get bewildered in there alone, and in old times
+folks had been lost.  I expect there was considerable fear left over
+from the old Indian times, and the poor days o' witchcraft; anyway, I
+'ve seen bold men act kind o' timid.  Some women o' the Asa Bowden
+family went out one afternoon berryin' when I was a girl, and got lost
+and was out all night; they found 'em middle o' the mornin' next day,
+not half a mile from home, scared most to death, an' sayin' they'd
+heard wolves and other beasts sufficient for a caravan.  Poor
+creatur's! they 'd strayed at last into a kind of low place amongst
+some alders, an' one of 'em was so overset she never got over it, an'
+went off in a sort o' slow decline.  'T was like them victims that
+drowns in a foot o' water; but their minds did suffer dreadful.  Some
+folks is born afraid of the woods and all wild places, but I must say
+they 've always been like home to me."
+
+I glanced at the resolute, confident face of my companion.  Life was
+very strong in her, as if some force of Nature were personified in this
+simple-hearted woman and gave her cousinship to the ancient deities.
+She might have walked the primeval fields of Sicily; her strong gingham
+skirts might at that very moment bend the slender stalks of asphodel
+and be fragrant with trodden thyme, instead of the brown wind-brushed
+grass of New England and frost-bitten goldenrod.  She was a great soul,
+was Mrs. Todd, and I her humble follower, as we went our way to visit
+the Queen's Twin, leaving the bright view of the sea behind us, and
+descending to a lower country-side through the dry pastures and fields.
+
+The farms all wore a look of gathering age, though the settlement was,
+after all, so young.  The fences were already fragile, and it seemed as
+if the first impulse of agriculture had soon spent itself without hope
+of renewal.  The better houses were always those that had some hold
+upon the riches of the sea; a house that could not harbor a
+fishing-boat in some neighboring inlet was far from being sure of
+every-day comforts.  The land alone was not enough to live upon in that
+stony region; it belonged by right to the forest, and to the forest it
+fast returned.  From the top of the hill where we had been sitting we
+had seen prosperity in the dim distance, where the land was good and
+the sun shone upon fat barns, and where warm-looking houses with three
+or four chimneys apiece stood high on their solid ridge above the bay.
+
+As we drew nearer to Mrs. Martin's it was sad to see what poor bushy
+fields, what thin and empty dwelling-places had been left by those who
+had chosen this disappointing part of the northern country for their
+home.  We crossed the last field and came into a narrow rain-washed
+road, and Mrs. Todd looked eager and expectant and said that we were
+almost at our journey's end.  "I do hope Mis' Martin 'll ask you into
+her best room where she keeps all the Queen's pictures.  Yes, I think
+likely she will ask you; but 't ain't everybody she deems worthy to
+visit 'em, I can tell you!" said Mrs. Todd warningly.  "She 's been
+collectin' 'em an' cuttin' 'em out o' newspapers an' magazines time out
+o' mind, and if she heard of anybody sailin' for an English port she 'd
+contrive to get a little money to 'em and ask to have the last likeness
+there was.  She 's most covered her best-room wall now; she keeps that
+room shut up sacred as a meetin'-house!  'I won't say but I have my
+favorites amongst 'em,' she told me t' other day, 'but they 're all
+beautiful to me as they can be!'  And she's made some kind o' pretty
+little frames for 'em all--you know there's always a new fashion o'
+frames comin' round; first 't was shell-work, and then 't was
+pine-cones, and bead-work's had its day, and now she 's much concerned
+with perforated cardboard worked with silk.  I tell you that best
+room's a sight to see!  But you must n't look for anything elegant,"
+continued Mrs. Todd, after a moment's reflection.  "Mis' Martin's
+always been in very poor, strugglin' circumstances.  She had ambition
+for her children, though they took right after their father an' had
+little for themselves; she wa'n't over an' above well married, however
+kind she may see fit to speak.  She's been patient an' hard-workin' all
+her life, and always high above makin' mean complaints of other folks.
+I expect all this business about the Queen has buoyed her over many a
+shoal place in life.  Yes, you might say that Abby 'd been a slave, but
+there ain't any slave but has some freedom."
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+Presently I saw a low gray house standing on a grassy bank close to the
+road.  The door was at the side, facing us, and a tangle of snowberry
+bushes and cinnamon roses grew to the level of the window-sills.  On
+the doorstep stood a bent-shouldered, little old woman; there was an
+air of welcome and of unmistakable dignity about her.
+
+"She sees us coming," exclaimed Mrs. Todd in an excited whisper.
+"There, I told her I might be over this way again if the weather held
+good, and if I came I 'd bring you.  She said right off she 'd take
+great pleasure in havin' a visit from you; I was surprised, she's
+usually so retirin'."
+
+Even this reassurance did not quell a faint apprehension on our part;
+there was something distinctly formal in the occasion, and one felt
+that consciousness of inadequacy which is never easy for the humblest
+pride to bear.  On the way I had torn my dress in an unexpected
+encounter with a little thornbush, and I could now imagine how it felt
+to be going to Court and forgetting one's feathers or her Court train.
+
+The Queen's Twin was oblivious of such trifles; she stood waiting with
+a calm look until we came near enough to take her kind hand.  She was a
+beautiful old woman, with clear eyes and a lovely quietness and
+genuineness of manner; there was not a trace of anything pretentious
+about her, or high-flown, as Mrs. Todd would say comprehensively.
+Beauty in age is rare enough in women who have spent their lives in the
+hard work of a farmhouse; but autumn-like and withered as this woman
+may have looked, her features had kept, or rather gained, a great
+refinement.  She led us into her old kitchen and gave us seats, and
+took one of the little straight-backed chairs herself and sat a short
+distance away, as if she were giving audience to an ambassador.  It
+seemed as if we should all be standing; you could not help feeling that
+the habits of her life were more ceremonious, but that for the moment
+she assumed the simplicities of the occasion.
+
+Mrs. Todd was always Mrs. Todd, too great and self-possessed a soul for
+any occasion to ruffle.  I admired her calmness, and presently the slow
+current of neighborhood talk carried one easily along; we spoke of the
+weather and the small adventures of the way, and then, as if I were
+after all not a stranger, our hostess turned almost affectionately to
+speak to me.
+
+"The weather will be growing dark in London now.  I expect that you 've
+been in London, dear?" she said.
+
+"Oh, yes," I answered.  "Only last year."
+
+"It is a great many years since I was there, along in the forties,"
+said Mrs. Martin.  "'T was the only voyage I ever made; most of my
+neighbors have been great travelers.  My brother was master of a
+vessel, and his wife usually sailed with him; but that year she had a
+young child more frail than the others, and she dreaded the care of it
+at sea.  It happened that my brother got a chance for my husband to go
+as supercargo, being a good accountant, and came one day to urge him to
+take it; he was very ill-disposed to the sea, but he had met with
+losses, and I saw my own opportunity and persuaded them both to let me
+go too.  In those days they did n't object to a woman's being aboard to
+wash and mend, the voyages were sometimes very long.  And that was the
+way I come to see the Queen."
+
+Mrs. Martin was looking straight in my eyes to see if I showed any
+genuine interest in the most interesting person in the world.
+
+"Oh, I am very glad you saw the Queen," I hastened to say.  "Mrs. Todd
+has told me that you and she were born the very same day."
+
+"We were indeed, dear!" said Mrs. Martin, and she leaned back
+comfortably and smiled as she had not smiled before.  Mrs. Todd gave a
+satisfied nod and glance, as if to say that things were going on as
+well as possible in this anxious moment.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Martin again, drawing her chair a little nearer, "'t
+was a very remarkable thing; we were born the same day, and at exactly
+the same hour, after you allowed for all the difference in time.  My
+father figured it out sea-fashion.  Her Royal Majesty and I opened our
+eyes upon this world together; say what you may, 't is a bond between
+us."
+
+Mrs. Todd assented with an air of triumph, and untied her hat-strings
+and threw them back over her shoulders with a gallant air.
+
+"And I married a man by the name of Albert, just the same as she did,
+and all by chance, for I did n't get the news that she had an Albert
+too till a fortnight afterward; news was slower coming then than it is
+now.  My first baby was a girl, and I called her Victoria after my
+mate; but the next one was a boy, and my husband wanted the right to
+name him, and took his own name and his brother Edward's, and pretty
+soon I saw in the paper that the little Prince o' Wales had been
+christened just the same.  After that I made excuse to wait till I knew
+what she 'd named her children.  I did n't want to break the chain, so
+I had an Alfred, and my darling Alice that I lost long before she lost
+hers, and there I stopped.  If I 'd only had a dear daughter to stay at
+home with me, same's her youngest one, I should have been so thankful!
+But if only one of us could have a little Beatrice, I 'm glad 't was
+the Queen; we 've both seen trouble, but she 's had the most care."
+
+I asked Mrs. Martin if she lived alone all the year, and was told that
+she did except for a visit now and then from one of her grandchildren,
+"the only one that really likes to come an' stay quiet 'long o'
+grandma.  She always says quick as she's through her schoolin' she's
+goin' to live with me all the time, but she 's very pretty an' has
+taking ways," said Mrs. Martin, looking both proud and wistful, "so I
+can tell nothing at all about it!  Yes, I 've been alone most o' the
+time since my Albert was taken away, and that's a great many years; he
+had a long time o' failing and sickness first."  (Mrs. Todd's foot gave
+an impatient scuff on the floor.)  "An' I 've always lived right here.
+I ain't like the Queen's Majesty, for this is the only palace I 've
+got," said the dear old thing, smiling again.  "I 'm glad of it too, I
+don't like changing about, an' our stations in life are set very
+different.  I don't require what the Queen does, but sometimes I 've
+thought 't was left to me to do the plain things she don't have time
+for.  I expect she's a beautiful housekeeper, nobody could n't have
+done better in her high place, and she's been as good a mother as she
+'s been a queen."
+
+"I guess she has, Abby," agreed Mrs. Todd instantly.  "How was it you
+happened to get such a good look at her?  I meant to ask you again when
+I was here t' other day."
+
+"Our ship was layin' in the Thames, right there above Wapping.  We was
+dischargin' cargo, and under orders to clear as quick as we could for
+Bordeaux to take on an excellent freight o' French goods," explained
+Mrs. Martin eagerly.  "I heard that the Queen was goin' to a great
+review of her army, and would drive out o' her Buckin'ham Palace about
+ten o'clock in the mornin', and I run aft to Albert, my husband, and
+brother Horace where they was standin' together by the hatchway, and
+told 'em they must one of 'em take me.  They laughed, I was in such a
+hurry, and said they could n't go; and I found they meant it and got
+sort of impatient when I began to talk, and I was 'most broken-hearted;
+'t was all the reason I had for makin' that hard voyage.  Albert could
+n't help often reproachin' me, for he did so resent the sea, an' I 'd
+known how 't would be before we sailed; but I 'd minded nothing all the
+way till then, and I just crep' back to my cabin an' begun to cry.
+They was disappointed about their ship's cook, an' I 'd cooked for
+fo'c's'le an' cabin myself all the way over; 't was dreadful hard work,
+specially in rough weather; we 'd had head winds an' a six weeks'
+voyage.  They 'd acted sort of ashamed o' me when I pled so to go
+ashore, an' that hurt my feelin's most of all.  But Albert come below
+pretty soon; I 'd never given way so in my life, an' he begun to act
+frightened, and treated me gentle just as he did when we was goin' to
+be married, an' when I got over sobbin' he went on deck and saw Horace
+an' talked it over what they could do; they really had their duty to
+the vessel, and could n't be spared that day.  Horace was real good
+when he understood everything, and he come an' told me I 'd more than
+worked my passage an' was goin' to do just as I liked now we was in
+port.  He 'd engaged a cook, too, that was comin' aboard that mornin',
+and he was goin' to send the ship's carpenter with me--a nice fellow
+from up Thomaston way; he 'd gone to put on his ashore clothes as
+quick's he could.  So then I got ready, and we started off in the small
+boat and rowed up river.  I was afraid we were too late, but the tide
+was setting up very strong, and we landed an' left the boat to a
+keeper, and I run all the way up those great streets and across a park.
+'Twas a great day, with sights o' folks everywhere, but 't was just as
+if they was nothin' but wax images to me.  I kep' askin' my way an'
+runnin' on, with the carpenter comin' after as best he could, and just
+as I worked to the front o' the crowd by the palace, the gates was
+flung open and out she came; all prancin' horses and shinin' gold, and
+in a beautiful carriage there she sat; 't was a moment o' heaven to me.
+I saw her plain, and she looked right at me so pleasant and happy, just
+as if she knew there was somethin' different between us from other
+folks."
+
+There was a moment when the Queen's Twin could not go on and neither of
+her listeners could ask a question.
+
+"Prince Albert was sitting right beside her in the carriage," she
+continued.  "Oh, he was a beautiful man!  Yes, dear, I saw 'em both
+together just as I see you now, and then she was gone out o' sight in
+another minute, and the common crowd was all spread over the place
+pushin' an' cheerin'.  'T was some kind o' holiday, an' the carpenter
+and I got separated, an' then I found him again after I did n't think I
+should, an' he was all for makin' a day of it, and goin' to show me all
+the sights; he 'd been in London before, but I did n't want nothin'
+else, an' we went back through the streets down to the waterside an'
+took the boat.  I remember I mended an old coat o' my Albert's as good
+as I could, sittin' on the quarter-deck in the sun all that afternoon,
+and 't was all as if I was livin' in a lovely dream.  I don't know how
+to explain it, but there hasn't been no friend I've felt so near to me
+ever since."
+
+One could not say much--only listen.  Mrs. Todd put in a discerning
+question now and then, and Mrs. Martin's eyes shone brighter and
+brighter as she talked.  What a lovely gift of imagination and true
+affection was in this fond old heart!  I looked about the plain New
+England kitchen, with its wood-smoked walls and homely braided rugs on
+the worn floor, and all its simple furnishings.  The loud-ticking clock
+seemed to encourage us to speak; at the other side of the room was an
+early newspaper portrait of Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and
+Ireland.  On a shelf below were some flowers in a little glass dish, as
+if they were put before a shrine.
+
+"If I could have had more to read, I should have known 'most everything
+about her," said Mrs. Martin wistfully.  "I 've made the most of what I
+did have, and thought it over and over till it came clear.  I sometimes
+seem to have her all my own, as if we 'd lived right together.  I 've
+often walked out into the woods alone and told her what my troubles
+was, and it always seemed as if she told me 't was all right, an' we
+must have patience.  I 've got her beautiful book about the Highlands;
+'t was dear Mis' Todd here that found out about her printing it and got
+a copy for me, and it's been a treasure to my heart, just as if 't was
+written right to me.  I always read it Sundays now, for my Sunday
+treat.  Before that I used to have to imagine a good deal, but when I
+come to read her book, I knew what I expected was all true.  We do
+think alike about so many things," said the Queen's Twin with
+affectionate certainty.  "You see, there is something between us, being
+born just at the some time; 't is what they call a birthright.  She 's
+had great tasks put upon her, being the Queen, an' mine has been the
+humble lot; but she's done the best she could, nobody can say to the
+contrary, and there 's something between us; she's been the great
+lesson I 've had to live by.  She's been everything to me.  An' when
+she had her Jubilee, oh, how my heart was with her!"
+
+"There, 't would n't play the part in her life it has in mine," said
+Mrs. Martin generously, in answer to something one of her listeners had
+said.  "Sometimes I think, now she's older, she might like to know
+about us.  When I think how few old friends anybody has left at our
+age, I suppose it may be just the same with her as it is with me;
+perhaps she would like to know how we came into life together.  But I
+'ve had a great advantage in seeing her, an' I can always fancy her
+goin' on, while she don't know nothin' yet about me, except she may
+feel my love stayin' her heart sometimes an' not know just where it
+comes from.  An' I dream about our being together out in some pretty
+fields, young as ever we was, and holdin' hands as we walk along.  I 'd
+like to know if she ever has that dream too.  I used to have days when
+I made believe she did know, an' was comin' to see me," confessed the
+speaker shyly, with a little flush on her cheeks; "and I 'd plan what I
+could have nice for supper, and I was n't goin' to let anybody know she
+was here havin' a good rest, except I 'd wish you, Almira Todd, or dear
+Mis' Blackett would happen in, for you 'd know just how to talk with
+her.  You see, she likes to be up in Scotland, right out in the wild
+country, better than she does anywhere else."
+
+"I 'd really love to take her out to see mother at Green Island," said
+Mrs. Todd with a sudden impulse.
+
+"Oh, yes!  I should love to have you," exclaimed Mrs. Martin, and then
+she began to speak in a lower tone.  "One day I got thinkin' so about
+my dear Queen," she said, "an' livin' so in my thoughts, that I went to
+work an' got all ready for her, just as if she was really comin'.  I
+never told this to a livin' soul before, but I feel you 'll understand.
+I put my best fine sheets and blankets I spun an' wove myself on the
+bed, and I picked some pretty flowers and put 'em all round the house,
+an' I worked as hard an' happy as I could all day, and had as nice a
+supper ready as I could get, sort of telling myself a story all the
+time.  She was comin' an' I was goin' to see her again, an' I kep' it
+up until nightfall; an' when I see the dark an' it come to me I was all
+alone, the dream left me, an' I sat down on the doorstep an' felt all
+foolish an' tired.  An', if you 'll believe it, I heard steps comin',
+an' an old cousin o' mine come wanderin' along, one I was apt to be shy
+of.  She was n't all there, as folks used to say, but harmless enough
+and a kind of poor old talking body.  And I went right to meet her when
+I first heard her call, 'stead o' hidin' as I sometimes did, an' she
+come in dreadful willin', an' we sat down to supper together; 't was a
+supper I should have had no heart to eat alone."
+
+"I don't believe she ever had such a splendid time in her life as she
+did then.  I heard her tell all about it afterwards," exclaimed Mrs.
+Todd compassionately.  "There, now I hear all this it seems just as if
+the Queen might have known and could n't come herself, so she sent that
+poor old creatur' that was always in need!"
+
+Mrs. Martin looked timidly at Mrs. Todd and then at me.  "'T was
+childish o' me to go an' get supper," she confessed.
+
+"I guess you wa'n't the first one to do that," said Mrs. Todd.  "No, I
+guess you wa'n't the first one who 's got supper that way, Abby," and
+then for a moment she could say no more.
+
+Mrs. Todd and Mrs. Martin had moved their chairs a little so that they
+faced each other, and I, at one side, could see them both.
+
+"No, you never told me o' that before, Abby," said Mrs. Todd gently.
+"Don't it show that for folks that have any fancy in 'em, such
+beautiful dreams is the real part o' life?  But to most folks the
+common things that happens outside 'em is all in all."
+
+Mrs. Martin did not appear to understand at first, strange to say, when
+the secret of her heart was put into words; then a glow of pleasure and
+comprehension shone upon her face.  "Why, I believe you 're right,
+Almira!" she said, and turned to me.
+
+"Wouldn't you like to look at my pictures of the Queen?" she asked, and
+we rose and went into the best room.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+The mid-day visit seemed very short; September hours are brief to match
+the shortening days.  The great subject was dismissed for a while after
+our visit to the Queen's pictures, and my companions spoke much of
+lesser persons until we drank the cup of tea which Mrs. Todd had
+foreseen.  I happily remembered that the Queen herself is said to like
+a proper cup of tea, and this at once seemed to make her Majesty kindly
+join so remote and reverent a company.  Mrs. Martin's thin cheeks took
+on a pretty color like a girl's.  "Somehow I always have thought of her
+when I made it extra good," she said.  "I 've got a real china cup that
+belonged to my grandmother, and I believe I shall call it hers now."
+
+"Why don't you?" responded Mrs. Todd warmly, with a delightful smile.
+
+Later they spoke of a promised visit which was to be made in the Indian
+summer to the Landing and Green Island, but I observed that Mrs. Todd
+presented the little parcel of dried herbs, with full directions, for a
+cure-all in the spring, as if there were no real chance of their
+meeting again first.  As we looked back from the turn of the road the
+Queen's Twin was still standing on the doorstep watching us away, and
+Mrs. Todd stopped, and stood still for a moment before she waved her
+hand again.
+
+"There's one thing certain, dear," she said to me with great
+discernment; "it ain't as if we left her all alone!"
+
+Then we set out upon our long way home over the hill, where we lingered
+in the afternoon sunshine, and through the dark woods across the
+heron-swamp.
+
+
+
+
+A DUNNET SHEPHERDESS.
+
+I.
+
+Early one morning at Dunnet Landing, as if it were still night, I
+waked, suddenly startled by a spirited conversation beneath my window.
+It was not one of Mrs. Todd's morning soliloquies; she was not
+addressing her plants and flowers in words of either praise or blame.
+Her voice was declamatory though perfectly good-humored, while the
+second voice, a man's, was of lower pitch and somewhat deprecating.
+
+The sun was just above the sea, and struck straight across my room
+through a crack in the blind.  It was a strange hour for the arrival of
+a guest, and still too soon for the general run of business, even in
+that tiny eastern haven where daybreak fisheries and early tides must
+often rule the day.
+
+The man's voice suddenly declared itself to my sleepy ears.  It was Mr.
+William Blackett's.
+
+"Why, sister Almiry," he protested gently, "I don't need none o' your
+nostrums!"
+
+"Pick me a small han'ful," she commanded.  "No, no, a _small_ han'ful,
+I said,--o' them large pennyr'yal sprigs!  I go to all the trouble an'
+cossetin' of 'em just so as to have you ready to meet such occasions,
+an' last year, you may remember, you never stopped here at all the day
+you went up country.  An' the frost come at last an' blacked it.  I
+never saw any herb that so objected to gardin ground; might as well try
+to flourish mayflowers in a common front yard.  There, you can come in
+now, an' set and eat what breakfast you 've got patience for.  I 've
+found everything I want, an' I 'll mash 'em up an' be all ready to put
+'em on."
+
+I heard such a pleading note of appeal as the speakers went round the
+corner of the house, and my curiosity was so demanding, that I dressed
+in haste, and joined my friends a little later, with two unnoticed
+excuses of the beauty of the morning, and the early mail boat.
+William's breakfast had been slighted; he had taken his cup of tea and
+merely pushed back the rest on the kitchen table.  He was now sitting
+in a helpless condition by the side window, with one of his sister's
+purple calico aprons pinned close about his neck.  Poor William was
+meekly submitting to being smeared, as to his countenance, with a most
+pungent and unattractive lotion of pennyroyal and other green herbs
+which had been hastily pounded and mixed with cream in the little white
+stone mortar.
+
+I had to cast two or three straightforward looks at William to reassure
+myself that he really looked happy and expectant in spite of his
+melancholy circumstances, and was not being overtaken by retribution.
+The brother and sister seemed to be on delightful terms with each other
+for once, and there was something of cheerful anticipation in their
+morning talk.  I was reminded of Medea's anointing Jason before the
+great episode of the iron bulls, but to-day William really could not be
+going up country to see a railroad for the first time.  I knew this to
+be one of his great schemes, but he was not fitted to appear in public,
+or to front an observing world of strangers.  As I appeared he essayed
+to rise, but Mrs. Todd pushed him back into the chair.
+
+"Set where you be till it dries on," she insisted.  "Land sakes, you'd
+think he'd get over bein' a boy some time or 'nother, gettin' along in
+years as he is.  An' you 'd think he 'd seen full enough o' fish, but
+once a year he has to break loose like this, an' travel off way up back
+o' the Bowden place--far out o' my beat, 'tis--an' go a trout fishin'!"
+
+Her tone of amused scorn was so full of challenge that William changed
+color even under the green streaks.
+
+"I want some change," he said, looking at me and not at her.  "'T is
+the prettiest little shady brook you ever saw."
+
+"If he ever fetched home more 'n a couple o' minnies, 't would seem
+worth while," Mrs. Todd concluded, putting a last dab of the mysterious
+compound so perilously near her brother's mouth that William flushed
+again and was silent.
+
+A little later I witnessed his escape, when Mrs. Todd had taken the
+foolish risk of going down cellar.  There was a horse and wagon outside
+the garden fence, and presently we stood where we could see him driving
+up the hill with thoughtless speed.  Mrs. Todd said nothing, but
+watched him affectionately out of sight.
+
+"It serves to keep the mosquitoes off," she said, and a moment later it
+occurred to my slow mind that she spoke of the penny-royal lotion.  "I
+don't know sometimes but William's kind of poetical," she continued, in
+her gentlest voice.  "You 'd think if anything could cure him of it, 't
+would be the fish business."
+
+It was only twenty minutes past six on a summer morning, but we both
+sat down to rest as if the activities of the day were over.  Mrs. Todd
+rocked gently for a time, and seemed to be lost, though not poorly,
+like Macbeth, in her thoughts.  At last she resumed relations with her
+actual surroundings.  "I shall now put my lobsters on.  They'll make us
+a good supper," she announced.  "Then I can let the fire out for all
+day; give it a holiday, same's William.  You can have a little one now,
+nice an' hot, if you ain't got all the breakfast you want.  Yes, I 'll
+put the lobsters on.  William was very thoughtful to bring 'em over;
+William is thoughtful; if he only had a spark o' ambition, there be few
+could match him."
+
+This unusual concession was afforded a sympathetic listener from the
+depths of the kitchen closet.  Mrs. Todd was getting out her old iron
+lobster pot, and began to speak of prosaic affairs.  I hoped that I
+should hear something more about her brother and their island life, and
+sat idly by the kitchen window looking at the morning glories that
+shaded it, believing that some flaw of wind might set Mrs. Todd's mind
+on its former course.  Then it occurred to me that she had spoken about
+our supper rather than our dinner, and I guessed that she might have
+some great scheme before her for the day.
+
+When I had loitered for some time and there was no further word about
+William, and at last I was conscious of receiving no attention
+whatever, I went away.  It was something of a disappointment to find
+that she put no hindrance in the way of my usual morning affairs, of
+going up to the empty little white schoolhouse on the hill where I did
+my task of writing.  I had been almost sure of a holiday when I
+discovered that Mrs. Todd was likely to take one herself; we had not
+been far afield to gather herbs and pleasures for many days now, but a
+little later she had silently vanished.  I found my luncheon ready on
+the table in the little entry, wrapped in its shining old homespun
+napkin, and as if by way of special consolation, there was a stone
+bottle of Mrs. Todd's best spruce beer, with a long piece of cod line
+wound round it by which it could be lowered for coolness into the deep
+schoolhouse well.
+
+I walked away with a dull supply of writing-paper and these provisions,
+feeling like a reluctant child who hopes to be called back at every
+step.  There was no relenting voice to be heard, and when I reached the
+schoolhouse, I found that I had left an open window and a swinging
+shutter the day before, and the sea wind that blew at evening had
+fluttered my poor sheaf of papers all about the room.
+
+So the day did not begin very well, and I began to recognize that it
+was one of the days when nothing could be done without company.  The
+truth was that my heart had gone trouting with William, but it would
+have been too selfish to say a word even to one's self about spoiling
+his day.  If there is one way above another of getting so close to
+nature that one simply is a piece of nature, following a primeval
+instinct with perfect self-forgetfulness and forgetting everything
+except the dreamy consciousness of pleasant freedom, it is to take the
+course of a shady trout brook.  The dark pools and the sunny shallows
+beckon one on; the wedge of sky between the trees on either bank, the
+speaking, companioning noise of the water, the amazing importance of
+what one is doing, and the constant sense of life and beauty make a
+strange transformation of the quick hours.  I had a sudden memory of
+all this, and another, and another.  I could not get myself free from
+"fishing and wishing."
+
+At that moment I heard the unusual sound of wheels, and I looked past
+the high-growing thicket of wild-roses and straggling sumach to see the
+white nose and meagre shape of the Caplin horse; then I saw William
+sitting in the open wagon, with a small expectant smile upon his face.
+
+"I 've got two lines," he said.  "I was quite a piece up the road.  I
+thought perhaps 't was so you 'd feel like going."
+
+There was enough excitement for most occasions in hearing William speak
+three sentences at once.  Words seemed but vain to me at that bright
+moment.  I stepped back from the schoolhouse window with a beating
+heart.  The spruce-beer bottle was not yet in the well, and with that
+and my luncheon, and Pleasure at the helm, I went out into the happy
+world.  The land breeze was blowing, and, as we turned away, I saw a
+flutter of white go past the window as I left the schoolhouse and my
+morning's work to their neglected fate.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+One seldom gave way to a cruel impulse to look at an ancient seafaring
+William, but one felt as if he were a growing boy; I only hope that he
+felt much the same about me.  He did not wear the fishing clothes that
+belonged to his sea-going life, but a strangely shaped old suit of
+tea-colored linen garments that might have been brought home years ago
+from Canton or Bombay.  William had a peculiar way of giving silent
+assent when one spoke, but of answering your unspoken thoughts as if
+they reached him better than words.  "I find them very easy," he said,
+frankly referring to the clothes.  "Father had them in his old
+sea-chest."
+
+The antique fashion, a quaint touch of foreign grace and even
+imagination about the cut were very pleasing; if ever Mr. William
+Blackett had faintly resembled an old beau, it was upon that day.  He
+now appeared to feel as if everything had been explained between us, as
+if everything were quite understood; and we drove for some distance
+without finding it necessary to speak again about anything.  At last,
+when it must have been a little past nine o'clock, he stopped the horse
+beside a small farmhouse, and nodded when I asked if I should get down
+from the wagon.  "You can steer about northeast right across the
+pasture," he said, looking from under the eaves of his hat with an
+expectant smile.  "I always leave the team here."
+
+I helped to unfasten the harness, and William led the horse away to the
+barn.  It was a poor-looking little place, and a forlorn woman looked
+at us through the window before she appeared at the door.  I told her
+that Mr. Blackett and I came up from the Landing to go fishing.  "He
+keeps a-comin', don't he?" she answered, with a funny little laugh, to
+which I was at a loss to find answer.  When he joined us, I could not
+see that he took notice of her presence in any way, except to take an
+armful of dried salt fish from a corded stack in the back of the wagon
+which had been carefully covered with a piece of old sail.  We had left
+a wake of their pungent flavor behind us all the way.  I wondered what
+was going to become of the rest of them and some fresh lobsters which
+were also disclosed to view, but he laid the present gift on the
+doorstep without a word, and a few minutes later, when I looked back as
+we crossed the pasture, the fish were being carried into the house.
+
+I could not see any signs of a trout brook until I came close upon it
+in the bushy pasture, and presently we struck into the low woods of
+straggling spruce and fir mixed into a tangle of swamp maples and
+alders which stretched away on either hand up and down stream.  We
+found an open place in the pasture where some taller trees seemed to
+have been overlooked rather than spared.  The sun was bright and hot by
+this time, and I sat down in the shade while William produced his lines
+and cut and trimmed us each a slender rod.  I wondered where Mrs. Todd
+was spending the morning, and if later she would think that pirates had
+landed and captured me from the schoolhouse.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+The brook was giving that live, persistent call to a listener that
+trout brooks always make; it ran with a free, swift current even here,
+where it crossed an apparently level piece of land.  I saw two
+unpromising, quick barbel chase each other upstream from bank to bank
+as we solemnly arranged our hooks and sinkers.  I felt that William's
+glances changed from anxiety to relief when he found that I was used to
+such gear; perhaps he felt that we must stay together if I could not
+bait my own hook, but we parted happily, full of a pleasing sense of
+companionship.
+
+William had pointed me up the brook, but I chose to go down, which was
+only fair because it was his day, though one likes as well to follow
+and see where a brook goes as to find one's way to the places it comes
+from, and its tiny springs and headwaters, and in this case trout were
+not to be considered.  William's only real anxiety was lest I might
+suffer from mosquitoes.  His own complexion was still strangely
+impaired by its defenses, but I kept forgetting it, and looking to see
+if we were treading fresh pennyroyal underfoot, so efficient was Mrs.
+Todd's remedy.  I was conscious, after we parted, and I turned to see
+if he were already fishing, and saw him wave his hand gallantly as he
+went away, that our friendship had made a great gain.
+
+The moment that I began to fish the brook, I had a sense of its
+emptiness; when my bait first touched the water and went lightly down
+the quick stream, I knew that there was nothing to lie in wait for it.
+It is the same certainty that comes when one knocks at the door of an
+empty house, a lack of answering consciousness and of possible
+response; it is quite different if there is any life within.  But it
+was a lovely brook, and I went a long way through woods and breezy open
+pastures, and found a forsaken house and overgrown farm, and laid up
+many pleasures for future joy and remembrance.  At the end of the
+morning I came back to our meeting-place hungry and without any fish.
+William was already waiting, and we did not mention the matter of
+trout.  We ate our luncheons with good appetites, and William brought
+our two stone bottles of spruce beer from the deep place in the brook
+where he had left them to cool.  Then we sat awhile longer in peace and
+quietness on the green banks.
+
+As for William, he looked more boyish than ever, and kept a more remote
+and juvenile sort of silence.  Once I wondered how he had come to be so
+curiously wrinkled, forgetting, absent-mindedly, to recognize the
+effects of time.  He did not expect any one else to keep up a vain show
+of conversation, and so I was silent as well as he.  I glanced at him
+now and then, but I watched the leaves tossing against the sky and the
+red cattle moving in the pasture.  "I don't know's we need head for
+home.  It's early yet," he said at last, and I was as startled as if
+one of the gray firs had spoken.
+
+"I guess I 'll go up-along and ask after Thankful Hight's folks," he
+continued.  "Mother 'd like to get word;" and I nodded a pleased assent.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+William led the way across the pasture, and I followed with a deep
+sense of pleased anticipation.  I do not believe that my companion had
+expected me to make any objection, but I knew that he was gratified by
+the easy way that his plans for the day were being seconded.  He gave a
+look at the sky to see if there were any portents, but the sky was
+frankly blue; even the doubtful morning haze had disappeared.
+
+We went northward along a rough, clayey road, across a bare-looking,
+sunburnt country full of tiresome long slopes where the sun was hot and
+bright, and I could not help observing the forlorn look of the farms.
+There was a great deal of pasture, but it looked deserted, and I
+wondered afresh why the people did not raise more sheep when that
+seemed the only possible use to make of their land.  I said so to Mr.
+Blackett, who gave me a look of pleased surprise.
+
+"That's what She always maintains," he said eagerly.  "She 's right
+about it, too; well, you 'll see!"  I was glad to find myself approved,
+but I had not the least idea whom he meant, and waited until he felt
+like speaking again.
+
+A few minutes later we drove down a steep hill and entered a large
+tract of dark spruce woods.  It was delightful to be sheltered from the
+afternoon sun, and when we had gone some distance in the shade, to my
+great pleasure William turned the horse's head toward some bars, which
+he let down, and I drove through into one of those narrow, still,
+sweet-scented by-ways which seem to be paths rather than roads.  Often
+we had to put aside the heavy drooping branches which barred the way,
+and once, when a sharp twig struck William in the face, he announced
+with such spirit that somebody ought to go through there with an axe,
+that I felt unexpectedly guilty.  So far as I now remember, this was
+William's only remark all the way through the woods to Thankful Hight's
+folks, but from time to time he pointed or nodded at something which I
+might have missed: a sleepy little owl snuggled into the bend of a
+branch, or a tall stalk of cardinal flowers where the sunlight came
+down at the edge of a small, bright piece of marsh.  Many times, being
+used to the company of Mrs. Todd and other friends who were in the
+habit of talking, I came near making an idle remark to William, but I
+was for the most part happily preserved; to be with him only for a
+short time was to live on a different level, where thoughts served best
+because they were thoughts in common; the primary effect upon our minds
+of the simple things and beauties that we saw.  Once when I caught
+sight of a lovely gay pigeon-woodpecker eyeing us curiously from a dead
+branch, and instinctively turned toward William, he gave an indulgent,
+comprehending nod which silenced me all the rest of the way.  The
+wood-road was not a place for common noisy conversation; one would
+interrupt the birds and all the still little beasts that belonged
+there.  But it was mortifying to find how strong the habit of idle
+speech may become in one's self.  One need not always be saying
+something in this noisy world.  I grew conscious of the difference
+between William's usual fashion of life and mine; for him there were
+long days of silence in a sea-going boat, and I could believe that he
+and his mother usually spoke very little because they so perfectly
+understood each other.  There was something peculiarly unresponding
+about their quiet island in the sea, solidly fixed into the still
+foundations of the world, against whose rocky shores the sea beats and
+calls and is unanswered.
+
+We were quite half an hour going through the woods; the horse's feet
+made no sound on the brown, soft track under the dark evergreens.  I
+thought that we should come out at last into more pastures, but there
+was no half-wooded strip of land at the end; the high woods grew
+squarely against an old stone wall and a sunshiny open field, and we
+came out suddenly into broad daylight that startled us and even
+startled the horse, who might have been napping as he walked, like an
+old soldier.  The field sloped up to a low unpainted house that faced
+the east.  Behind it were long, frost-whitened ledges that made the
+hill, with strips of green turf and bushes between.  It was the
+wildest, most Titanic sort of pasture country up there; there was a
+sort of daring in putting a frail wooden house before it, though it
+might have the homely field and honest woods to front against.  You
+thought of the elements and even of possible volcanoes as you looked up
+the stony heights.  Suddenly I saw that a region of what I had thought
+gray stones was slowly moving, as if the sun was making my eyesight
+unsteady.
+
+"There's the sheep!" exclaimed William, pointing eagerly.  "You see the
+sheep?" and sure enough, it was a great company of woolly backs, which
+seemed to have taken a mysterious protective resemblance to the ledges
+themselves.  I could discover but little chance for pasturage on that
+high sunburnt ridge, but the sheep were moving steadily in a satisfied
+way as they fed along the slopes and hollows.
+
+"I never have seen half so many sheep as these, all summer long!" I
+cried with admiration.
+
+"There ain't so many," answered William soberly.  "It's a great sight.
+They do so well because they 're shepherded, but you can't beat sense
+into some folks."
+
+"You mean that somebody stays and watches them?" I asked.
+
+"She observed years ago in her readin' that they don't turn out their
+flocks without protection anywhere but in the State o' Maine," returned
+William.  "First thing that put it into her mind was a little old book
+mother's got; she read it one time when she come out to the Island.
+They call it the 'Shepherd o' Salisbury Plain.'  'T was n't the purpose
+o' the book to most, but when she read it, 'There, Mis' Blackett!' she
+said, 'that's where we 've all lacked sense; our Bibles ought to have
+taught us that what sheep need is a shepherd.'  You see most folks
+about here gave up sheep-raisin' years ago 'count o' the dogs.  So she
+gave up school-teachin' and went out to tend her flock, and has
+shepherded ever since, an' done well."
+
+For William, this approached an oration.  He spoke with enthusiasm, and
+I shared the triumph of the moment.  "There she is now!" he exclaimed,
+in a different tone, as the tall figure of a woman came following the
+flock and stood still on the ridge, looking toward us as if her eyes
+had been quick to see a strange object in the familiar emptiness of the
+field.  William stood up in the wagon, and I thought he was going to
+call or wave his hand to her, but he sat down again more clumsily than
+if the wagon had made the familiar motion of a boat, and we drove on
+toward the house.
+
+It was a most solitary place to live,--a place where one might think
+that a life could hide itself.  The thick woods were between the farm
+and the main road, and as one looked up and down the country, there was
+no other house in sight.
+
+"Potatoes look well," announced William.  "The old folks used to say
+that there wa'n't no better land outdoors than the Hight field."
+
+I found myself possessed of a surprising interest in the shepherdess,
+who stood far away in the hill pasture with her great flock, like a
+figure of Millet's, high against the sky.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+Everything about the old farmhouse was clean and orderly, as if the
+green dooryard were not only swept, but dusted.  I saw a flock of
+turkeys stepping off carefully at a distance, but there was not the
+usual untidy flock of hens about the place to make everything look in
+disarray.  William helped me out of the wagon as carefully as if I had
+been his mother, and nodded toward the open door with a reassuring look
+at me; but I waited until he had tied the horse and could lead the way,
+himself.  He took off his hat just as we were going in, and stopped for
+a moment to smooth his thin gray hair with his hand, by which I saw
+that we had an affair of some ceremony.  We entered an old-fashioned
+country kitchen, the floor scrubbed into unevenness, and the doors well
+polished by the touch of hands.  In a large chair facing the window
+there sat a masterful-looking old woman with the features of a warlike
+Roman emperor, emphasized by a bonnet-like black cap with a band of
+green ribbon.  Her sceptre was a palm-leaf fan.
+
+William crossed the room toward her, and bent his head close to her ear.
+
+"Feelin' pretty well to-day, Mis' Hight?" he asked, with all the voice
+his narrow chest could muster.
+
+"No, I ain't, William.  Here I have to set," she answered coldly, but
+she gave an inquiring glance over his shoulder at me.
+
+"This is the young lady who is stopping with Almiry this summer," he
+explained, and I approached as if to give the countersign.  She offered
+her left hand with considerable dignity, but her expression never
+seemed to change for the better.  A moment later she said that she was
+pleased to meet me, and I felt as if the worst were over.  William must
+have felt some apprehension, while I was only ignorant, as we had come
+across the field.  Our hostess was more than disapproving, she was
+forbidding; but I was not long in suspecting that she felt the natural
+resentment of a strong energy that has been defeated by illness and
+made the spoil of captivity.
+
+"Mother well as usual since you was up last year?" and William replied
+by a series of cheerful nods.  The mention of dear Mrs. Blackett was a
+help to any conversation.
+
+"Been fishin', ashore," he explained, in a somewhat conciliatory voice.
+"Thought you'd like a few for winter," which explained at once the
+generous freight we had brought in the back of the wagon.  I could see
+that the offering was no surprise, and that Mrs. Hight was interested.
+
+"Well, I expect they 're good as the last," she said, but did not even
+approach a smile.  She kept a straight, discerning eye upon me.
+
+"Give the lady a cheer," she admonished William, who hastened to place
+close by her side one of the straight-backed chairs that stood against
+the kitchen wall.  Then he lingered for a moment like a timid boy.  I
+could see that he wore a look of resolve, but he did not ask the
+permission for which he evidently waited.
+
+"You can go search for Esther," she said, at the end of a long pause
+that became anxious for both her guests.  "Esther 'd like to see her;"
+and William in his pale nankeens disappeared with one light step and
+was off.
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+"Don't speak too loud, it jars a person's head," directed Mrs. Hight
+plainly.  "Clear an' distinct is what reaches me best.  Any news to the
+Landin'?"
+
+I was happily furnished with the particulars of a sudden death, and an
+engagement of marriage between a Caplin, a seafaring widower home from
+his voyage, and one of the younger Harrises; and now Mrs. Hight really
+smiled and settled herself in her chair.  We exhausted one subject
+completely before we turned to the other.  One of the returning turkeys
+took an unwarrantable liberty, and, mounting the doorstep, came in and
+walked about the kitchen without being observed by its strict owner;
+and the tin dipper slipped off its nail behind us and made an
+astonishing noise, and jar enough to reach Mrs. Hight's inner ear and
+make her turn her head to look at it; but we talked straight on.  We
+came at last to understand each other upon such terms of friendship
+that she unbent her majestic port and complained to me as any poor old
+woman might of the hardships of her illness.  She had already fixed
+various dates upon the sad certainty of the year when she had the
+shock, which had left her perfectly helpless except for a clumsy left
+hand which fanned and gestured, and settled and resettled the folds of
+her dress, but could do no comfortable time-shortening work.
+
+"Yes 'm, you can feel sure I use it what I can," she said severely.
+"'Twas a long spell before I could let Esther go forth in the mornin'
+till she 'd got me up an' dressed me, but now she leaves things ready
+overnight and I get 'em as I want 'em with my light pair o' tongs, and
+I feel very able about helpin' myself to what I once did.  Then when
+Esther returns, all she has to do is to push me out here into the
+kitchen.  Some parts o' the year Esther stays out all night, them
+moonlight nights when the dogs are apt to be after the sheep, but she
+don't use herself as hard as she once had to.  She 's well able to hire
+somebody, Esther is, but there, you can't find no hired man that wants
+to git up before five o'clock nowadays; 't ain't as 't was in my time.
+They 're liable to fall asleep, too, and them moonlight nights she's so
+anxious she can't sleep, and out she goes.  There's a kind of a fold,
+she calls it, up there in a sheltered spot, and she sleeps up in a
+little shed she 's got,--built it herself for lambin' time and when the
+poor foolish creatur's gets hurt or anything.  I 've never seen it, but
+she says it's in a lovely spot and always pleasant in any weather.  You
+see off, other side of the ridge, to the south'ard, where there's
+houses.  I used to think some time I 'd get up to see it again, and all
+them spots she lives in, but I sha'n't now.  I 'm beginnin' to go back;
+an' 't ain't surprisin'.  I 've kind of got used to disappointments,"
+and the poor soul drew a deep sigh.
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+It was long before we noticed the lapse of time; I not only told every
+circumstance known to me of recent events among the households of Mrs.
+Todd's neighborhood at the shore, but Mrs. Hight became more and more
+communicative on her part, and went carefully into the genealogical
+descent and personal experience of many acquaintances, until between us
+we had pretty nearly circumnavigated the globe and reached Dunnet
+Landing from an opposite direction to that in which we had started.  It
+was long before my own interest began to flag; there was a flavor of
+the best sort in her definite and descriptive fashion of speech.  It
+may be only a fancy of my own that in the sound and value of many
+words, with their lengthened vowels and doubled cadences, there is some
+faint survival on the Maine coast of the sound of English speech of
+Chaucer's time.
+
+At last Mrs. Thankful Hight gave a suspicious look through the window.
+
+"Where do you suppose they be?" she asked me.  "Esther must ha' been
+off to the far edge o' everything.  I doubt William ain't been able to
+find her; can't he hear their bells?  His hearin' all right?"
+
+William had heard some herons that morning which were beyond the reach
+of my own ears, and almost beyond eyesight in the upper skies, and I
+told her so.  I was luckily preserved by some unconscious instinct from
+saying that we had seen the shepherdess so near as we crossed the
+field.  Unless she had fled faster than Atalanta, William must have
+been but a few minutes in reaching her immediate neighborhood.  I now
+discovered with a quick leap of amusement and delight in my heart that
+I had fallen upon a serious chapter of romance.  The old woman looked
+suspiciously at me, and I made a dash to cover with a new piece of
+information; but she listened with lofty indifference, and soon
+interrupted my eager statements.
+
+"Ain't William been gone some considerable time?" she demanded, and
+then in a milder tone: "The time has re'lly flown; I do enjoy havin'
+company.  I set here alone a sight o' long days.  Sheep is dreadful
+fools; I expect they heard a strange step, and set right off through
+bush an' brier, spite of all she could do.  But William might have the
+sense to return, 'stead o' searchin' about.  I want to inquire of him
+about his mother.  What was you goin' to say?  I guess you 'll have
+time to relate it."
+
+My powers of entertainment were on the ebb, but I doubled my diligence
+and we went on for another half-hour at least with banners flying, but
+still William did not reappear.  Mrs. Hight frankly began to show
+fatigue.
+
+"Somethin' 's happened, an' he's stopped to help her," groaned the old
+lady, in the middle of what I had found to tell her about a rumor of
+disaffection with the minister of a town I merely knew by name in the
+weekly newspaper to which Mrs. Todd subscribed.  "You step to the door,
+dear, an' look if you can't see 'em."  I promptly stepped, and once
+outside the house I looked anxiously in the direction which William had
+taken.
+
+To my astonishment I saw all the sheep so near that I wonder we had not
+been aware in the house of every bleat and tinkle.  And there, within a
+stone's-throw, on the first long gray ledge that showed above the
+juniper, were William and the shepherdess engaged in pleasant
+conversation.  At first I was provoked and then amused, and a thrill of
+sympathy warmed my whole heart.  They had seen me and risen as if by
+magic; I had a sense of being the messenger of Fate.  One could almost
+hear their sighs of regret as I appeared; they must have passed a
+lovely afternoon.  I hurried into the house with the reassuring news
+that they were not only in sight but perfectly safe, with all the sheep.
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+Mrs. Hight, like myself, was spent with conversation, and had ceased
+even the one activity of fanning herself.  I brought a desired drink of
+water, and happily remembered some fruit that was left from my
+luncheon.  She revived with splendid vigor, and told me the simple
+history of her later years since she had been smitten in the prime of
+her life by the stroke of paralysis, and her husband had died and left
+her alone with Esther and a mortgage on their farm.  There was only one
+field of good land, but they owned a great region of sheep pasture and
+a little woodland.  Esther had always been laughed at for her belief in
+sheep-raising when one by one their neighbors were giving up their
+flocks, and when everything had come to the point of despair she had
+raised all the money and bought all the sheep she could, insisting that
+Maine lambs were as good as any, and that there was a straight path by
+sea to Boston market.  And by tending her flock herself she had managed
+to succeed; she had made money enough to pay off the mortgage five
+years ago, and now what they did not spend was safe in the bank.  "It
+has been stubborn work, day and night, summer and winter, an' now she
+'s beginnin' to get along in years," said the old mother sadly.  "She
+'s tended me 'long o' the sheep, an' she 's been a good girl right
+along, but she ought to have been a teacher;" and Mrs. Hight sighed
+heavily and plied the fan again.
+
+We heard voices, and William and Esther entered; they did not know that
+it was so late in the afternoon.  William looked almost bold, and oddly
+like a happy young man rather than an ancient boy.  As for Esther, she
+might have been Jeanne d'Arc returned to her sheep, touched with age
+and gray with the ashes of a great remembrance.  She wore the simple
+look of sainthood and unfeigned devotion.  My heart was moved by the
+sight of her plain sweet face, weather-worn and gentle in its looks,
+her thin figure in its close dress, and the strong hand that clasped a
+shepherd's staff, and I could only hold William in new reverence; this
+silent farmer-fisherman who knew, and he alone, the noble and patient
+heart that beat within her breast.  I am not sure that they
+acknowledged even to themselves that they had always been lovers; they
+could not consent to anything so definite or pronounced; but they were
+happy in being together in the world.  Esther was untouched by the fret
+and fury of life; she had lived in sunshine and rain among her silly
+sheep, and been refined instead of coarsened, while her touching
+patience with a ramping old mother, stung by the sense of defeat and
+mourning her lost activities, had given back a lovely self-possession,
+and habit of sweet temper.  I had seen enough of old Mrs. Hight to know
+that nothing a sheep might do could vex a person who was used to the
+uncertainties and severities of her companionship.
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+Mrs. Hight told her daughter at once that she had enjoyed a beautiful
+call, and got a great many new things to think of.  This was said so
+frankly in my hearing that it gave a consciousness of high reward, and
+I was indeed recompensed by the grateful look in Esther's eyes.  We did
+not speak much together, but we understood each other.  For the poor
+old woman did not read, and could not sew or knit with her helpless
+hand, and they were far from any neighbors, while her spirit was as
+eager in age as in youth, and expected even more from a disappointing
+world.  She had lived to see the mortgage paid and money in the bank,
+and Esther's success acknowledged on every hand, and there were still a
+few pleasures left in life.  William had his mother, and Esther had
+hers, and they had not seen each other for a year, though Mrs. Hight
+had spoken of a year's making no change in William even at his age.
+She must have been in the far eighties herself, but of a noble courage
+and persistence in the world she ruled from her stiff-backed
+rocking-chair.
+
+William unloaded his gift of dried fish, each one chosen with perfect
+care, and Esther stood by, watching him, and then she walked across the
+field with us beside the wagon.  I believed that I was the only one who
+knew their happy secret, and she blushed a little as we said good-by.
+
+"I hope you ain't goin' to feel too tired, mother's so deaf; no, I hope
+you won't be tired," she said kindly, speaking as if she well knew what
+tiredness was.  We could hear the neglected sheep bleating on the hill
+in the next moment's silence.  Then she smiled at me, a smile of noble
+patience, of uncomprehended sacrifice, which I can never forget.  There
+was all the remembrance of disappointed hopes, the hardships of winter,
+the loneliness of single-handedness in her look, but I understood, and
+I love to remember her worn face and her young blue eyes.
+
+"Good-by, William," she said gently, and William said good-by, and gave
+her a quick glance, but he did not turn to look back, though I did, and
+waved my hand as she was putting up the bars behind us.  Nor did he
+speak again until we had passed through the dark woods and were on our
+way homeward by the main road.  The grave yearly visit had been changed
+from a hope into a happy memory.
+
+"You can see the sea from the top of her pasture hill," said William at
+last.
+
+"Can you?" I asked, with surprise.
+
+"Yes, it's very high land; the ledges up there show very plain in clear
+weather from the top of our island, and there's a high upstandin' tree
+that makes a landmark for the fishin' grounds."  And William gave a
+happy sigh.
+
+When we had nearly reached the Landing, my companion looked over into
+the back of the wagon and saw that the piece of sailcloth was safe,
+with which he had covered the dried fish.  "I wish we had got some
+trout," he said wistfully.  "They always appease Almiry, and make her
+feel 't was worth while to go."
+
+I stole a glance at William Blackett.  We had not seen a solitary
+mosquito, but there was a dark stripe across his mild face, which might
+have been an old scar won long ago in battle.
+
+
+
+
+WHERE'S NORA?
+
+I.
+
+"Where's Nora?"
+
+The speaker was a small, serious-looking old Irishman, one of those
+Patricks who are almost never called Pat.  He was well-dressed and
+formal, and wore an air of dignified authority.
+
+"I don't know meself where's Nora then, so I don't," answered his
+companion.  "The shild would n't stop for a sup o' breakfast before she
+'d go out to see the town, an' nobody 's seen the l'aste smitch of her
+since.  I might sweep the streets wit' a broom and I could n't find
+her."
+
+"Maybe she's strayed beyand and gone losing in the strange place,"
+suggested Mr. Quin, with an anxious glance.  "Did n't none o' the folks
+go wit' her?"
+
+"How would annybody be goin' an' she up an' away before there was a
+foot out o' bed in the house?" answered Mike Duffy impatiently.  "'T
+was herself that caught sight of Nora stealin' out o' the door like a
+thief, an' meself getting me best sleep at the time.  Herself had to
+sit up an' laugh in the bed and be plaguin' me wit' her tarkin'.  'Look
+at Nora!' says she.  'Where's Nora?' says I, wit' a great start.  I
+thought something had happened the poor shild.  'Oh, go to slape, you
+fool!' says Mary Ann.  ''T is only four o'clock,' says she, 'an' that
+grasshopper greenhorn can't wait for broad day till she go out an' see
+the whole of Ameriky.'  So I wint off to sleep again; the first bell
+was biginnin' on the mill, and I had an hour an' a piece, good, to
+meself after that before Mary Ann come scoldin'.  I don't be sleepin'
+so well as some folks the first part of the night."
+
+Mr. Patrick Quin ignored the interest of this autobiographical
+statement, and with a contemptuous shake of the head began to feel in
+his pocket for a pipe.  Every one knew that Mike Duffy was a person
+much too fond of his ease, and that all the credit of their prosperity
+belonged to his hard-worked wife.  She had reared a family of
+respectable sons and daughters, who were all settled and doing well for
+themselves, and now she was helping to bring out some nephews and
+nieces from the old country.  She was proud to have been born a Quin;
+Patrick Quin was her brother and a man of consequence.
+
+"'Deed, I 'd like well to see the poor shild," said Patrick.  "I'd no
+thought they 'd land before the day or to-morrow mornin', or I 'd have
+been over last night.  I suppose she brought all the news from home?"
+
+"The folks is all well, thanks be to God," proclaimed Mr. Duffy
+solemnly.  "'T was late when she come; 't was on the quarter to nine
+she got here.  There 's been great deaths after the winther among the
+old folks.  Old Peter Murphy's gone, she says, an' his brother that
+lived over by Ballycannon died the same week with him, and Dan Donahoe
+an' Corny Donahoe's lost their old aunt on the twelfth of March, that
+gave them her farm to take care of her before I came out.  She was old
+then, too."
+
+"Faix, it was time for the old lady, so it was," said Patrick Quin,
+with affectionate interest.  "She 'd be the oldest in the parish this
+tin years past."
+
+"Nora said 't was a fine funeral; they 'd three priests to her, and
+everything of the best.  Nora was there herself and all our folks.  The
+b'ys was very proud of her for being so old and respicted."
+
+"Sure, Mary was an old woman, and I first coming out," repeated
+Patrick, with feeling.  "I went up to her that Monday night, and I
+sailing on a Wednesday, an' she gave me her blessing and a present of
+five shillings.  She said then she 'd see me no more; 't was poor old
+Mary had the giving hand, God bless her and save her!  I joked her that
+she 'd soon be marrying and coming out to Ameriky like meself.  'No,'
+says she, 'I 'm too old.  I 'll die here where I was born; this old
+farm is me one home o' the world, and I 'll never be afther l'avin' it;
+'t is right enough for you young folks to go,' says she.  I could n't
+get my mouth open to answer her.  'T was meself that was very homesick
+in me inside, coming away from the old place, but I had great boldness
+before every one.  'T was old Mary saw the tears in me eyes then.
+'Don't mind, Patsy,' says she; 'if you don't do well there, come back
+to it an' I 'll be glad to take your folks in till you 'll be afther
+getting started again.'  She had n't the money then she got afterward
+from her cousin in Dublin; 't was the kind heart of her spoke, an'
+meself being but a boy that was young to maintain himself, let alone a
+family.  Thanks be to God, I 've done well, afther all, but for me
+crooked leg.  I does be dr'amin' of going home sometimes; 't is often
+yet I wake up wit' the smell o' the wet bushes in the mornin' when a
+man does be goin' to his work at home."
+
+Mike Duffy looked at his brother-in-law with curiosity; the two men
+were sitting side by side before Mike's house on a bit of green bank
+between the sidewalk and the road.  It was May, and the dandelions were
+blooming all about them, thick in the grass.  Patrick Quin readied out
+and touched one of them with his stick.  He was a lame man, and had
+worked as section hand for the railroad for many years, until the bad
+accident which forced him to retire on one of the company's rarely
+given pensions.  He had prevented a great disaster on the road; those
+who knew him well always said that his position had never been equal to
+his ability, but the men who stood above him and the men who were below
+him held Patrick Quin at exactly the same estimate.  He had limped
+along the road from the clean-looking little yellow house that he owned
+not far away on the river-bank, and his mind was upon his errand.
+
+"I come over early to ask the shild would n't she come home wit' me an'
+ate her dinner," said Patrick.  "Herself sent me; she's got a great
+wash the day, last week being so rainy, an' we niver got word of Nora
+being here till this morning, and then everybody had it that passed by,
+wondering what got us last night that we were n't there."
+
+"'T was on the quarter to nine she come," said Uncle Mike, taking up
+the narrative with importance.  "Herself an' me had blown out the
+light, going to bed, when there come a scuttlin' at the door and I
+heard a bit of a laugh like the first bird in the morning"--
+
+"'Stop where you are, Bridget,' says I," continued Mr. Quin, without
+taking any notice, "'an' I 'll take me third leg and walk over and
+bring Nora down to you.'  Bridget's great for the news from home now,
+for all she was so sharp to be l'aving it."
+
+"She brought me a fine present, and the mate of it for yourself," said
+Mike Duffy.  "Two good thorn sticks for the two of us.  They 're inside
+in the house."
+
+"A thorn stick, indeed!  Did she now?" exclaimed Patrick, with unusual
+delight.  "The poor shild, did she do that now?  I 've thought manny 's
+the time since I got me lameness how well I 'd like one o' those
+old-fashioned thorn sticks.  Me own is one o' them sticks a man 'd
+carry tin years and toss it into a brook at the ind an' not miss it."
+
+"They 're good thorn sticks, the both of them," said Mike complacently.
+"I don't know 'ill I bring 'em out before she comes."
+
+"Is she a pritty slip of a gerrl, I d' know?" asked Patrick, with
+increased interest.
+
+"She ain't, then," answered his companion frankly.  "She does be thin
+as a young grasshopper, and she 's red-headed, and she 's freckled,
+too, from the sea, like all them young things comin' over; but she 's
+got a pritty voice, like all her mother's folks, and a quick eye like a
+bird's.  The old-country talk's fresh in her mouth, too, so it is; you
+'d think you were coming out o' mass some spring morning at home and
+hearing all the girls whin they'd be chatting and funning at the boys.
+I do be thinking she's a smart little girl, annyway; look at her off to
+see the town so early and not back yet, bad manners to her!  She 'll be
+wanting some clothes, I suppose; she's very old-fashioned looking; they
+does always be wanting new clothes, coming out," and Mike gave an
+ostentatious sigh and suggestive glance at his brother-in-law.
+
+"'Deed, I 'm willing to help her get a good start; ain't she me own
+sister's shild?" agreed Patrick Quin cheerfully.  "We 've been young
+ourselves, too.  Well, then, 'tis bad news of old Mary Donahoe bein'
+gone at the farm.  I always thought if I 'd go home how I 'd go along
+the fields to get the great welcome from her.  She was one that always
+liked to hear folks had done well," and he looked down at his
+comfortable, clean old clothes as if they but reminded him how poor a
+young fellow he had come away.  "I 'm very sorry afther Mary; she was a
+good 'oman, God save her!"
+
+"Faix, it was time for her," insisted Mike, not without sympathy.
+"Were you afther wanting her to live forever, the poor soul?  An' the
+shild said she 'd the best funeral was ever in the parish of Dunkenny
+since she remimbered it.  What could anny one ask more than that, and
+she r'aching such an age, the cr'atur'!  Stop here awhile an' you 'll
+hear all the tark from Nora; she told over to me all the folks that was
+there.  Where has she gone wit' herself, I don't know?  Mary Ann!" he
+turned his head toward the house and called in a loud, complaining
+tone; "where's Nora, annyway?"
+
+"Here's Nora, then," a sweet girlish voice made unexpected reply, and a
+light young figure flitted from the sidewalk behind him and stood lower
+down on the green bank.
+
+"What's wanting wit' Nora?" and she stooped quickly like a child to
+pick some of the dandelions as if she had found gold.  She had a sprig
+of wild-cherry blossom in her dress, which she must have found a good
+way out in the country.
+
+"Come now, and speak to Patrick Quin, your mother's own brother, that's
+waiting here for you all this time you 've been running over the
+place," commanded Mr. Duffy, with some severity.
+
+"An' is it me own Uncle Patsy, dear?" exclaimed Nora, with the sweetest
+brogue and most affectionate sincerity.  "Oh, that me mother could see
+him too!" and she dropped on her knees beside the lame little man and
+kissed him, and knelt there looking at him with delight, holding his
+willing hand in both her own.
+
+"An' ain't you got me mother's own looks, too?  Oh, Uncle Patsy, is it
+yourself, dear?  I often heard about you, and I brought you me mother's
+heart's love, 'deed I did then!  It's many a lovely present of a pound
+you 've sent us.  An' I 've got a thorn stick that grew in the hedge,
+goin' up the little rise of ground above the Wishin' Brook, sir; mother
+said you 'd mind the place well when I told you."
+
+"I do then, me shild," said Patrick Quin, with dignity; "'tis manny the
+day we all played there together, for all we 're so scattered now and
+some dead, too, God rest them!  Sure, you 're a nice little gerrl, an'
+I give you great welcome and the hope you 'll do well.  Come along wit'
+me now.  Your Aunty Biddy's jealous to put her two eyes on you, an' we
+never getting the news you 'd come till late this morning.  'I 'll go
+fetch Nora for you,' says I, to contint her.  'They 'll be tarked out
+at Duffy's by this time,' says I."
+
+"Oh, I 'm full o' tark yet!" protested Nora gayly.  "Coom on, then,
+Uncle Patsy!" and she gave him her strong young hand as he rose.
+
+"An' how do you be likin' Ameriky?" asked the pleased old man, as they
+walked along.
+
+"I like Ameriky fine," answered the girl gravely.  She was taller than
+he, though she looked so slender and so young.  "I was very
+downhearted, too, l'avin' home and me mother, but I 'll go back to it
+some day, God willing, sir; I could n't die wit'out seeing me mother
+again.  I 'm all over the place here since daybreak.  I think I 'd like
+work best on the railway," and she turned toward him with a resolved
+and serious look.
+
+"Wisha! there 's no work at all for a girl like you on the Road," said
+Uncle Patsy patiently.  "You 've a bit to learn yet, sure; 't is the
+mill you mane."
+
+"There 'll be plinty work to do.  I always thought at home, when I
+heard the folks tarking, that I 'd get work on the railway when I 'd
+come to Ameriky.  Yis, indeed, sir!" continued Nora earnestly.  "I was
+looking at the mills just now, and I heard the great n'ise from them.
+I 'd never be afther shutting meself up in anny mill out of the good
+air.  I 've no call to go to jail yet in thim mill walls.  Perhaps
+there 'd be somebody working next me that I 'd never get to like, sir."
+
+There was something so convinced and decided about these arguments that
+Uncle Patsy, usually the calm autocrat of his young relatives, had
+nothing whatever to say.  Nora was gently keeping step with his slow
+gait.  She had won his heart once for all when she called him by the
+old boyish name her mother used forty years before, when they played
+together by the Wishing Brook.
+
+"I wonder do you know a b'y named Johnny O'Callahan?" inquired Nora
+presently, in a somewhat confidential tone; "a pritty b'y that's
+working on the railway; I seen him last night and I coming here; he
+ain't a guard at all, but a young fellow that minds the brakes.  We
+stopped a long while out there; somethin' got off the rails, and he
+adwised wit' me, seeing I was a stranger.  He said he knew you, sir."
+
+"Oh, yes, Johnny O'Callahan.  I know him well; he 's a nice b'y, too,"
+answered Patrick Quin approvingly.
+
+"Yis, sir, a pritty b'y," said Nora, and her color brightened for an
+instant, but she said no more.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+Mike Duffy and his wife came into the Quins' kitchen one week-day
+night, dressed in their Sunday clothes; they had been making a visit to
+their well-married daughter in Lawrence.  Patrick Quin's chair was
+comfortably tipped back against the wall, and Bridget, who looked
+somewhat gloomy, was putting away the white supper-dishes.
+
+"Where 's Nora?"  demanded Mike Duffy, after the first salutations.
+
+"You may well say it; I 'm afther missing her every hour in the day,"
+lamented Bridget Quin.
+
+"Nora's gone into business on the Road then, so she has," said Patrick,
+with an air of fond pride.  He was smoking, and in his shirt-sleeves;
+his coat lay on the wooden settee at the other side of the room.
+
+"Hand me me old coat there before you sit down; I want me pocket," he
+commanded, and Mike obeyed.  Mary Ann, fresh from her journey, began at
+once to give a spirited account of her daughter's best room and general
+equipment for housekeeping, but she suddenly became aware that the tale
+was of secondary interest.  When the narrator stopped for breath there
+was a polite murmur of admiration, but her husband boldly repeated his
+question.  "Where's Nora?" he insisted, and the Quins looked at each
+other and laughed.
+
+"Ourselves is old hins that's hatched ducks," confessed Patrick.
+"Ain't I afther telling you she's gone into trade on the Road?" and he
+took his pipe from his mouth,--that after-supper  pipe which neither
+prosperity nor adversity was apt to interrupt.  "She 's set up for
+herself over-right the long switch, down there at Birch Plains.  Nora
+'ll soon be rich, the cr'atur'; her mind was on it from the first
+start; 't was from one o' them O'Callahan b'ys she got the notion, the
+night she come here first a greenhorn."
+
+"Well, well, she's lost no time; ain't she got the invintion!" chuckled
+Mr. Michael Duffy, who delighted in the activity of others.  "What
+excuse had she for Birch Plains?  There's no town to it."
+
+"'T was a chance on the Road she mint to have from the first,"
+explained the proud uncle, forgetting his pipe altogether; "'twas that
+she told me the first day she came out, an' she walking along going
+home wit' me to her dinner; 't was the first speech I had wit' Nora.
+''T is the mills you mane?' says I.  'No, no, Uncle Patsy!' says she,
+'it ain't the mills at all, at all; 't is on the Road I 'm going.'  I
+t'ought she 'd some wild notion she 'd soon be laughing at, but she
+settled down very quiet-like with Aunty Biddy here, knowing yourselves
+to be going to Lawrence, and I told her stay as long as she had a mind.
+Wisha, she 'd an old apron on her in five minutes' time, an' took hold
+wit' the wash, and wint singing like a blackbird out in the yard at the
+line.  'Sit down, Aunty!' says she; 'you 're not so light-stepping as
+me, an' I 'll tell you all the news from home; an' I 'll get the
+dinner, too, when I 've done this,' says she.  Wisha, but she's the
+good cook for such a young thing; 't is Bridget says it as well as
+meself.  She made a stew that day; 't was like the ones her mother made
+Sundays, she said, if they 'd be lucky in getting a piece of meat; 't
+was a fine-tasting stew, too; she thinks we 're all rich over here.
+'So we are, me dear!' says I, 'but every one don't have the sinse to
+believe it.'"
+
+"Spake for yourselves!" exclaimed one of the listeners.  "You do be
+like Father Ross, always pr'achin' that we 'd best want less than want
+more.  He takes honest folks for fools, poor man," said Mary Ann Duffy,
+who had no patience at any time with new ideas.
+
+"An' so she wint on the next two or free days," said Patrick
+approvingly, without noticing the interruption, "being as quiet as you
+'d ask, and being said by her aunt in everything; and she would n't let
+on she was homesick, but she 'd no tark of anything but the folks at
+Dunkinny.  When there 'd be nothing to do for an hour she 'd slip out
+and be gone wit' herself for a little while, and be very still comin'
+in.  Last Thursday, after supper, she ran out; but by the time I 'd
+done me pipe, back she came flying in at the door.
+
+"'I 'm going off to a place called Birch Plains to-morrow morning, on
+the nine, Uncle Patsy,' says she; 'do you know where it is?' says she.
+'I do,' says I; ''t was not far from it I broke me leg wit' the dam'
+derrick.  'T was to Jerry Ryan's house they took me first.  There's no
+town there at all; 't is the only house in it; Ryan 's the switchman.'
+
+"'Would they take me to lodge for a while, I d' know?' says she, havin'
+great business.  'What 'd ye be afther in a place like that?' says I.
+'Ryan 's got girls himself, an' they 're all here in the mills, goin'
+home Saturday nights, 'less there's some show or some dance.  There's
+no money out there.'  She laughed then an' wint back to the door, and
+in come Mickey Dunn from McLoughlin's store, lugging the size of
+himself of bundles.  'What's all this?' says I; ''t ain't here they
+belong; I bought nothing to-day.'  'Don't be scolding!' says she, and
+Mickey got out of it laughing.  'I 'm going to be cooking for meself in
+the morning!' says she, with her head on one side, like a cock-sparrow.
+'You lind me the price o' the fire and I'll pay you in cakes,' says
+she, and off she wint then to bed.  'T was before day I heard her at
+the stove, and I smelt a baking that made me want to go find it, and
+when I come out in the kitchen she 'd the table covered with her
+cakeens, large and small.  'What's all this whillalu, me topknot-hin?'
+says I.  'Ate that,' says she, and hopped back to the oven-door.  Her
+aunt come out then, scolding fine, and whin she saw the great baking
+she dropped down in a chair like she'd faint and her breath all gone.
+'We 'ont ate them in ten days,' says she; 'no, not till the blue mould
+has struck them all, God help us!' says she.  'Don't bother me,' says
+Nora; 'I 'm goin' off with them all on the nine.  Uncle Patsy 'll help
+me wit' me basket.'
+
+"'Uncle Patsy 'ont now,' says Bridget.  Faix, I thought she was up with
+one o' them t'ree days' scolds she 'd have when she was young and the
+childre' all the one size.  You could hear the bawls of her a mile away.
+
+"'Whishper, dear,' says Nora; 'I don't want to be livin' on anny of me
+folks, and Johnny O'Callahan said all the b'ys was wishing there was
+somebody would kape a clane little place out there at Birch
+Plains,--with something to ate and the like of a cup of tay.  He says
+'tis a good little chance; them big trains does all be waiting there
+tin minutes and fifteen minutes at a time, and everybody's hungry.  "I
+'ll thry me luck for a couple o' days," says I; "'tis no harm, an' I've
+tin shillings o' me own that Father Daley gave me wit' a grand blessing
+and I l'aving home behind me."'"
+
+"'What tark you have of Johnny O'Callahan,' says I.
+
+"Look at this now!" continued the proud uncle, while Aunt Biddy sat
+triumphantly watching the astonished audience; "'t is a letter I got
+from the shild last Friday night," and he brought up a small piece of
+paper from his coat-pocket.  "She writes a good hand, too.  'Dear Uncle
+Patsy,' says she, 'this leaves me well, thanks be to God.  I 'm doing
+the roaring trade with me cakes; all Ryan's little boys is selling on
+the trains.  I took one pound three the first day: 't was a great
+excursion train got stuck fast and they 'd a hot box on a wheel keeping
+them an hour and two more trains stopping for them; 't would be a very
+pleasant day in the old country that anybody 'd take a pound and three
+shillings.  Dear Uncle Patsy, I want a whole half-barrel of that same
+flour and ten pounds of sugar, and I 'll pay it back on Sunday.  I sind
+respects and duty to Aunty Bridget and all friends; this l'aves me in
+great haste.  I wrote me dear mother last night and sint her me first
+pound, God bless her.'"
+
+"Look at that for you now!" exclaimed Mike Duffy.  "Did n't I tell
+every one here she was fine an' smart?"
+
+"She 'll be soon Prisident of the Road," announced Aunt Mary Ann, who,
+having been energetic herself, was pleased to recognize the same
+quality in others.
+
+"She don't be so afraid of the worruk as the worruk's afraid of her,"
+said Aunt Bridget admiringly.  "She 'll have her fling for a while and
+be glad to go in and get a good chance in the mill, and be kaping her
+plants in the weave-room windows this winter with the rest of the
+girls.  Come, tell us all about Elleneen and the baby.  I ain't heard a
+word about Lawrence yet," she added politely.
+
+"Ellen's doing fine, an' it's a pritty baby.  She's got a good husband,
+too, that l'aves her her own way and the keep of his money every
+Saturday night," said Mary Ann; and the little company proceeded to the
+discussion of a new and hardly less interesting subject.  But before
+they parted, they spoke again of Nora.
+
+"She's a fine, crabbed little gerrl, that little Nora," said Mr.
+Michael Duffy.
+
+"Thank God, none o' me childre' is red-headed on me; they're no more to
+be let an' held than a flick o' fire," said Aunt Mary Ann.  "Who 'd
+ever take the notion to be setting up business out there on the Birchy
+Plains?"
+
+"Ryan's folks 'll look after her, sure, the same as ourselves,"
+insisted Uncle Patsy hopefully, as he lighted his pipe again.  It was
+like a summer night; the kitchen windows were all open, the month of
+May was nearly at an end, and there was a sober croaking of frogs in
+the low fields that lay beyond the village.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+"Where's Nora?"  Young Johnny O'Callahan was asking the question; the
+express had stopped for water, and he seemed to be the only passenger;
+this was his day off.
+
+Mrs. Ryan was sitting on her doorstep to rest in the early evening; her
+husband had been promoted from switch-tender to boss of the great
+water-tank which was just beginning to be used, and there was talk of
+further improvements and promotions at Birch Plains; but the
+good-natured wife sensibly declared that the better off a woman was,
+the harder she always had to work.
+
+She took a long look at Johnny, who was dressed even more carefully
+than if it were a pleasant Sunday.
+
+"This don't be your train, annyway," she answered, in a meditative
+tone.  "How come you here now all so fine, I 'd like to know, riding in
+the cars like a lord; ain't you brakeman yet on old twinty-four?"
+
+"'Deed I am, Mrs. Ryan; you would n't be afther grudging a boy his day
+off?  Where's Nora?"
+
+"She's gone up the road a bitteen," said Mrs. Ryan, as if she suddenly
+turned to practical affairs.  "She 's worked hard the day, poor shild!
+and she took the cool of the evening, and the last bun she had left,
+and wint away with herself.  I kep' the taypot on the stove for her,
+but she 'd have none at all, at all!"
+
+The young man turned away, and Mrs. Ryan looked after him with an
+indulgent smile.  "He's a pritty b'y," she said.  "I 'd like well if he
+'d give a look at one o' me own gerrls; Julia, now, would look well
+walking with him, she 's so dark.  He's got money saved.  I saw the
+first day he come after the cakeens 't was the one that baked them was
+in his mind.  She's lucky, is Nora; well, I'm glad of it."
+
+It was fast growing dark, and Johnny's eyes were still dazzled by the
+bright lights of the train as he stepped briskly along the narrow
+country road.  The more he had seen Nora and the better he liked her,
+the less she would have to say to him, and tonight he meant to find her
+and have a talk.  He had only succeeded in getting half a dozen words
+at a time since the night of their first meeting on the slow train,
+when she had gladly recognized the peculiar brogue of her own
+country-side, as Johnny called the names of the stations, and Johnny's
+quick eyes had seen the tired-looking, uncertain, yet cheerful little
+greenhorn in the corner of the car, and asked if she were not the niece
+that was coming out to Mrs. Duffy.  He had watched the growth of her
+business with delight, and heard praises of the cakes and buns with
+willing ears; was it not his own suggestion that had laid the
+foundation of Nora's prosperity?  Since their first meeting they had
+always greeted each other like old friends, but Nora grew more and more
+willing to talk with any of her breathless customers who hurried up the
+steep bank from the trains than with him.  She would never take any pay
+for her wares from him, and for a week he had stopped coming himself
+and sent by a friend his money for the cakes; but one day poor Johnny's
+heart could not resist the temptation of going with the rest, and Nora
+had given him a happy look, straightforward and significant.  There was
+no time for a word, but she picked out a crusty bun, and he took it and
+ran back without offering to pay.  It was the best bun that a man ever
+ate.  Nora was two months out now, and he had never walked with her an
+evening yet.
+
+The shadows were thick under a long row of willows; there was a new
+moon, and a faint glow in the west still lit the sky.  Johnny walked on
+the grassy roadside with his ears keen to hear the noise of a betraying
+pebble under Nora's light foot.  Presently his heart beat loud and all
+out of time as a young voice began to sing a little way beyond.
+
+Nora was walking slowly away, but Johnny stopped still to listen.  She
+was singing "A Blacksmith Courted Me," one of the quaintest and
+sweetest of the old-country songs, as she strolled along in the
+soft-aired summer night.  By the time she came to "My love 's gone
+along the fields," Johnny hurried on to overtake her; he could hear the
+other verses some other time,--the bird was even sweeter than the voice.
+
+Nora was startled for a moment, and stopped singing, as if she were
+truly a bird in a bush, but she did not flutter away.  "Is it yourself,
+Mister Johnny?" she asked soberly, as if the frank affection of the
+song had not been assumed.
+
+"It's meself," answered Johnny, with equal discretion.  "I come out for
+a mout'ful of air; it's very hot inside in the town.  Days off are well
+enough in winter, but in summer you get a fine air on the train.  'T
+was well we both took the same direction.  How is the business?  All
+the b'ys are saying they'd be lost without it; sure there ain't a
+stomach of them but wants its bun, and they cried the length of the
+Road that day the thunder spoiled the baking."
+
+"Take this," said Nora, as if she spoke to a child; "there's a fine
+crust of sugar on the top.  'T is one I brought out for me little
+supper, but I 'm so pleased wit' bein' rich that I 've no need at all
+for 'ating.  An' I 'm as tired as I 'm rich," she added, with a sigh;
+"'t is few can say the same in this lazy land."
+
+"Sure, let's ate it together; 'tis a big little cakeen," urged Johnny,
+breaking the bun and anxiously offering Nora the larger piece.  "I can
+like the taste of anything better by halves, if I 've got company.  You
+ought to have a good supper of tay and a piece of steak and some
+potaties rather than this!  Don't be giving yourself nothing but the
+saved cakes, an' you working so hard!"
+
+"'T is plenty days I 'd a poorer supper when I was at home," said Nora
+sadly; "me father dying so young, and all of us begging at me mother's
+skirts.  It's all me thought how will I get rich and give me mother all
+the fine things that's in the world.  I wish I 'd come over sooner, but
+it broke my heart whinever I 'd think of being out of sight of her
+face.  She looks old now, me mother does."
+
+Nora may have been touched by Johnny's affectionate interest in her
+supper; she forgot all her shyness and drew nearer to him as they
+walked along, and he drew a little closer to her.
+
+"My mother is dead these two years," he said simply.  "It makes a man
+be very lonesome when his mother 's dead.  I board with my sister
+that's married; I 'm not much there at all.  I do be thinking I 'd like
+a house of my own.  I 've plinty saved for it."
+
+"I said in the first of coming out that I 'd go home again when I had
+fifty pounds," said Nora hastily, and taking the other side of the
+narrow road.  "I 've got a piece of it already, and I 've sent back
+more beside.  I thought I 'd be gone two years, but some days I think I
+won't be so long as that."
+
+"Why don't you be afther getting your mother out?  'T is so warm in the
+winter in a good house, and no dampness like there does be at home; and
+her brother and her sister both being here."  There was deep anxiety in
+Johnny's voice.
+
+"Oh, I don't know indeed!" said Nora.  "She's very wake-hearted, is me
+mother; she 'd die coming away from the old place and going to sea.
+No, I 'm going to work meself and go home; I 'll have presents, too,
+for everybody along the road, and the children 'll be running and
+skrieghing afther me, and they 'll all get sweeties from me.  'T is a
+very poor neighborhood where we live, but a lovely sight of the say.
+It ain't often annybody comes home to it, but 't will be a great day
+then, and the poor old folks 'll all be calling afther me: 'Where's
+Nora?'  'Show me Nora!'  'Nora, sure, what have you got for me?'  I
+'ont forget one of them aither, God helping me!" said Nora, in a
+passion of tenderness and pity.  "And, oh, Johnny, then afther that I
+'ll see me mother in the door!"
+
+Johnny was so close at her side that she slipped her hand into his, and
+neither of them stopped to think about so sweet and natural a pleasure.
+"I 'd like well to help you, me darlin'," said Johnny.
+
+"Sure, an' was n't it yourself gave me all me good fortune?" exclaimed
+Nora.  "I 'd be hard-hearted an' I forgot that so soon and you a Kerry
+boy, and me mother often spaking of your mother's folks before ever I
+thought of coming out!"
+
+"Sure and would n't you spake the good word to your mother about me
+sometime, dear?" pleaded Johnny, openly taking the part of lover.
+Nora's hand was still in his; they were walking slowly in the summer
+night.  "I loved you the first word I heard out of your mouth,--'twas
+like a thrush from home singing to me there in the train.  I said when
+I got home that night, I 'd think of no other girl till the day I died."
+
+"Oh!" said Nora, frightened with the change of his voice.  "Oh, Johnny,
+'t is too soon.  We never walked out this way before; you 'll have to
+wait for me; perhaps you 'd soon be tired of poor Nora, and the likes
+of one that's all for saving and going home!  You 'll marry a prittier
+girl than me some day," she faltered, and let go his hand.
+
+"Indeed, I won't, then," insisted Johnny O'Callahan stoutly.
+
+"Will you let me go home to see me mother?" said Nora soberly.  "I 'm
+afther being very homesick, 't is the truth for me.  I 'd lose all me
+courage if it wa'n't for the hope of that."
+
+"I will, indeed," said Johnny honestly.
+
+Nora put out her hand again, of her own accord.  "I 'll not say no,
+then," she whispered in the dark.  "I can't work long unless I do be
+happy, and--well, leave me free till the month's end, and maybe then I
+'ll say yes.  Stop, stop!" she let go Johnny's hand, and hurried along
+by herself in the road, Johnny, in a transport of happiness, walking
+very fast to keep up.  She reached a knoll where he could see her
+slender shape against the dim western sky.  "Wait till I tell you;
+_whisper_!" said Nora eagerly.  "You know there were some of the
+managers of the road, the superintendents and all those big ones, came
+to Birch Plains yesterday?"
+
+"I did be hearing something," said Johnny, wondering.
+
+"There was a quiet-spoken, nice old gentleman came asking me at the
+door for something to eat, and I being there baking; 't is my time in
+the morning whin the early trains does be gone, and I 've a fine
+stretch till the expresses are beginnin' to screech,--the tin, and the
+tin-thirty-two, and the Flying Aigle.  I was in a great hurry with word
+of an excursion coming in the afternoon and me stock very low; I 'd
+been baking since four o'clock.  He 'd no coat on him, 't was very
+warm; and I thought 't was some tramp.  Lucky for me I looked again and
+I said, 'What are you wanting, sir?' and then I saw he 'd a beautiful
+shirt on him, and was very quiet and pleasant.
+
+"'I came away wit'out me breakfast,' says he.  'Can you give me
+something without too much throuble?' says he.  'Do you have anny of
+those buns there that I hear the men talking about?'
+
+"'There's buns there, sir,' says I, 'and I 'll make you a cup of tay or
+a cup of coffee as quick as I can,' says I, being pleased at the b'ys
+giving me buns a good name to the likes of him.  He was very hungry,
+too, poor man, an' I ran to Mrs. Ryan to see if she 'd a piece of
+beefsteak, and my luck ran before me.  He sat down in me little place
+and enjoyed himself well.
+
+"'I had no such breakfast in tin years, me dear,' said he at the last,
+very quiet and thankful; and he l'aned back in the chair to rest him,
+and I cleared away, being in the great hurry, and he asking me how I
+come there, and I tolt him, and how long I 'd been out, and I said it
+was two months and a piece, and she being always in me heart, I spoke
+of me mother, and all me great hopes.
+
+"Then he sat and thought as if his mind wint to his own business, and I
+wint on wit' me baking.  Says he to me after a while, 'We 're going to
+build a branch road across country to connect with the great
+mountain-roads,' says he; 'the junction 's going to be right here; 't
+will give you a big market for your buns.  There 'll be a lunch-counter
+in the new station; do you think you could run it?' says he, spaking
+very sober.
+
+"'I 'd do my best, sir, annyway,' says I.  'I 'd look out for the best
+of help.  Do you know Patrick Quin, sir, that was hurt on the Road and
+gets a pinsion, sir?'
+
+"'I do,' says he.  'One of the best men that ever worked for this
+company,' says he.
+
+"'He 's me mother's own brother, then, an' he 'll stand by me,' says I;
+and he asked me me name and wrote it down in a book he got out of the
+pocket of him.  'You shall have the place if you want it,' says he; 'I
+won't forget,' and off he wint as quiet as he came."
+
+"Tell me who was it?" said Johnny O'Callahan, listening eagerly.
+
+"Mr. Ryan come tumbling in the next minute, spattered with water from
+the tank.  'Well, then,' says he, 'is your fine company gone?'
+
+"'He is,' says I.  'I don't know is it some superintendent?  He 's a
+nice man, Mr. Ryan, whoiver he is,' says I.
+
+"''T is the Gineral Manager of the Road,' says he; 'that's who he is,
+sure!'
+
+"My apron was all flour, and I was in a great rage wit' so much to do,
+but I did the best I could for him.  I 'd do the same for anny one so
+hungry," concluded Nora modestly.
+
+"Ain't you got the Queen's luck!" exclaimed Johnny admiringly.  "Your
+fortune 's made, me dear.  I 'll have to come off the road to help you."
+
+"Oh, two good trades 'll be better than one!" answered Nora gayly, "and
+the big station nor the branch road are n't building yet."
+
+"What a fine little head you 've got," said Johnny, as they reached the
+house where the Ryans lived, and the train was whistling that he meant
+to take back to town.  "Good-night, annyway, Nora; nobody 'd know from
+the size of your head there could be so much inside in it!"
+
+"I'm lucky, too," announced Nora serenely.  "No, I won't give you me
+word till the ind of the month.  You may be seeing another gerrl before
+that, and calling me the red-headed sparrow.  No, I 'll wait a good
+while, and see if the two of us can't do better.  Come, run away,
+Johnny.  I 'll drop asleep in the road; I 'm up since four o'clock
+making me cakes for plinty b'ys like you."
+
+The Ryans were all abed and asleep, but there was a lamp burning in the
+kitchen.  Nora blew it out as she stole into her hot little room.  She
+had waited, talking eagerly with Johnny, until they saw the headlight
+of the express like a star, far down the long line of double track.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+The summer was not ended before all the railroad men knew about Johnny
+O'Callahan's wedding and all his good fortune.  They boarded at the
+Ryans' at first, but late in the evenings Johnny and his wife were at
+work, building as if they were birds.  First, there was a shed with a
+broad counter for the cakes, and a table or two, and the boys did not
+fail to notice that Nora had a good sisterly work-basket ready, and was
+quick to see that a useful button was off or a stitch needed.  The next
+fortnight saw a room added to this, where Nora had her own stove, and
+cooking went on steadily.  Then there was another room with white
+muslin curtains at the windows, and scarlet-runner beans made haste to
+twine themselves to a line of strings for shade.  Johnny would unload a
+few feet of clean pine boards from the freight train, and within a day
+or two they seemed to be turned into a wing of the small castle by some
+easy magic.  The boys used to lay wagers and keep watch, and there was
+a cheer out of the engine-cab and all along the platforms one day when
+a tidy sty first appeared and a neat pig poked his nose through the
+fence of it.  The buns and biscuits grew famous; customers sent for
+them from the towns up and down the long railroad line, and the story
+of thrifty, kind-hearted little Nora and her steady young husband was
+known to a surprising number of persons.  When the branch road was
+begun, Nora and Johnny took a few of their particular friends to board,
+and business was further increased.  On Sunday they always went into
+town to mass and visited their uncles and aunts and Johnny's sister.
+Nora never said that she was tired, and almost never was cross.  She
+counted her money every Saturday night, and took it to Uncle Patsy to
+put into the bank.  She had long talks about her mother with Uncle
+Patsy, and he always wrote home for her when she had no time.  Many a
+pound went across the sea in the letters, and so another summer came;
+and one morning when Johnny's train stopped, Nora stood at the door of
+the little house and held a baby in her arms for all the boys to see.
+She was white as a ghost and as happy as a queen.  "I 'll be making the
+buns again pretty soon," she cried cheerfully.  "Have courage, boys; 't
+won't be long first; this one 'll be selling them for me on the Flying
+Aigle, don't you forget it!"  And there was a great ringing of the
+engine-bell a moment after, when the train started.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+It was many and many a long month after this that an old man and a
+young woman and a baby were journeying in a side-car along one of the
+smooth Irish roads into County Kerry.  They had left the railroad an
+hour before; they had landed early that morning at the Cove of Cork.
+The side-car was laden deep with bundles and boxes, but the old horse
+trotted briskly along until the gossoon who was driving turned into a
+cart-track that led through a furzy piece of wild pasture-ground up
+toward the dark rain-clouded hills.
+
+"See, over there's Kinmare!" said the old man, looking back.  "Manny 's
+the day I 've trudged it and home again.  Oh, I know all this country;
+I knew it well whin ayther of you wa'n't born!"
+
+"God be thanked, you did, sir!" responded the gossoon, with fervent
+admiration.  He was a pleasant-looking lad in a ragged old coat and an
+absolutely roofless hat, through which his bright hair waved in the
+summer wind.  "Och, but the folks 'll be looking out of all the doors
+to see you come.  I 'll be afther saying I never drove anny party with
+so rich a heart; there ain't a poor soul that asked a pinny of us since
+we left Bantry but she's got the shillin'.  Look a' the flock coming
+now, sir, out of that house.  There's the four-legged lady that pays
+the rint watchin' afther them from the door, too.  They think you 're a
+gintleman that's shootin', I suppose.  'T is Tom Flaherty's house, poor
+crathur; he died last winter, God rest him; 'twas very inconvanient for
+him an' every one at the time, wit' snow on the ground and a great dale
+of sickness and distress.  Father Daley, poor man, had to go to the
+hospital in Dublin wit' himself to get a leg cut off, and we 'd nothing
+but rain out of the sky afther that till all the stones in the road was
+floatin' to the top."
+
+"Son of old John Flaherty, I suppose?" asked the traveler, with a
+knowing air, after he had given the eager children some pennies and
+gingerbread, out of a great package.  One of the older girls knew Nora
+and climbed to the spare seat at her side to join the company.  "Son of
+old John Flaherty, I suppose, that was there before?  There was
+Flahertys there and I l'aving home more than thirty-five years ago."
+
+"Sure there 's plinty Flahertys in it now, glory be to God!" answered
+the charioteer, with enthusiasm.  "I 'd have no mother meself but for
+the Flahertys."  He leaped down to lead the stumbling horse past a deep
+rut and some loose stones, and beckoned the little girl sternly from
+her proud seat.  "Run home, now!" he said, as she obeyed: "I 'll give
+you a fine drive an' I coming down the hill;" but she had joined the
+travelers with full intent, and trotted gayly alongside like a little
+dog.
+
+The old passenger whispered to his companion that they 'd best double
+the gossoon's money, or warm it with two, or three shillings extra, at
+least, and Nora nodded her prompt approval.  "The old folks are all
+getting away; we 'd best give a bitteen to the young ones they 've left
+afther them," said Uncle Patsy, by way of excuse.  "Och, there's more
+beggars between here and Queenstown than you 'd find in the whole of
+Ameriky."
+
+It seemed to Nora as if her purseful of money were warm against her
+breast, like another heart; the sixpences in her pocket all felt warm
+to her fingers and hopped by themselves into the pleading hands that
+were stretched out all along the way.  The sweet clamor of the Irish
+voices, the ready blessings, the frank requests to those returning from
+America with their fortunes made, were all delightful to her ears.  How
+she had dreamed of this day, and how the sun and shadows were chasing
+each other over these upland fields at last!  How close the blue sea
+looked to the dark hills!  It seemed as if the return of one prosperous
+child gave joy to the whole landscape.  It was the old country the same
+as ever,--old Mother Ireland in her green gown, and the warm heart of
+her ready and unforgetting.  As for Nora, she could only leave a wake
+of silver six-pences behind her, and when these were done, a duller
+trail of ha'pennies; and the air was full of blessings as she passed
+along the road to Dunkenny.
+
+
+By this time Nora had stopped talking and laughing.  At first everybody
+on the road seemed like her near relation, but the last minutes seemed
+like hours, and now and then a tear went shining down her cheek.  The
+old man's lips were moving,--he was saying a prayer without knowing it;
+they were almost within sight of home.  The poor little white houses,
+with their high gable-ends and weather-beaten thatch, that stood about
+the fields among the green hedges; the light shower that suddenly fell
+out of the clear sky overhead, made an old man's heart tremble in his
+breast.  Round the next slope of the hill they should see the old place.
+
+The wheel-track stopped where you turned off to go to the Donahoe farm,
+but no old Mary was there to give friendly welcome.  The old man got
+stiffly down from the side-car and limped past the gate with a sigh;
+but Nora hurried ahead, carrying the big baby, not because he could n't
+walk, but because he could.  The young son had inherited his mother's
+active disposition, and would run straight away like a spider the
+minute his feet were set to the ground.  Now and then, at the sight of
+a bird or a flower in the grass, he struggled to get down.  "Whisht,
+now!" Nora would say; "and are n't you going to see Granny indeed?
+Keep aisy now, darlin'!"
+
+The old heart and the young heart were beating alike as these exiles
+followed the narrow footpath round the shoulder of the great hill; they
+could hear the lambs bleat and the tinkling of the sheep-bells that
+sweet May morning.  From the lower hillside came the sound of voices.
+The neighbors had seen them pass, and were calling to each other across
+the fields.  Oh, it was home, home! the sight of it, and the smell of
+the salt air and the flowers in the bog, the look of the early white
+mushrooms in the sod, and the song of the larks overhead and the
+blackbirds in the hedges!  Poor Ireland was gay-hearted in the spring
+weather, and Nora was there at last.  "Oh, thank God, we 're safe
+home!" she said again.  "Look, here's the Wishing Brook; d' ye mind
+it?" she called back to the old man.
+
+"I mind everything the day, no fear for me," said Patrick Quin.
+
+The great hillside before them sloped up to meet the blue sky, the
+golden gorse spread its splendid tapestry against the green pasture.
+There was the tiny house, the one house in Ireland for Nora; its very
+windows watched her coming.  A whiff of turf-smoke flickered above the
+chimney, the white walls were as white as the clouds above; there was a
+figure moving about inside the house, and a bent little woman in her
+white frilled cap and a small red shawl pinned about her shoulders came
+and stood in the door.
+
+"Oh, me mother, me mother!" cried Nora; then she dropped the baby in
+the soft grass, and flew like a pigeon up the hill and into her
+mother's arms.
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+The gossoon was equal to emergencies; he put down his heavier burden of
+goods and picked up the baby, lest it might run back to America.  "God
+be praised, what's this coming afther ye?" exclaimed the mother, while
+Nora, weeping for joy, ran past her into the house.  "Oh, God bless the
+shild that I thought I 'd never see.  Oh!" and she looked again at the
+stranger, the breathless old man with the thorn stick, whom everybody
+had left behind.  "'T is me brother Patsy!  Oh, me heart's broke wit'
+joy!" and she fell on her knees among the daisies.
+
+"It's meself, then!" said Mr. Patrick Quin.  "How are ye the day, Mary?
+I always t'ought I 'd see home again, but 't was Nora enticed me now.
+Johnny O'Callahan's a good son to ye; he 'd liked well to come with us,
+but he gets short l'ave on the Road, and he has a fine, steady job; he
+'ll see after the business, too, while we 're gone; no, I could n't let
+the two childer cross the say alone.  Coom now, don't be sayin' anny
+more prayers; sure, we 'll be sayin' them together in the old church
+coom Sunday.
+
+"There, don't cry, Mary, don't cry, now!  Coom in in the house!  Sure,
+all the folks sint their remimbrance, and hoped you 'd come back with
+us and stay a long while.  That's our intintion, too, for you,"
+continued Patrick, none the less tearful himself because he was so full
+of fine importance; but nobody could stop to listen after the first
+moment, and the brother and sister were both crying faster than they
+could talk.  A minute later the spirit of the hostess rose to her great
+occasion.
+
+"Go, chase those white hins," Nora's mother commanded the gossoon, who
+had started back to bring up more of the rich-looking bundles from the
+side-car.  "Run them up-hill now, or they 'll fly down to Kinmare.  Go
+now, while I stir up me fire and make a cup o' tay.  'T is the laste I
+can do whin me folks is afther coming so far!"
+
+"God save all here!" said Uncle Patsy devoutly, as he stepped into the
+house.  There sat little Nora with the tired baby in her arms; to tell
+the truth, she was crying now for lack of Johnny.  She looked pale, but
+her eyes were shining, and a ray of sunlight fell through the door and
+brightened her red hair.  She looked quite beautiful and radiant as she
+sat there.
+
+"Well, Nora, ye 're here, ain't you?" said the old man.
+
+"Only this morning," said the mother, "whin I opened me eyes I says to
+meself: 'Where's Nora?' says I; 'she do be so long wit'out writing home
+to me;' look at her now by me own fire!  Wisha, but what's all this
+whillalu and stramach down by the brook?  Oh, see now! the folks have
+got word; all the folks is here!  Coom out to them, Nora; give me the
+shild; coom out, Patsy boy!"
+
+"Where 's Nora?  Where 's Nora?" they could hear the loud cry coming,
+as all the neighbors hurried up the hill.
+
+
+
+
+BOLD WORDS AT THE BRIDGE.
+
+I.
+
+"'Well, now,' says I, 'Mrs. Con'ly,' says I, 'how ever you may tark,
+'tis nobody's business and I wanting to plant a few pumpkins for me cow
+in among me cabbages.  I 've got the right to plant whatever I may
+choose, if it's the divil of a crop of t'istles in the middle of me
+ground.'  'No ma'am, you ain't,' says Biddy Con'ly; 'you ain't got anny
+right to plant t'istles that's not for the public good,' says she; and
+I being so hasty wit' me timper, I shuk me fist in her face then, and
+herself shuk her fist at me.  Just then Father Brady come by, as luck
+ardered, an' recomminded us would we keep the peace.  He knew well I 'd
+had my provocation; 't was to herself he spoke first.  You'd think she
+owned the whole corporation.  I wished I 'd t'rown her over into the
+wather, so I did, before he come by at all.  'T was on the bridge the
+two of us were.  I was stepping home by meself very quiet in the
+afthernoon to put me tay-kittle on for supper, and herself overtook
+me,--ain't she the bold thing!
+
+"'How are you the day, Mrs. Dunl'avy?' says she, so mincin' an'
+preenin', and I knew well she 'd put her mind on having words wit' me
+from that minute.  I 'm one that likes to have peace in the
+neighborhood, if it wa'n't for the likes of her, that makes the top of
+me head lift and clat' wit' rage like a pot-lid!"
+
+"What was the matter with the two of you?" asked a listener, with
+simple interest.
+
+"Faix indeed, 't was herself had a thrifle of melons planted the other
+side of the fince," acknowledged Mrs. Dunleavy.  "She said the pumpkins
+would be the ruin of them intirely.  I says, and 'twas thrue for me,
+that I 'd me pumpkins planted the week before she'd dropped anny old
+melon seed into the ground, and the same bein' already dwining from so
+manny bugs.  Oh, but she 's blackhearted to give me the lie about it,
+and say those poor things was all up, and she 'd thrown lime on 'em to
+keep away their inemies when she first see me come out betune me
+cabbage rows.  How well she knew what I might be doing!  Me cabbages
+grows far apart and I 'd plinty of room, and if a pumpkin vine gets
+attention you can entice it wherever you pl'ase and it'll grow fine and
+long, while the poor cabbages ates and grows fat and round, and no harm
+to annybody, but she must pick a quarrel with a quiet 'oman in the face
+of every one.
+
+"We were on the bridge, don't you see, and plinty was passing by with
+their grins, and loitering and stopping afther they were behind her
+back to hear what was going on betune us.  Annybody does be liking to
+got the sound of loud talk an' they having nothing better to do.  Biddy
+Con'ly, seeing she was well watched, got the airs of a pr'acher, and
+set down whatever she might happen to be carrying and tried would she
+get the better of me for the sake of their admiration.  Oh, but wa'n't
+she all drabbled and wet from the roads, and the world knows meself for
+a very tidy walker!
+
+"'Clane the mud from your shoes if you 're going to dance;' 't was all
+I said to her, and she being that mad she did be stepping up and down
+like an old turkey-hin, and shaking her fist all the time at me.  'Coom
+now, Biddy,' says I, 'what put you out so?' says I.  'Sure, it creeps
+me skin when I looks at you!  Is the pig dead,' says I, 'or anny little
+thing happened to you, ma'am?  Sure this is far beyond the rights of a
+few pumpkin seeds that has just cleared the ground!' and all the folks
+laughed.  I 'd no call to have tark with Biddy Con'ly before them idle
+b'ys and gerrls, nor to let the two of us become their laughing-stock.
+I tuk up me basket, being ashamed then, and I meant to go away, mad as
+I was.  'Coom, Mrs. Con'ly!' says I, 'let bygones be bygones; what's
+all this whillalu we 're afther having about nothing?' says I very
+pleasant.
+
+"'May the divil fly away with you, Mary Dunl'avy!' says she then,
+'spoiling me garden ground, as every one can see, and full of your bold
+talk.  I 'll let me hens out into it this afternoon, so I will,' says
+she, and a good deal more.  'Hold off,' says I, 'and remember what fell
+to your aunt one day when she sint her hins in to pick a neighbor's
+piece, and while her own back was turned they all come home and had
+every sprouted bean and potatie heeled out in the hot sun, and all her
+fine lettuces picked into Irish lace.  We 've lived neighbors,' says I,
+'thirteen years,' says I; 'and we 've often had words together above
+the fince,' says I, 'but we 're neighbors yet, and we 've no call to
+stand here in such spectacles and disgracing ourselves and each other.
+Coom, Biddy,' says I, again, going away with me basket and remimbering
+Father Brady's caution whin it was too late.  Some o' the b'ys went
+off, too, thinkin' 't was all done.
+
+"'I don't want anny o' your Coom Biddy's,' says she, stepping at me,
+with a black stripe across her face, she was that destroyed with rage,
+and I stepped back and held up me basket between us, she being bigger
+than I, and I getting no chance, and herself slipped and fell, and her
+nose got a clout with the hard edge of the basket, it would trouble the
+saints to say how, and then I picked her up and wint home with her to
+thry and quinch the blood.  Sure I was sorry for the crathur an' she
+having such a timper boiling in her heart.
+
+"'Look at you now, Mrs. Con'ly,' says I, kind of soft, 'you 'ont be fit
+for mass these two Sundays with a black eye like this, and your face
+arl scratched, and every bliguard has gone the lingth of the town to
+tell tales of us.  I 'm a quiet 'oman,' says I, 'and I don't thank
+you,' says I, whin the blood was stopped,--'no, I don't thank you for
+disgracin' an old neighbor like me.  'T is of our prayers and the grave
+we should be thinkin', and not be having bold words on the bridge.'
+Wisha! but I fought I was after spaking very quiet, and up she got and
+caught up the basket, and I dodged it by good luck, but after that I
+walked off and left her to satisfy her foolishness with b'ating the
+wall if it pl'ased her.  I 'd no call for her company anny more, and I
+took a vow I 'd never spake a word to her again while the world stood.
+So all is over since then betune Biddy Con'ly and me.  No, I don't look
+at her at all!"
+
+
+
+II.
+
+Some time afterward, in late summer, Mrs. Dunleavy stood, large and
+noisy, but generous-hearted, addressing some remarks from her front
+doorway to a goat on the sidewalk.  He was pulling some of her
+cherished foxgloves through the picket fence, and eagerly devouring
+their flowery stalks.
+
+"How well you rache through an honest fince, you black pirate!" she
+shouted; but finding that harsh words had no effect, she took a
+convenient broom, and advanced to strike a gallant blow upon the
+creature's back.  This had the simple effect of making him step a
+little to one side and modestly begin to nibble at a tuft of grass.
+
+"Well, if I ain't plagued!" said Mrs. Dunleavy sorrowfully; "if I ain't
+throubled with every wild baste, and me cow that was some use gone dry
+very unexpected, and a neighbor that's worse than none at all.  I 've
+nobody to have an honest word with, and the morning being so fine and
+pleasant.  Faix, I'd move away from it, if there was anny place I 'd
+enjoy better.  I 've no heart except for me garden, me poor little
+crops is doing so well; thanks be to God, me cabbages is very fine.
+There does be those that overlooked me pumpkins for the poor cow; they
+'re no size at all wit' so much rain."
+
+The two small white houses stood close together, with their little
+gardens behind them.  The road was just in front, and led down to a
+stone bridge which crossed the river to the busy manufacturing village
+beyond.  The air was fresh and cool at that early hour, the wind had
+changed after a season of dry, hot weather; it was just the morning for
+a good bit of gossip with a neighbor, but summer was almost done, and
+the friends were not reconciled.  Their respective acquaintances had
+grown tired of hearing the story of the quarrel, and the novelty of
+such a pleasing excitement had long been over.  Mrs. Connelly was
+thumping away at a handful of belated ironing, and Mrs. Dunleavy,
+estranged and solitary, sighed as she listened to the iron.  She was
+sociable by nature, and she had an impulse to go in and sit down as she
+used at the end of the ironing table.
+
+"Wisha, the poor thing is mad at me yet, I know that from the sounds of
+her iron; 't was a shame for her to go picking a quarrel with the likes
+of me," and Mrs. Dunleavy sighed heavily and stepped down into her
+flower-plot to pull the distressed foxgloves back into their places
+inside the fence.  The seed had been sent her from the old country, and
+this was the first year they had come into full bloom.  She had been
+hoping that the sight of them would melt Mrs. Connelly's heart into
+some expression of friendliness, since they had come from adjoining
+parishes in old County Kerry.  The goat lifted his head, and gazed at
+his enemy with mild interest; he was pasturing now by the roadside, and
+the foxgloves had proved bitter in his mouth.
+
+Mrs. Dunleavy stood looking at him over the fence, glad of even a
+goat's company.
+
+"Go 'long there; see that fine little tuft ahead now," she advised him,
+forgetful of his depredations.  "Oh, to think I 've nobody to spake to,
+the day!"
+
+At that moment a woman came in sight round the turn of the road.  She
+was a stranger, a fellow country-woman, and she carried a large
+newspaper bundle and a heavy handbag.  Mrs. Dunleavy stepped out of the
+flower-bed toward the gate, and waited there until the stranger came up
+and stopped to ask a question.
+
+"Ann Bogan don't live here, do she?"
+
+"She don't," answered the mistress of the house, with dignity.
+
+"I t'ought she did n't; you don't know where she lives, do you?"
+
+"I don't," said Mrs. Dunleavy.
+
+"I don't know ayther; niver mind, I 'll find her; 't is a fine day,
+ma'am."
+
+Mrs. Dunleavy could hardly bear to let the stranger go away.  She
+watched her far down the hill toward the bridge before she turned to go
+into the house.  She seated herself by the side window next Mrs.
+Connelly's, and gave herself to her thoughts.  The sound of the
+flatiron had stopped when the traveler came to the gate, and it had not
+begun again.  Mrs. Connelly had gone to her front door; the hem of her
+calico dress could be plainly seen, and the bulge of her apron, and she
+was watching the stranger quite out of sight.  She even came out to the
+doorstep, and for the first time in many weeks looked with friendly
+intent toward her neighbor's house.  Then she also came and sat down at
+her side window.  Mrs. Dunleavy's heart began to leap with excitement.
+
+"Bad cess to her foolishness, she does be afther wanting to come round;
+I 'll not make it too aisy for her," said Mrs. Dunleavy, seizing a
+piece of sewing and forbearing to look up.  "I don't know who Ann Bogan
+is, annyway; perhaps herself does, having lived in it five or six years
+longer than me.  Perhaps she knew this woman by her looks, and the
+heart is out of her with wanting to know what she asked from me.  She
+can sit there, then, and let her irons grow cold!
+
+"There was Bogans living down by the brick mill when I first come here,
+neighbors to Flaherty's folks," continued Mrs. Dunleavy, more and more
+aggrieved.  "Biddy Con'ly ought to know the Flahertys, they being her
+cousins.  'T was a fine loud-talking 'oman; sure Biddy might well
+enough have heard her inquiring of me, and have stepped out, and said
+if she knew Ann Bogan, and satisfied a poor stranger that was hunting
+the town over.  No, I don't know anny one in the name of Ann Bogan, so
+I don't," said Mrs. Dunleavy aloud, "and there's nobody I can ask a
+civil question, with every one that ought to be me neighbors stopping
+their mouths, and keeping black grudges whin 't was meself got all the
+offince."
+
+"Faix 't was meself got the whack on me nose," responded Mrs. Connelly
+quite unexpectedly.  She was looking squarely at the window where Mrs.
+Dunleavy sat behind the screen of blue mosquito netting.  They were
+both conscious that Mrs. Connelly made a definite overture of peace.
+
+"That one was a very civil-spoken 'oman that passed by just now,"
+announced Mrs. Dunleavy, handsomely waiving the subject of the quarrel
+and coming frankly to the subject of present interest.  "Faix, 't is a
+poor day for Ann Bogans; she 'll find that out before she gets far in
+the place."
+
+"Ann Bogans was plinty here once, then, God rest them!  There was two
+Ann Bogans, mother and daughter, lived down by Flaherty's when I first
+come here.  They died in the one year, too; 't is most thirty years
+ago," said Bridget Connelly, in her most friendly tone.
+
+"'I 'll find her,' says the poor 'oman as if she 'd only to look;
+indeed, she 's got the boldness," reported Mary Dunleavy, peace being
+fully restored.
+
+"'T was to Flaherty's she 'd go first, and they all moved to La'rence
+twelve years ago, and all she 'll get from anny one would be the
+address of the cimet'ry.  There was plenty here knowing to Ann Bogan
+once.  That 'oman is one I 've seen long ago, but I can't name her yet.
+Did she say who she was?" asked the neighbor.
+
+"She did n't; I 'm sorry for the poor 'oman, too," continued Mrs.
+Dunleavy, in the same spirit of friendliness.  "She 'd the expectin'
+look of one who came hoping to make a nice visit and find friends, and
+herself lugging a fine bundle.  She 'd the looks as if she 'd lately
+come out; very decent, but old-fashioned.  Her bonnet was made at home
+annyways, did ye mind?  I 'll lay it was bought in Cork when it was
+new, or maybe 'twas from a good shop in Bantry or Kinmare, or some o'
+those old places.  If she 'd seemed satisfied to wait, I 'd made her
+the offer of a cup of tay, but off she wint with great courage."
+
+"I don't know but I 'll slip on me bonnet in the afthernoon and go find
+her," said Biddy Connelly, with hospitable warmth.  "I 've seen her
+before, perhaps 't was long whiles ago at home."
+
+"Indeed I thought of it myself," said Mrs. Dunleavy, with approval.
+"We 'd best wait, perhaps, till she 'd be coming back; there's no train
+now till three o'clock.  She might stop here till the five, and we 'll
+find out all about her.  She 'll have a very lonesome day, whoiver she
+is.  Did you see that old goat 'ating the best of me fairy-fingers that
+all bloomed the day?" she asked eagerly, afraid that the conversation
+might come to an end at any moment; but Mrs. Connelly took no notice of
+so trivial a subject.
+
+"Me melons is all getting ripe," she announced, with an air of
+satisfaction.  "There 's a big one must be ate now while we can; it's
+down in the cellar cooling itself, an' I 'd like to be dropping it,
+getting down the stairs.  'Twas afther picking it I was before
+breakfast, itself having begun to crack open.  Himself was the b'y that
+loved a melon, an' I ain't got the heart to look at it alone.  Coom
+over, will ye, Mary?"
+
+"'Deed then an' I will," said Mrs. Dunleavy, whose face was close
+against the mosquito netting.  "Them old pumpkin vines was no good anny
+way; did you see how one of them had the invintion, and wint away up on
+the fince entirely wit' its great flowers, an' there come a rain on
+'em, and so they all blighted?  I 'd no call to grow such stramming
+great things in my piece annyway, 'ating up all the goodness from me
+beautiful cabbages."
+
+
+
+III.
+
+That afternoon the reunited friends sat banqueting together and keeping
+an eye on the road.  They had so much to talk over and found each other
+so agreeable that it was impossible to dwell with much regret upon the
+long estrangement.  When the melon was only half finished the stranger
+of the morning, with her large unopened bundle and the heavy handbag,
+was seen making her way up the hill.  She wore such a weary and
+disappointed look that she was accosted and invited in by both the
+women, and being proved by Mrs. Connelly to be an old acquaintance, she
+joined them at their feast.
+
+"Yes, I was here seventeen years ago for the last time," she explained.
+"I was working in Lawrence, and I came over and spent a fortnight with
+Honora Flaherty; then I wint home that year to mind me old mother, and
+she lived to past ninety.  I 'd nothing to keep me then, and I was
+always homesick afther America, so back I come to it, but all me old
+frinds and neighbors is changed and gone.  Faix, this is the first
+welcome I 've got yet from anny one.  'Tis a beautiful welcome,
+too,--I'll get me apron out of me bundle, by your l'ave, Mrs. Con'ly.
+You 've a strong resemblance to Flaherty's folks, dear, being cousins.
+Well, 't is a fine thing to have good neighbors.  You an' Mrs. Dunleavy
+is very pleasant here so close together."
+
+"Well, we does be having a hasty word now and then, ma'am," confessed
+Mrs. Dunleavy, "but ourselves is good neighbors this manny years.  Whin
+a quarrel's about nothing betune friends, it don't count for much, so
+it don't."
+
+"Most quarrels is the same way," said the stranger, who did not like
+melons, but accepted a cup of hot tea.  "Sure, it always takes two to
+make a quarrel, and but one to end it; that's what me mother always
+told me, that never gave anny one a cross word in her life."
+
+"'T is a beautiful melon," repeated Mrs. Dunleavy for the seventh time.
+"Sure, I 'll plant a few seed myself next year; me pumpkins is no good
+afther all me foolish pride wit' 'em.  Maybe the land don't suit 'em,
+but glory be to God, me cabbages is the size of the house, an' you 'll
+git the pick of the best, Mrs. Con'ly."
+
+"What's melons betune friends, or cabbages ayther, that they should
+ever make any trouble?" answered Mrs. Connelly handsomely, and the
+great feud was forever ended.
+
+But the stranger, innocent that she was the harbinger of peace, could
+hardly understand why Bridget Connelly insisted upon her staying all
+night and talking over old times, and why the two women put on their
+bonnets and walked, one on either hand, to see the town with her that
+evening.  As they crossed the bridge they looked at each other shyly,
+and then began to laugh.
+
+"Well, I missed it the most on Sundays going all alone to mass,"
+confessed Mary Dunleavy.  "I 'm glad there's no one here seeing us go
+over, so I am."
+
+"'T was ourselves had bold words at the bridge, once, that we 've got
+the laugh about now," explained Mrs. Connelly politely to the stranger.
+
+
+
+
+MARTHA'S LADY.
+
+I.
+
+One day, many years ago, the old Judge Pyne house wore an unwonted look
+of gayety and youthfulness.  The high-fenced green garden was bright
+with June flowers.  Under the elms in the large shady front yard you
+might see some chairs placed near together, as they often used to be
+when the family were all at home and life was going on gayly with eager
+talk and pleasure-making; when the elder judge, the grandfather, used
+to quote that great author, Dr. Johnson, and say to his girls, "Be
+brisk, be splendid, and be public."
+
+One of the chairs had a crimson silk shawl thrown carelessly over its
+straight back, and a passer-by, who looked in through the latticed gate
+between the tall gate-posts with their white urns, might think that
+this piece of shining East Indian color was a huge red lily that had
+suddenly bloomed against the syringa bush.  There were certain windows
+thrown wide open that were usually shut, and their curtains were
+blowing free in the light wind of a summer afternoon; it looked as if a
+large household had returned to the old house to fill the prim best
+rooms and find them full of cheer.
+
+It was evident to every one in town that Miss Harriet Pyne, to use the
+village phrase, had company.  She was the last of her family, and was
+by no means old; but being the last, and wonted to live with people
+much older than herself, she had formed all the habits of a serious
+elderly person.  Ladies of her age, something past thirty, often wore
+discreet caps in those days, especially if they were married, but being
+single, Miss Harriet clung to youth in this respect, making the one
+concession of keeping her waving chestnut hair as smooth and stiffly
+arranged as possible.  She had been the dutiful companion of her father
+and mother in their latest years, all her elder brothers and sisters
+having married and gone, or died and gone, out of the old house.  Now
+that she was left alone it seemed quite the best thing frankly to
+accept the fact of age, and to turn more resolutely than ever to the
+companionship of duty and serious books.  She was more serious and
+given to routine than her elders themselves, as sometimes happened when
+the daughters of New England gentlefolks were brought up wholly in the
+society of their elders.  At thirty-five she had more reluctance than
+her mother to face an unforeseen occasion, certainly more than her
+grandmother, who had preserved some cheerful inheritance of gayety and
+worldliness from colonial times.
+
+There was something about the look of the crimson silk shawl in the
+front yard to make one suspect that the sober customs of the best house
+in a quiet New England village were all being set at defiance, and once
+when the mistress of the house came to stand in her own doorway, she
+wore the pleased but somewhat apprehensive look of a guest.  In these
+days New England life held the necessity of much dignity and discretion
+of behavior; there was the truest hospitality and good cheer in all
+occasional festivities, but it was sometimes a self-conscious
+hospitality, followed by an inexorable return to asceticism both of
+diet and of behavior.  Miss Harriet Pyne belonged to the very dullest
+days of New England, those which perhaps held the most priggishness for
+the learned professions, the most limited interpretation of the word
+"evangelical," and the pettiest indifference to large things.  The
+outbreak of a desire for larger religious freedom caused at first a
+most determined reaction toward formalism, especially in small and
+quiet villages like Ashford, intently busy with their own concerns.  It
+was high time for a little leaven to begin its work, in this moment
+when the great impulses of the war for liberty had died away and those
+of the coming war for patriotism and a new freedom had hardly yet begun.
+
+
+The dull interior, the changed life of the old house, whose former
+activities seemed to have fallen sound asleep, really typified these
+larger conditions, and a little leaven had made its easily recognized
+appearance in the shape of a light-hearted girl.  She was Miss
+Harriet's young Boston cousin, Helena Vernon, who, half-amused and
+half-impatient at the unnecessary sober-mindedness of her hostess and
+of Ashford in general, had set herself to the difficult task of gayety.
+Cousin Harriet looked on at a succession of ingenious and, on the
+whole, innocent attempts at pleasure, as she might have looked on at
+the frolics of a kitten who easily substitutes a ball of yarn for the
+uncertainties of a bird or a wind-blown leaf, and who may at any moment
+ravel the fringe of a sacred curtain-tassel in preference to either.
+
+Helena, with her mischievous appealing eyes, with her enchanting old
+songs and her guitar, seemed the more delightful and even reasonable
+because she was so kind to everybody, and because she was a beauty.
+She had the gift of most charming manners.  There was all the
+unconscious lovely ease and grace that had come with the good breeding
+of her city home, where many pleasant people came and went; she had no
+fear, one had almost said no respect, of the individual, and she did
+not need to think of herself.  Cousin Harriet turned cold with
+apprehension when she saw the minister coming in at the front gate, and
+wondered in agony if Martha were properly attired to go to the door,
+and would by any chance hear the knocker; it was Helena who, delighted
+to have anything happen, ran to the door to welcome the Reverend Mr.
+Crofton as if he were a congenial friend of her own age.  She could
+behave with more or less propriety during the stately first visit, and
+even contrive to lighten it with modest mirth, and to extort the
+confession that the guest had a tenor voice, though sadly out of
+practice; but when the minister departed a little flattered, and hoping
+that he had not expressed himself too strongly for a pastor upon the
+poems of Emerson, and feeling the unusual stir of gallantry in his
+proper heart, it was Helena who caught the honored hat of the late
+Judge Pyne from its last resting-place in the hall, and holding it
+securely in both hands, mimicked the minister's self-conscious
+entrance.  She copied his pompous and anxious expression in the dim
+parlor in such delicious fashion that Miss Harriet, who could not
+always extinguish a ready spark of the original sin of humor, laughed
+aloud.
+
+"My dear!" she exclaimed severely the next moment, "I am ashamed of
+your being so disrespectful!" and then laughed again, and took the
+affecting old hat and carried it back to its place.
+
+"I would not have had any one else see you for the world," she said
+sorrowfully as she returned, feeling quite self-possessed again, to the
+parlor doorway; but Helena still sat in the minister's chair, with her
+small feet placed as his stiff boots had been, and a copy of his solemn
+expression before they came to speaking of Emerson and of the guitar.
+"I wish I had asked him if he would be so kind as to climb the
+cherry-tree," said Helena, unbending a little at the discovery that her
+cousin would consent to laugh no more.  "There are all those ripe
+cherries on the top branches.  I can climb as high as he, but I can't
+reach far enough from the last branch that will bear me.  The minister
+is so long and thin"--
+
+"I don't know what Mr. Crofton would have thought of you; he is a very
+serious young man," said cousin Harriet, still ashamed of her laughter.
+"Martha will get the cherries for you, or one of the men.  I should not
+like to have Mr. Crofton think you were frivolous, a young lady of your
+opportunities"--but Helena had escaped through the hall and out at the
+garden door at the mention of Martha's name.  Miss Harriet Pyne sighed
+anxiously, and then smiled, in spite of her deep convictions, as she
+shut the blinds and tried to make the house look solemn again.
+
+The front door might be shut, but the garden door at the other end of
+the broad hall was wide open upon the large sunshiny garden, where the
+last of the red and white peonies and the golden lilies, and the first
+of the tall blue larkspurs lent their colors in generous fashion.  The
+straight box borders were all in fresh and shining green of their new
+leaves, and there was a fragrance of the old garden's inmost life and
+soul blowing from the honeysuckle blossoms on a long trellis.  It was
+now late in the afternoon, and the sun was low behind great apple-trees
+at the garden's end, which threw their shadows over the short turf of
+the bleaching-green.  The cherry-trees stood at one side in full
+sunshine, and Miss Harriet, who presently came to the garden steps to
+watch like a hen at the water's edge, saw her cousin's pretty figure in
+its white dress of India muslin hurrying across the grass.  She was
+accompanied by the tall, ungainly shape of Martha the new maid, who,
+dull and indifferent to every one else, showed a surprising willingness
+and allegiance to the young guest.
+
+"Martha ought to be in the dining-room, already, slow as she is; it
+wants but half an hour of tea-time," said Miss Harriet, as she turned
+and went into the shaded house.  It was Martha's duty to wait at table,
+and there had been many trying scenes and defeated efforts toward her
+education.  Martha was certainly very clumsy, and she seemed the
+clumsier because she had replaced her aunt, a most skillful person, who
+had but lately married a thriving farm and its prosperous owner.  It
+must be confessed that Miss Harriet was a most bewildering instructor,
+and that her pupil's brain was easily confused and prone to blunders.
+The coming of Helena had been somewhat dreaded by reason of this
+incompetent service, but the guest took no notice of frowns or futile
+gestures at the first tea-table, except to establish friendly relations
+with Martha on her own account by a reassuring smile.  They were about
+the same age, and next morning, before cousin Harriet came down, Helena
+showed by a word and a quick touch the right way to do something that
+had gone wrong and been impossible to understand the night before.  A
+moment later the anxious mistress came in without suspicion, but
+Martha's eyes were as affectionate as a dog's, and there was a new look
+of hopefulness on her face; this dreaded guest was a friend after all,
+and not a foe come from proud Boston to confound her ignorance and
+patient efforts.
+
+The two young creatures, mistress and maid, were hurrying across the
+bleaching-green.
+
+"I can't reach the ripest cherries," explained Helena politely, "and I
+think that Miss Pyne ought to send some to the minister.  He has just
+made us a call.  Why Martha, you have n't been crying again!"
+
+"Yes 'm," said Martha sadly.  "Miss Pyne always loves to send something
+to the minister," she acknowledged with interest, as if she did not
+wish to be asked to explain these latest tears.
+
+"We 'll arrange some of the best cherries in a pretty dish.  I 'll show
+you how, and you shall carry them over to the parsonage after tea,"
+said Helena cheerfully, and Martha accepted the embassy with pleasure.
+Life was beginning to hold moments of something like delight in the
+last few days.
+
+"You 'll spoil your pretty dress, Miss Helena," Martha gave shy
+warning, and Miss Helena stood back and held up her skirts with unusual
+care while the country girl, in her heavy blue checked gingham, began
+to climb the cherry-tree like a boy.
+
+Down came the scarlet fruit like bright rain into the green grass.
+
+"Break some nice twigs with the cherries and leaves together; oh, you
+'re a duck, Martha!" and Martha, flushed with delight, and looking far
+more like a thin and solemn blue heron, came rustling down to earth
+again, and gathered the spoils into her clean apron.
+
+That night at tea, during her hand-maiden's temporary absence, Miss
+Harriet announced, as if by way of apology, that she thought Martha was
+beginning to understand something about her work.  "Her aunt was a
+treasure, she never had to be told anything twice; but Martha has been
+as clumsy as a calf," said the precise mistress of the house.  "I have
+been afraid sometimes that I never could teach her anything.  I was
+quite ashamed to have you come just now, and find me so unprepared to
+entertain a visitor."
+
+"Oh, Martha will learn fast enough because she cares so much," said the
+visitor eagerly.  "I think she is a dear good girl.  I do hope that she
+will never go away.  I think she does things better every day, cousin
+Harriet," added Helena pleadingly, with all her kind young heart.  The
+china-closet door was open a little way, and Martha heard every word.
+From that moment, she not only knew what love was like, but she knew
+love's dear ambitions.  To have come from a stony hill-farm and a bare
+small wooden house, was like a cave-dweller's coming to make a
+permanent home in an art museum, such had seemed the elaborateness and
+elegance of Miss Pyne's fashion of life; and Martha's simple brain was
+slow enough in its processes and recognitions.  But with this
+sympathetic ally and defender, this exquisite Miss Helena who believed
+in her, all difficulties appeared to vanish.
+
+Later that evening, no longer homesick or hopeless, Martha returned
+from her polite errand to the minister, and stood with a sort of
+triumph before the two ladies, who were sitting in the front doorway,
+as if they were waiting for visitors, Helena still in her white muslin
+and red ribbons, and Miss Harriet in a thin black silk.  Being happily
+self-forgetful in the greatness of the moment, Martha's manners were
+perfect, and she looked for once almost pretty and quite as young as
+she was.
+
+"The minister came to the door himself, and returned his thanks.  He
+said that cherries were always his favorite fruit, and he was much
+obliged to both Miss Pyne and Miss Vernon.  He kept me waiting a few
+minutes, while he got this book ready to send to you, Miss Helena."
+
+"What are you saying, Martha?  I have sent him nothing!" exclaimed Miss
+Pyne, much astonished.  "What does she mean, Helena?"
+
+"Only a few cherries," explained Helena.  "I thought Mr. Crofton would
+like them after his afternoon of parish calls.  Martha and I arranged
+them before tea, and I sent them with our compliments."
+
+"Oh, I am very glad you did," said Miss Harriet, wondering, but much
+relieved.  "I was afraid"--
+
+"No, it was none of my mischief," answered Helena daringly.  "I did not
+think that Martha would be ready to go so soon.  I should have shown
+you how pretty they looked among their green leaves.  We put them in
+one of your best white dishes with the openwork edge.  Martha shall
+show you to-morrow; mamma always likes to have them so."  Helena's
+fingers were busy with the hard knot of a parcel.
+
+"See this, cousin Harriet!" she announced proudly, as Martha
+disappeared round the corner of the house, beaming with the pleasures
+of adventure and success.  "Look! the minister has sent me a book:
+Sermons on _what_?  Sermons--it is so dark that I can't quite see."
+
+"It must be his 'Sermons on the Seriousness of Life;' they are the only
+ones he has printed, I believe," said Miss Harriet, with much pleasure.
+"They are considered very fine discourses.  He pays you a great
+compliment, my dear.  I feared that he noticed your girlish levity."
+
+"I behaved beautifully while he stayed," insisted Helena.  "Ministers
+are only men," but she blushed with pleasure.  It was certainly
+something to receive a book from its author, and such a tribute made
+her of more value to the whole reverent household.  The minister was
+not only a man, but a bachelor, and Helena was at the age that best
+loves conquest; it was at any rate comfortable to be reinstated in
+cousin Harriet's good graces.
+
+"Do ask the kind gentleman to tea!  He needs a little cheering up,"
+begged the siren in India muslin, as she laid the shiny black volume of
+sermons on the stone doorstep with an air of approval, but as if they
+had quite finished their mission.
+
+"Perhaps I shall, if Martha improves as much as she has within the last
+day or two," Miss Harriet promised hopefully.  "It is something I
+always dread a little when I am all alone, but I think Mr. Crofton
+likes to come.  He converses so elegantly."
+
+
+
+II.
+
+These were the days of long visits, before affectionate friends thought
+it quite worth while to take a hundred miles' journey merely to dine or
+to pass a night in one another's houses.  Helena lingered through the
+pleasant weeks of early summer, and departed unwillingly at last to
+join her family at the White Hills, where they had gone, like other
+households of high social station, to pass the month of August out of
+town.  The happy-hearted young guest left many lamenting friends behind
+her, and promised each that she would come back again next year.  She
+left the minister a rejected lover, as well as the preceptor of the
+academy, but with their pride unwounded, and it may have been with
+wider outlooks upon the world and a less narrow sympathy both for their
+own work in life and for their neighbors' work and hindrances.  Even
+Miss Harriet Pyne herself had lost some of the unnecessary
+provincialism and prejudice which had begun to harden a naturally good
+and open mind and affectionate heart.  She was conscious of feeling
+younger and more free, and not so lonely.  Nobody had ever been so gay,
+so fascinating, or so kind as Helena, so full of social resource, so
+simple and undemanding in her friendliness.  The light of her young
+life cast no shadow on either young or old companions, her pretty
+clothes never seemed to make other girls look dull or out of fashion.
+When she went away up the street in Miss Harriet's carriage to take the
+slow train toward Boston and the gayeties of the new Profile House,
+where her mother waited impatiently with a group of Southern friends,
+it seemed as if there would never be any more picnics or parties in
+Ashford, and as if society had nothing left to do but to grow old and
+get ready for winter.
+
+
+Martha came into Miss Helena's bedroom that last morning, and it was
+easy to see that she had been crying; she looked just as she did in
+that first sad week of homesickness and despair.  All for love's sake
+she had been learning to do many things, and to do them exactly right;
+her eyes had grown quick to see the smallest chance for personal
+service.  Nobody could be more humble and devoted; she looked years
+older than Helena, and wore already a touching air of caretaking.
+
+"You spoil me, you dear Martha!" said Helena from the bed.  "I don't
+know what they will say at home, I am so spoiled."
+
+Martha went on opening the blinds to let in the brightness of the
+summer morning, but she did not speak.
+
+"You are getting on splendidly, aren't you?" continued the little
+mistress.  "You have tried so hard that you make me ashamed of myself.
+At first you crammed all the flowers together, and now you make them
+look beautiful.  Last night cousin Harriet was so pleased when the
+table was so charming, and I told her that you did everything yourself,
+every bit.  Won't you keep the flowers fresh and pretty in the house
+until I come back?  It's so much pleasanter for Miss Pyne, and you 'll
+feed my little sparrows, won't you?  They're growing so tame."
+
+"Oh, yes, Miss Helena!" and Martha looked almost angry for a moment,
+then she burst into tears and covered her face with her apron.  "I
+could n't understand a single thing when I first came.  I never had
+been anywhere to see anything, and Miss Pyne frightened me when she
+talked.  It was you made me think I could ever learn.  I wanted to keep
+the place, 'count of mother and the little boys; we 're dreadful hard
+pushed.  Hepsy has been good in the kitchen; she said she ought to have
+patience with me, for she was awkward herself when she first came."
+
+Helena laughed; she looked so pretty under the tasseled white curtains.
+
+"I dare say Hepsy tells the truth," she said.  "I wish you had told me
+about your mother.  When I come again, some day we 'll drive up
+country, as you call it, to see her.  Martha!  I wish you would think
+of me sometimes after I go away.  Won't you promise?" and the bright
+young face suddenly grew grave.  "I have hard times myself; I don't
+always learn things that I ought to learn, I don't always put things
+straight.  I wish you would n't forget me ever, and would just believe
+in me.  I think it does help more than anything."
+
+"I won't forget," said Martha slowly.  "I shall think of you every
+day."  She spoke almost with indifference, as if she had been asked to
+dust a room, but she turned aside quickly and pulled the little mat
+under the hot water jug quite out of its former straightness; then she
+hastened away down the long white entry, weeping as she went.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+To lose out of sight the friend whom one has loved and lived to please
+is to lose joy out of life.  But if love is true, there comes presently
+a higher joy of pleasing the ideal, that is to say, the perfect friend.
+The same old happiness is lifted to a higher level.  As for Martha, the
+girl who stayed behind in Ashford, nobody's life could seem duller to
+those who could not understand; she was slow of step, and her eyes were
+almost always downcast as if intent upon incessant toil; but they
+startled you when she looked up, with their shining light.  She was
+capable of the happiness of holding fast to a great sentiment, the
+ineffable satisfaction of trying to please one whom she truly loved.
+She never thought of trying to make other people pleased with herself;
+all she lived for was to do the best she could for others, and to
+conform to an ideal, which grew at last to be like a saint's vision, a
+heavenly figure painted upon the sky.
+
+
+On Sunday afternoons in summer, Martha sat by the window of her
+chamber, a low-storied little room, which looked into the side yard and
+the great branches of an elm-tree.  She never sat in the old wooden
+rocking-chair except on Sundays like this; it belonged to the day of
+rest and to happy meditation.  She wore her plain black dress and a
+clean white apron, and held in her lap a little wooden box, with a
+brass ring on top for a handle.  She was past sixty years of age and
+looked even older, but there was the same look on her face that it had
+sometimes worn in girlhood.  She was the same Martha; her hands were
+old-looking and work-worn, but her face still shone.  It seemed like
+yesterday that Helena Vernon had gone away, and it was more than forty
+years.
+
+War and peace had brought their changes and great anxieties, the face
+of the earth was furrowed by floods and fire, the faces of mistress and
+maid were furrowed by smiles and tears, and in the sky the stars shone
+on as if nothing had happened.  The village of Ashford added a few
+pages to its unexciting history, the minister preached, the people
+listened; now and then a funeral crept along the street, and now and
+then the bright face of a little child rose above the horizon of a
+family pew.  Miss Harriet Pyne lived on in the large white house, which
+gained more and more distinction because it suffered no changes, save
+successive repaintings and a new railing about its stately roof.  Miss
+Harriet herself had moved far beyond the uncertainties of an anxious
+youth.  She had long ago made all her decisions, and settled all
+necessary questions; her scheme of life was as faultless as the
+miniature landscape of a Japanese garden, and as easily kept in order.
+The only important change she would ever be capable of making was the
+final change to another and a better world; and for that nature itself
+would gently provide, and her own innocent life.
+
+Hardly any great social event had ruffled the easy current of life
+since Helena Vernon's marriage.  To this Miss Pyne had gone, stately in
+appearance and carrying gifts of some old family silver which bore the
+Vernon crest, but not without some protest in her heart against the
+uncertainties of married life.  Helena was so equal to a happy
+independence and even to the assistance of other lives grown strangely
+dependent upon her quick sympathies and instinctive decisions, that it
+was hard to let her sink her personality in the affairs of another.
+Yet a brilliant English match was not without its attractions to an
+old-fashioned gentlewoman like Miss Pyne, and Helena herself was
+amazingly happy; one day there had come a letter to Ashford, in which
+her very heart seemed to beat with love and self-forgetfulness, to tell
+cousin Harriet of such new happiness and high hope.  "Tell Martha all
+that I say about my dear Jack," wrote the eager girl; "please show my
+letter to Martha, and tell her that I shall come home next summer and
+bring the handsomest and best man in the world to Ashford.  I have told
+him all about the dear house and the dear garden; there never was such
+a lad to reach for cherries with his six-foot-two."  Miss Pyne,
+wondering a little, gave the letter to Martha, who took it deliberately
+and as if she wondered too, and went away to read it slowly by herself.
+Martha cried over it, and felt a strange sense of loss and pain; it
+hurt her heart a little to read about the cherry-picking.  Her idol
+seemed to be less her own since she had become the idol of a stranger.
+She never had taken such a letter in her hands before, but love at last
+prevailed, since Miss Helena was happy, and she kissed the last page
+where her name was written, feeling overbold, and laid the envelope on
+Miss Pyne's secretary without a word.
+
+The most generous love cannot but long for reassurance, and Martha had
+the joy of being remembered.  She was not forgotten when the day of the
+wedding drew near, but she never knew that Miss Helena had asked if
+cousin Harriet would not bring Martha to town; she should like to have
+Martha there to see her married.  "She would help about the flowers,"
+wrote the happy girl; "I know she will like to come, and I 'll ask
+mamma to plan to have some one take her all about Boston and make her
+have a pleasant time after the hurry of the great day is over."
+
+Cousin Harriet thought it was very kind and exactly like Helena, but
+Martha would be out of her element; it was most imprudent and girlish
+to have thought of such a thing.  Helena's mother would be far from
+wishing for any unnecessary guest just then, in the busiest part of her
+household, and it was best not to speak of the invitation.  Some day
+Martha should go to Boston if she did well, but not now.  Helena did
+not forget to ask if Martha had come, and was astonished by the
+indifference of the answer.  It was the first thing which reminded her
+that she was not a fairy princess having everything her own way in that
+last day before the wedding.  She knew that Martha would have loved to
+be near, for she could not help understanding in that moment of her own
+happiness the love that was hidden in another heart.  Next day this
+happy young princess, the bride, cut a piece of a great cake and put it
+into a pretty box that had held one of her wedding presents.  With
+eager voices calling her, and all her friends about her, and her
+mother's face growing more and more wistful at the thought of parting,
+she still lingered and ran to take one or two trifles from her
+dressing-table, a little mirror and some tiny scissors that Martha
+would remember, and one of the pretty handkerchiefs marked with her
+maiden name.  These she put in the box too; it was half a girlish freak
+and fancy, but she could not help trying to share her happiness, and
+Martha's life was so plain and dull.  She whispered a message, and put
+the little package into cousin Harriet's hand for Martha as she said
+good-by.  She was very fond of cousin Harriet.  She smiled with a gleam
+of her old fun; Martha's puzzled look and tall awkward figure seemed to
+stand suddenly before her eyes, as she promised to come again to
+Ashford.  Impatient voices called to Helena, her lover was at the door,
+and she hurried away, leaving her old home and her girlhood gladly.  If
+she had only known it, as she kissed cousin Harriet good-by, they were
+never going to see each other again until they were old women.  The
+first step that she took out of her father's house that day, married,
+and full of hope and joy, was a step that led her away from the green
+elms of Boston Common and away from her own country and those she loved
+best, to a brilliant, much-varied foreign life, and to nearly all the
+sorrows and nearly all the joys that the heart of one woman could hold
+or know.
+
+On Sunday afternoons Martha used to sit by the window in Ashford and
+hold the wooden box which a favorite young brother, who afterward died
+at sea, had made for her, and she used to take out of it the pretty
+little box with a gilded cover that had held the piece of wedding-cake,
+and the small scissors, and the blurred bit of a mirror in its silver
+case; as for the handkerchief with the narrow lace edge, once in two or
+three years she sprinkled it as if it were a flower, and spread it out
+in the sun on the old bleaching-green, and sat near by in the shrubbery
+to watch lest some bold robin or cherry-bird should seize it and fly
+away.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+Miss Harriet Pyne was often congratulated upon the good fortune of
+having such a helper and friend as Martha.  As time went on this tall,
+gaunt woman, always thin, always slow, gained a dignity of behavior and
+simple affectionateness of look which suited the charm and dignity of
+the ancient house.  She was unconsciously beautiful like a saint, like
+the picturesqueness of a lonely tree which lives to shelter unnumbered
+lives and to stand quietly in its place.  There was such rustic
+homeliness and constancy belonging to her, such beautiful powers of
+apprehension, such reticence, such gentleness for those who were
+troubled or sick; all these gifts and graces Martha hid in her heart.
+She never joined the church because she thought she was not good
+enough, but life was such a passion and happiness of service that it
+was impossible not to be devout, and she was always in her humble place
+on Sundays, in the back pew next the door.  She had been educated by a
+remembrance; Helena's young eyes forever looked at her reassuringly
+from a gay girlish face, Helena's sweet patience in teaching her own
+awkwardness could never be forgotten.
+
+"I owe everything to Miss Helena," said Martha, half aloud, as she sat
+alone by the window; she had said it to herself a thousand times.  When
+she looked in the little keepsake mirror she always hoped to see some
+faint reflection of Helena Vernon, but there was only her own brown old
+New England face to look back at her wonderingly.
+
+Miss Pyne went less and less often to pay visits to her friends in
+Boston; there were very few friends left to come to Ashford and make
+long visits in the summer, and life grew more and more monotonous.  Now
+and then there came news from across the sea and messages of
+remembrance, letters that were closely written on thin sheets of paper,
+and that spoke of lords and ladies, of great journeys, of the death of
+little children and the proud successes of boys at school, of the
+wedding of Helena Dysart's only daughter; but even that had happened
+years ago.  These things seemed far away and vague, as if they belonged
+to a story and not to life itself; the true links with the past were
+quite different.  There was the unvarying flock of ground-sparrows that
+Helena had begun to feed; every morning Martha scattered crumbs for
+them from the side door-steps while Miss Pyne watched from the
+dining-room window, and they were counted and cherished year by year.
+
+Miss Pyne herself had many fixed habits, but little ideality or
+imagination, and so at last it was Martha who took thought for her
+mistress, and gave freedom to her own good taste.  After a while,
+without any one's observing the change, the every-day ways of doing
+things in the house came to be the stately ways that had once belonged
+only to the entertainment of guests.  Happily both mistress and maid
+seized all possible chances for hospitality, yet Miss Harriet nearly
+always sat alone at her exquisitely served table with its fresh
+flowers, and the beautiful old china which Martha handled so lovingly
+that there was no good excuse for keeping it hidden on closet shelves.
+Every year when the old cherry-trees were in fruit, Martha carried the
+round white old English dish with a fretwork edge, full of pointed
+green leaves and scarlet cherries, to the minister, and his wife never
+quite understood why every year he blushed and looked so conscious of
+the pleasure, and thanked Martha as if he had received a very
+particular attention.  There was no pretty suggestion toward the
+pursuit of the fine art of housekeeping in Martha's limited
+acquaintance with newspapers that she did not adopt; there was no
+refined old custom of the Pyne housekeeping that she consented to let
+go.  And every day, as she had promised, she thought of Miss
+Helena,--oh, many times in every day: whether this thing would please
+her, or that be likely to fall in with her fancy or ideas of fitness.
+As far as was possible the rare news that reached Ashford through an
+occasional letter or the talk of guests was made part of Martha's own
+life, the history of her own heart.  A worn old geography often stood
+open at the map of Europe on the light-stand in her room, and a little
+old-fashioned gilt button, set with a bit of glass like a ruby, that
+had broken and fallen from the trimming of one of Helena's dresses, was
+used to mark the city of her dwelling-place.  In the changes of a
+diplomatic life Martha followed her lady all about the map.  Sometimes
+the button was at Paris, and sometimes at Madrid; once, to her great
+anxiety, it remained long at St. Petersburg.  For such a slow scholar
+Martha was not unlearned at last, since everything about life in these
+foreign towns was of interest to her faithful heart.  She satisfied her
+own mind as she threw crumbs to the tame sparrows; it was all part of
+the same thing and for the same affectionate reasons.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+One Sunday afternoon in early summer Miss Harriet Pyne came hurrying
+along the entry that led to Martha's room and called two or three times
+before its inhabitant could reach the door.  Miss Harriet looked
+unusually cheerful and excited, and she held something in her hand.
+"Where are you, Martha?" she called again.  "Come quick, I have
+something to tell you!"
+
+"Here I am, Miss Pyne," said Martha, who had only stopped to put her
+precious box in the drawer, and to shut the geography.
+
+"Who do you think is coming this very night at half-past six?  We must
+have everything as nice as we can; I must see Hannah at once.  Do you
+remember my cousin Helena who has lived abroad so long?  Miss Helena
+Vernon,--the Honorable Mrs. Dysart, she is now."
+
+"Yes, I remember her," answered Martha, turning a little pale.
+
+"I knew that she was in this country, and I had written to ask her to
+come for a long visit," continued Miss Harriet, who did not often
+explain things, even to Martha, though she was always conscientious
+about the kind messages that were sent back by grateful guests.  "She
+telegraphs that she means to anticipate her visit by a few days and
+come to me at once.  The heat is beginning in town, I suppose.  I
+daresay, having been a foreigner so long, she does not mind traveling
+on Sunday.  Do you think Hannah will be prepared?  We must have tea a
+little later."
+
+"Yes, Miss Harriet," said Martha.  She wondered that she could speak as
+usual, there was such a ringing in her ears.  "I shall have time to
+pick some fresh strawberries; Miss Helena is so fond of our
+strawberries."
+
+"Why, I had forgotten," said Miss Pyne, a little puzzled by something
+quite unusual in Martha's face.  "We must expect to find Mrs. Dysart a
+good deal changed, Martha; it is a great many years since she was here;
+I have not seen her since her wedding, and she has had a great deal of
+trouble, poor girl.  You had better open the parlor chamber, and make
+it ready before you go down."
+
+"It is all ready," said Martha.  "I can carry some of those little
+sweet-brier roses upstairs before she comes."
+
+"Yes, you are always thoughtful," said Miss Pyne, with unwonted feeling.
+
+Martha did not answer.  She glanced at the telegram wistfully.  She had
+never really suspected before that Miss Pyne knew nothing of the love
+that had been in her heart all these years; it was half a pain and half
+a golden joy to keep such a secret; she could hardly bear this moment
+of surprise.
+
+Presently the news gave wings to her willing feet.  When Hannah, the
+cook, who never had known Miss Helena, went to the parlor an hour later
+on some errand to her old mistress, she discovered that this stranger
+guest must be a very important person.  She had never seen the
+tea-table look exactly as it did that night, and in the parlor itself
+there were fresh blossoming boughs in the old East India jars, and
+lilies in the paneled hall, and flowers everywhere, as if there were
+some high festivity.
+
+Miss Pyne sat by the window watching, in her best dress, looking
+stately and calm; she seldom went out now, and it was almost time for
+the carriage.  Martha was just coming in from the garden with the
+strawberries, and with more flowers in her apron.  It was a bright cool
+evening in June, the golden robins sang in the elms, and the sun was
+going down behind the apple-trees at the foot of the garden.  The
+beautiful old house stood wide open to the long-expected guest.
+
+"I think that I shall go down to the gate," said Miss Pyne, looking at
+Martha for approval, and Martha nodded and they went together slowly
+down the broad front walk.
+
+There was a sound of horses and wheels on the roadside turf: Martha
+could not see at first; she stood back inside the gate behind the white
+lilac-bushes as the carriage came.  Miss Pyne was there; she was
+holding out both arms and taking a tired, bent little figure in black
+to her heart.  "Oh, my Miss Helena is an old woman like me!" and Martha
+gave a pitiful sob; she had never dreamed it would be like this; this
+was the one thing she could not bear.
+
+"Where are you, Martha?" called Miss Pyne.  "Martha will bring these
+in; you have not forgotten my good Martha, Helena?"  Then Mrs. Dysart
+looked up and smiled just as she used to smile in the old days.  The
+young eyes were there still in the changed face, and Miss Helena had
+come.
+
+
+That night Martha waited in her lady's room just as she used, humble
+and silent, and went through with the old unforgotten loving services.
+The long years seemed like days.  At last she lingered a moment trying
+to think of something else that might be done, then she was going
+silently away, but Helena called her back.  She suddenly knew the whole
+story and could hardly speak.
+
+"Oh, my dear Martha!" she cried, "won't you kiss me good-night?  Oh,
+Martha, have you remembered like this, all these long years!"
+
+
+
+
+THE COON DOG.
+
+I.
+
+In the early dusk of a warm September evening the bats were flitting to
+and fro, as if it were still summer, under the great elm that
+overshadowed Isaac Brown's house, on the Dipford road.  Isaac Brown
+himself, and his old friend and neighbor John York, were leaning
+against the fence.
+
+"Frost keeps off late, don't it?" said John York.  "I laughed when I
+first heard about the circus comin'; I thought 't was so unusual late
+in the season.  Turned out well, however.  Everybody I noticed was
+returnin' with a palm-leaf fan.  Guess they found 'em useful under the
+tent; 't was a master hot day.  I saw old lady Price with her hands
+full o' those free advertisin' fans, as if she was layin' in a stock
+against next summer.  Well, I expect she 'll live to enjoy 'em."
+
+"I was right here where I 'm standin' now, and I see her as she was
+goin' by this mornin'," said Isaac Brown, laughing, and settling
+himself comfortably against the fence as if they had chanced upon a
+welcome subject of conversation.  "I hailed her, same 's I gener'lly
+do.  'Where are you bound to-day, ma'am?' says I.
+
+"'I 'm goin' over as fur as Dipford Centre,' says she.  'I 'm goin' to
+see my poor dear 'Liza Jane.  I want to 'suage her grief; her husband,
+Mr. 'Bijah Topliff, has passed away.'
+
+"'So much the better,' says I.
+
+"'No; I never l'arnt about it till yisterday,' says she; an' she looked
+up at me real kind of pleasant, and begun to laugh.
+
+"'I hear he's left property,' says she, tryin' to pull her face down
+solemn.  I give her the fifty cents she wanted to borrow to make up her
+car-fare and other expenses, an' she stepped off like a girl down
+tow'ds the depot.
+
+"This afternoon, as you know, I 'd promised the boys that I 'd take 'em
+over to see the menagerie, and nothin' would n't do none of us any good
+but we must see the circus too; an' when we'd just got posted on one o'
+the best high seats, mother she nudged me, and I looked right down
+front two, three rows, an' if there wa'n't Mis' Price, spectacles an'
+all, with her head right up in the air, havin' the best time you ever
+see.  I laughed right out.  She had n't taken no time to see 'Liza
+Jane; she wa'n't 'suagin' no grief for nobody till she 'd seen the
+circus.  'There,' says I, 'I do like to have anybody keep their young
+feelin's!'"
+
+"Mis' Price come over to see our folks before breakfast," said John
+York.  "Wife said she was inquirin' about the circus, but she wanted to
+know first if they couldn't oblige her with a few trinkets o' mournin',
+seein' as how she 'd got to pay a mournin' visit.  Wife thought 't was
+a bosom-pin, or somethin' like that, but turned out she wanted the
+skirt of a dress; 'most anything would do, she said."
+
+"I thought she looked extra well startin' off," said Isaac, with an
+indulgent smile.  "The Lord provides very handsome for such, I do
+declare!  She ain't had no visible means o' support these ten or
+fifteen years back, but she don't freeze up in winter no more than we
+do."
+
+"Nor dry up in summer," interrupted his friend; "I never did see such
+an able hand to talk."
+
+"She's good company, and she's obliging an' useful when the women folks
+have their extra work progressin'," continued Isaac Brown kindly.  "'T
+ain't much for a well-off neighborhood like this to support that old
+chirpin' cricket.  My mother used to say she kind of helped the work
+along by 'livenin' of it.  Here she comes now; must have taken the last
+train, after she had supper with 'Lizy Jane.  You stay still; we 're
+goin' to hear all about it."
+
+The small, thin figure of Mrs. Price had to be hailed twice before she
+could be stopped.
+
+"I wish you a good evenin', neighbors," she said.  "I have been to the
+house of mournin'."
+
+"Find 'Liza Jane in, after the circus?" asked Isaac Brown, with equal
+seriousness.  "Excellent show, was n't it, for so late in the season?"
+
+"Oh, beautiful; it was beautiful, I declare," answered the pleased
+spectator readily.  "Why, I did n't see you, nor Mis' Brown.  Yes; I
+felt it best to refresh my mind an' wear a cheerful countenance.  When
+I see 'Liza Jane I was able to divert her mind consid'able.  She was
+glad I went.  I told her I 'd made an effort, knowin' 'twas so she had
+to lose the a'ternoon.  'Bijah left property, if he did die away from
+home on a foreign shore."
+
+"You don't mean that 'Bijah Topliff 's left anything!" exclaimed John
+York with interest, while Isaac Brown put both hands deep into his
+pockets, and leaned back in a still more satisfactory position against
+the gatepost.
+
+"He enjoyed poor health," answered Mrs. Price, after a moment of
+deliberation, as if she must take time to think.  "'Bijah never was one
+that scattereth, nor yet increaseth.  'Liza Jane's got some memories o'
+the past that's a good deal better than others; but he died somewheres
+out in Connecticut, or so she heard, and he's left a very val'able coon
+dog,--one he set a great deal by.  'Liza Jane said, last time he was to
+home, he priced that dog at fifty dollars.  'There, now, 'Liza Jane,'
+says I, right to her, when she told me, 'if I could git fifty dollars
+for that dog, I certain' would.  Perhaps some o' the circus folks would
+like to buy him; they 've taken in a stream o' money this day.'  But
+'Liza Jane ain't never inclined to listen to advice.  'T is a dreadful
+poor-spirited-lookin' creatur'.  I don't want no right o' dower in him,
+myself."
+
+"A good coon dog 's worth somethin', certain," said John York
+handsomely.
+
+"If he is a good coon dog," added Isaac Brown.  "I would n't have
+parted with old Rover, here, for a good deal of money when he was right
+in his best days; but a dog like him 's like one of the family.  Stop
+an' have some supper, won't ye, Mis' Price?"--as the thin old creature
+was flitting off again.  At that same moment this kind invitation was
+repeated from the door of the house; and Mrs. Price turned in,
+unprotesting and always sociably inclined, at the open gate.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+It was a month later, and a whole autumn's length colder, when the two
+men were coming home from a long tramp through the woods.  They had
+been making a solemn inspection of a wood-lot that they owned together,
+and had now visited their landmarks and outer boundaries, and settled
+the great question of cutting or not cutting some large pines.  When it
+was well decided that a few years' growth would be no disadvantage to
+the timber, they had eaten an excellent cold luncheon and rested from
+their labors.
+
+"I don't feel a day older 'n ever I did when I get out in the woods thi
+way," announced John York, who was a prim, dusty-looking little man, a
+prudent person, who had been selectman of the town at least a dozen
+times.
+
+"No more do I," agreed his companion, who was large and jovial and
+open-handed, more like a lucky sea-captain than a farmer.  After
+pounding a slender walnut-tree with a heavy stone, he had succeeded in
+getting down a pocketful of late-hanging nuts which had escaped the
+squirrels, and was now snapping them back, one by one, to a venturesome
+chipmunk among some little frost-bitten beeches.  Isaac Brown had a
+wonderfully pleasant way of getting on with all sorts of animals, even
+men.  After a while they rose and went their way, these two companions,
+stopping here and there to look at a possible woodchuck's hole, or to
+strike a few hopeful blows at a hollow tree with the light axe which
+Isaac had carried to blaze new marks on some of the line-trees on the
+farther edge of their possessions.  Sometimes they stopped to admire
+the size of an old hemlock, or to talk about thinning out the young
+pines.  At last they were not very far from the entrance to the great
+tract of woodland.  The yellow sunshine came slanting in much brighter
+against the tall trunks, spotting them with golden light high among the
+still branches.
+
+Presently they came to a great ledge, frost-split and cracked into
+mysterious crevices.
+
+"Here's where we used to get all the coons," said John York.  "I have
+n't seen a coon this great while, spite o' your courage knocking on the
+trees up back here.  You know that night we got the four fat ones?  We
+started 'em somewheres near here, so the dog could get after 'em when
+they come out at night to go foragin'."
+
+"Hold on, John;" and Mr. Isaac Brown got up from the log where he had
+just sat down to rest, and went to the ledge, and looked carefully all
+about.  When he came back he was much excited, and beckoned his friend
+away, speaking in a stage whisper.
+
+"I guess you 'll see a coon before you 're much older," he proclaimed.
+"I 've thought it looked lately as if there 'd been one about my place,
+and there's plenty o' signs here, right in their old haunts.  Couple o'
+hens' heads an' a lot o' feathers"--
+
+"Might be a fox," interrupted John York.
+
+"Might be a coon," answered Mr. Isaac Brown.  "I 'm goin' to have him,
+too.  I 've been lookin' at every old hollow tree I passed, but I never
+thought o' this place.  We 'll come right off to-morrow night, I guess,
+John, an' see if we can't get him.  'T is an extra handy place for 'em
+to den; in old times the folks always called it a good place; they 've
+been so sca'ce o' these late years that I 've thought little about 'em.
+Nothin' I ever liked so well as a coon-hunt.  Gorry! he must be a big
+old fellow, by his tracks!  See here, in this smooth dirt; just like a
+baby's footmark."
+
+"Trouble is, we lack a good dog," said John York anxiously, after he
+had made an eager inspection.  "I don't know where in the world to get
+one, either.  There ain't no such a dog about as your Rover, but you
+'ve let him get spoilt; these days I don't see him leave the yard.  You
+ought to keep the women folks from overfeedin' of him so.  He ought to
+'ve lasted a good spell longer.  He's no use for huntin' now, that's
+certain."
+
+Isaac accepted the rebuke meekly.  John York was a calm man, but he now
+grew very fierce under such a provocation.  Nobody likes to be hindered
+in a coon-hunt.
+
+"Oh, Rover's too old, anyway," explained the affectionate master
+regretfully.  "I 've been wishing all this afternoon I 'd brought him;
+but I did n't think anything about him as we came away, I 've got so
+used to seeing him layin' about the yard.  'T would have been a real
+treat for old Rover, if he could have kept up.  Used to be at my heels
+the whole time.  He could n't follow us, anyway, up here."
+
+"I should n't wonder if he could," insisted John, with a humorous
+glance at his old friend, who was much too heavy and huge of girth for
+quick transit over rough ground.  John York himself had grown lighter
+as he had grown older.
+
+"I 'll tell you one thing we could do," he hastened to suggest.  "There
+'s that dog of 'Bijah Topllff's.  Don't you know the old lady told us,
+that day she went over to Dipford, how high he was valued?  Most o'
+'Bijah's important business was done in the fall, goin' out by night,
+gunning with fellows from the mills.  He was just the kind of a
+worthless do-nothing that's sure to have an extra knowin' smart dog.  I
+expect 'Liza Jane 's got him now.  Perhaps we could get him by
+to-morrow night.  Let one o' my boys go over!"
+
+"Why, 'Liza Jane 's come, bag an' baggage, to spend the winter with her
+mother," exclaimed Isaac Brown, springing to his feet like a boy.  "I
+'ve had it in mind to tell you two or three times this afternoon, and
+then something else has flown it out of my head.  I let my John Henry
+take the long-tailed wagon an' go down to the depot this mornin' to
+fetch her an' her goods up.  The old lady come in early, while we were
+to breakfast, and to hear her lofty talk you 'd thought 't would taken
+a couple o' four-horse teams to move her.  I told John Henry he might
+take that wagon and fetch up what light stuff he could, and see how
+much else there was, an' then I 'd make further arrangements.  She said
+'Liza Jane 'd see me well satisfied, an' rode off, pleased to death.  I
+see 'em returnin' about eight, after the train was in.  They 'd got
+'Liza Jane with 'em, smaller 'n ever; and there was a trunk tied up
+with a rope, and a small roll o' beddin' and braided mats, and a
+quilted rockin'-chair.  The old lady was holdin' on tight to a
+bird-cage with nothin' in it.  Yes; an' I see the dog, too, in behind.
+He appeared kind of timid.  He 's a yaller dog, but he ain't
+stump-tailed.  They hauled up out front o' the house, and mother an' I
+went right out; Mis' Price always expects to have notice taken.  She
+was in great sperits.  Said 'Liza Jane concluded to sell off most of
+her stuff rather 'n have the care of it.  She 'd told the folks that
+Mis' Topliff had a beautiful sofa and a lot o' nice chairs, and two
+framed pictures that would fix up the house complete, and invited us
+all to come over and see 'em.  There, she seemed just as pleased
+returnin' with the bird-cage.  Disappointments don't appear to trouble
+her no more than a butterfly.  I kind of like the old creatur'; I don't
+mean to see her want."
+
+"They 'll let us have the dog," said John York.  "I don't know but I
+'ll give a quarter for him, and we 'll let 'em have a good piece o' the
+coon."
+
+"You really comin' 'way up here by night, coon-huntin'?" asked Isaac
+Brown, looking reproachfully at his more agile comrade.
+
+"I be," answered John York.
+
+"I was dre'tful afraid you was only talking, and might back out,"
+returned the cheerful heavy-weight, with a chuckle.  "Now we 've got
+things all fixed, I feel more like it than ever.  I tell you there's
+just boy enough left inside of me.  I 'll clean up my old gun to-morrow
+mornin', and you look right after your'n.  I dare say the boys have
+took good care of 'em for us, but they don't know what we do about
+huntin', and we 'll bring 'em all along and show 'em a little fun."
+
+"All right," said John York, as soberly as if they were going to look
+after a piece of business for the town; and they gathered up the axe
+and other light possessions, and started toward home.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+The two friends, whether by accident or design, came out of the woods
+some distance from their own houses, but very near to the low-storied
+little gray dwelling of Mrs. Price.  They crossed the pasture, and
+climbed over the toppling fence at the foot of her small sandy piece of
+land, and knocked at the door.  There was a light already in the
+kitchen.  Mrs. Price and Eliza Jane Topliff appeared at once, eagerly
+hospitable.
+
+"Anybody sick?" asked Mrs. Price, with instant sympathy.  "Nothin'
+happened, I hope?"
+
+"Oh, no," said both the men.
+
+"We came to talk about hiring your dog to-morrow night," explained
+Isaac Brown, feeling for the moment amused at his eager errand.  "We
+got on track of a coon just now, up in the woods, and we thought we 'd
+give our boys a little treat.  You shall have fifty cents, an' welcome,
+and a good piece o' the coon."
+
+"Yes, Square Brown; we can let you have the dog as well as not,"
+interrupted Mrs. Price, delighted to grant a favor.  "Poor departed
+'Bijah, he set everything by him as a coon dog.  He always said a dog's
+capital was all in his reputation."
+
+"You 'll have to be dreadful careful an' not lose him," urged Mrs.
+Topliff.  "Yes, sir; he 's a proper coon dog as ever walked the earth,
+but he's terrible weak-minded about followin' 'most anybody.  'Bijah
+used to travel off twelve or fourteen miles after him to git him back,
+when he wa'n't able.  Somebody 'd speak to him decent, or fling a
+whip-lash as they drove by, an' off he 'd canter on three legs right
+after the wagon.  But 'Bijah said he wouldn't trade him for no coon dog
+he ever was acquainted with.  Trouble is, coons is awful sca'ce."
+
+"I guess he ain't out o' practice," said John York amiably; "I guess he
+'ll know when he strikes the coon.  Come, Isaac, we must be gittin'
+along tow'ds home.  I feel like eatin' a good supper.  You tie him up
+to-morrow afternoon, so we shall be sure to have him," he turned to say
+to Mrs. Price, who stood smiling at the door.
+
+"Land sakes, dear, he won't git away; you 'll find him right there
+betwixt the wood-box and the stove, where he is now.  Hold the light,
+'Liza Jane; they can't see their way out to the road.  I 'll fetch him
+over to ye in good season," she called out, by way of farewell; "'t
+will save ye third of a mile extra walk.  No, 'Liza Jane; you 'll let
+me do it, if you please.  I 've got a mother's heart.  The gentlemen
+will excuse us for showin' feelin'.  You 're all the child I 've got,
+an' your prosperity is the same as mine."
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+The great night of the coon-hunt was frosty and still, with only a dim
+light from the new moon.  John York and his boys, and Isaac Brown,
+whose excitement was very great, set forth across the fields toward the
+dark woods.  The men seemed younger and gayer than the boys.  There was
+a burst of laughter when John Henry Brown and his little brother
+appeared with the coon dog of the late Mr. Abijah Topliff, which had
+promptly run away home again after Mrs. Price had coaxed him over in
+the afternoon.  The captors had tied a string round his neck, at which
+they pulled vigorously from time to time to urge him forward.  Perhaps
+he found the night too cold; at any rate, he stopped short in the
+frozen furrows every few minutes, lifting one foot and whining a
+little.  Half a dozen times he came near to tripping up Mr. Isaac Brown
+and making him fall at full length.
+
+"Poor Tiger! poor Tiger!" said the good-natured sportsman, when
+somebody said that the dog did n't act as if he were much used to being
+out by night.  "He 'll be all right when he once gets track of the
+coon."  But when they were fairly in the woods, Tiger's distress was
+perfectly genuine.  The long rays of light from the old-fashioned
+lanterns of pierced tin went wheeling round and round, making a tall
+ghost of every tree, and strange shadows went darting in and out behind
+the pines.  The woods were like an interminable pillared room where the
+darkness made a high ceiling.  The clean frosty smell of the open
+fields was changed for a warmer air, damp with the heavy odor of moss
+and fallen leaves.  There was something wild and delicious in the
+forest in that hour of night.  The men and boys tramped on silently in
+single file, as if they followed the flickering light instead of
+carrying it.  The dog fell back by instinct, as did his companions,
+into the easy familiarity of forest life.  He ran beside them, and
+watched eagerly as they chose a safe place to leave a coat or two and a
+basket.  He seemed to be an affectionate dog, now that he had made
+acquaintance with his masters.
+
+"Seems to me he don't exactly know what he 's about," said one of the
+York boys scornfully; "we must have struck that coon's track somewhere,
+comin' in."
+
+"We 'll get through talkin', an' heap up a little somethin' for a fire,
+if you 'll turn to and help," said his father.  "I 've always noticed
+that nobody can give so much good advice about a piece o' work as a new
+hand.  When you 've treed as many coons as your Uncle Brown an' me, you
+won't feel so certain.  Isaac, you be the one to take the dog up round
+the ledge, there.  He 'll scent the coon quick enough then.  We 'll
+'tend to this part o' the business."
+
+"You may come too, John Henry," said the indulgent father, and they set
+off together silently with the coon dog.  He followed well enough now;
+his tail and ears were drooping even more than usual, but he whimpered
+along as bravely as he could, much excited, at John Henry's heels, like
+one of those great soldiers who are all unnerved until the battle is
+well begun.
+
+A minute later the father and son came hurrying back, breathless, and
+stumbling over roots and bushes.  The fire was already lighted, and
+sending a great glow higher and higher among the trees.
+
+"He's off!  He 's struck a track!  He was off like a major!" wheezed
+Mr. Isaac Brown.
+
+"Which way 'd he go?" asked everybody.
+
+"Right out toward the fields.  Like's not the old fellow was just
+starting after more of our fowls.  I 'm glad we come early,--he can't
+have got far yet.  We can't do nothin' but wait now, boys.  I 'll set
+right down here."
+
+"Soon as the coon trees, you 'll hear the dog sing, now I tell you!"
+said John York, with great enthusiasm.  "That night your father an' me
+got those four busters we 've told you about, they come right back here
+to the ledge.  I don't know but they will now.  'T was a dreadful cold
+night, I know.  We did n't get home till past three o'clock in the
+mornin', either.  You remember, don't you, Isaac?"
+
+"I do," said Isaac.  "How old Rover worked that night!  Could n't see
+out of his eyes, nor hardly wag his clever old tail, for two days;
+thorns in both his fore paws, and the last coon took a piece right out
+of his off shoulder."
+
+"Why did n't you let Rover come tonight, father?" asked the younger
+boy.  "I think he knew somethin' was up.  He was jumpin' round at a
+great rate when I come out of the yard."
+
+"I did n't know but he might make trouble for the other dog," answered
+Isaac, after a moment's silence.  He felt almost disloyal to the
+faithful creature, and had been missing him all the way.  "'Sh! there's
+a bark!"  And they all stopped to listen.
+
+The fire was leaping higher; they all sat near it, listening and
+talking by turns.  There is apt to be a good deal of waiting in a
+coon-hunt.
+
+"If Rover was young as he used to be, I'd resk him to tree any coon
+that ever run," said the regretful master.  "This smart creature o'
+Topliff's can't beat him, I know.  The poor old fellow's eyesight seems
+to be going.  Two--three times he's run out at me right in broad day,
+an' barked when I come up the yard toward the house, and I did pity him
+dreadfully; he was so 'shamed when he found out what he 'd done.
+Rover's a dog that's got an awful lot o' pride.  He went right off out
+behind the long barn the last time, and would n't come in for nobody
+when they called him to supper till I went out myself and made it up
+with him.  No; he can't see very well now, Rover can't."
+
+"He 's heavy, too; he 's got too unwieldy to tackle a smart coon, I
+expect, even if he could do the tall runnin'," said John York, with
+sympathy.  "They have to get a master grip with their teeth through a
+coon's thick pelt this time o' year.  No; the young folks gets all the
+good chances after a while;" and he looked round indulgently at the
+chubby faces of his boys, who fed the fire, and rejoiced in being
+promoted to the society of their elders on equal terms.  "Ain't it time
+we heard from the dog?"  And they all listened, while the fire snapped
+and the sap whistled in some green sticks.
+
+"I hear him," said John Henry suddenly; and faint and far away there
+came the sound of a desperate bark.  There is a bark that means attack,
+and there is a bark that means only foolish excitement.
+
+"They ain't far off!" said Isaac.  "My gracious, he's right after him!
+I don't know's I expected that poor-looking dog to be so smart.  You
+can't tell by their looks.  Quick as he scented the game up here in the
+rocks, off he put.  Perhaps it ain't any matter if they ain't
+stump-tailed, long's they 're yaller dogs.  He did n't look heavy
+enough to me.  I tell you, he means business.  Hear that bark!"
+
+"They all bark alike after a coon."  John York was as excited as
+anybody.  "Git the guns laid out to hand, boys; I told you we 'd ought
+to follow!" he commanded.  "If it's the old fellow that belongs here,
+he may put in any minute."  But there was again a long silence and
+state of suspense; the chase had turned another way.  There were faint
+distant yaps.  The fire burned low and fell together with a shower of
+sparks.  The smaller boys began to grow chilly and sleepy, when there
+was a thud and rustle and snapping of twigs close at hand, then the
+gasp of a breathless dog.  Two dim shapes rushed by; a shower of bark
+fell, and a dog began to sing at the foot of the great twisted pine not
+fifty feet away.
+
+"Hooray for Tiger!" yelled the boys; but the dog's voice filled all the
+woods.  It might have echoed to the mountain-tops.  There was the old
+coon; they could all see him half-way up the tree, flat to the great
+limb.  They heaped the fire with dry branches till it flared high.  Now
+they lost him in a shadow as he twisted about the tree.  John York
+fired, and Isaac Brown fired, and the boys took a turn at the guns,
+while John Henry started to climb a neighboring oak; but at last it was
+Isaac who brought the coon to ground with a lucky shot, and the dog
+stopped his deafening bark and frantic leaping in the underbrush, and
+after an astonishing moment of silence crept out, a proud victor, to
+his prouder master's feet.
+
+"Goodness alive, who 's this?  Good for you, old handsome!  Why, I 'll
+be hanged if it ain't old Rover, boys; _it's old Rover_!"  But Isaac
+could not speak another word.  They all crowded round the wistful,
+clumsy old dog, whose eyes shone bright, though his breath was all
+gone.  Each man patted him, and praised him, and said they ought to
+have mistrusted all the time that it could be nobody but he.  It was
+some minutes before Isaac Brown could trust himself to do anything but
+pat the sleek old head that was always ready to his hand.
+
+"He must have overheard us talkin'; I guess he 'd have come if he 'd
+dropped dead half-way," proclaimed John Henry, like a prince of the
+reigning house; and Rover wagged his tail as if in honest assent, as he
+lay at his master's side.  They sat together, while the fire was
+brightened again to make a good light for the coon-hunt supper; and
+Rover had a good half of everything that found its way into his
+master's hand.  It was toward midnight when the triumphal procession
+set forth toward home, with the two lanterns, across the fields.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+The next morning was bright and warm after the hard frost of the night
+before.  Old Rover was asleep on the doorstep in the sun, and his
+master stood in the yard, and saw neighbor Price come along the road in
+her best array, with a gay holiday air.
+
+"Well, now," she said eagerly, "you wa'n't out very late last night,
+was you?  I got up myself to let Tiger in.  He come home, all beat out,
+about a quarter past nine.  I expect you had n't no kind o' trouble
+gittin' the coon.  The boys was tellin' me he weighed 'most thirty
+pounds."
+
+"Oh, no kind o' trouble," said Isaac, keeping the great secret
+gallantly.  "You got the things I sent over this mornin'?"
+
+"Bless your heart, yes!  I 'd a sight rather have all that good pork
+an' potatoes than any o' your wild meat," said Mrs. Price, smiling with
+prosperity.  "You see, now, 'Liza Jane she 's given in.  She did n't
+re'lly know but 't was all talk of 'Bijah 'bout that dog's bein' wuth
+fifty dollars.  She says she can't cope with a huntin' dog same 's he
+could, an' she 's given me the money you an' John York sent over this
+mornin'; an' I did n't know but what you 'd lend me another half a
+dollar, so I could both go to Dipford Centre an' return, an' see if I
+could n't make a sale o' Tiger right over there where they all know
+about him.  It's right in the coon season; now 's my time, ain't it?"
+
+"Well, gettin' a little late," said Isaac, shaking with laughter as he
+took the desired sum of money out of his pocket.  "He seems to be a
+clever dog round the house."
+
+"I don't know 's I want to harbor him all winter," answered the
+excursionist frankly, striking into a good traveling gait as she
+started off toward the railroad station.
+
+
+
+
+AUNT CYNTHY DALLETT.
+
+I.
+
+"No," said Mrs. Hand, speaking wistfully,--"no, we never were in the
+habit of keeping Christmas at our house.  Mother died when we were all
+young; she would have been the one to keep up with all new ideas, but
+father and grandmother were old-fashioned folks, and--well, you know
+how 't was then, Miss Pendexter: nobody took much notice of the day
+except to wish you a Merry Christmas."
+
+"They did n't do much to make it merry, certain," answered Miss
+Pendexter.  "Sometimes nowadays I hear folks complainin' o' bein'
+overtaxed with all the Christmas work they have to do."
+
+"Well, others think that it makes a lovely chance for all that really
+enjoys givin'; you get an opportunity to speak your kind feelin' right
+out," answered Mrs. Hand, with a bright smile.  "But there!  I shall
+always keep New Year's Day, too; it won't do no hurt to have an extra
+day kept an' made pleasant.  And there 'a many of the real old folks
+have got pretty things to remember about New Year's Day."
+
+"Aunt Cynthy Dallett 's just one of 'em," said Miss Pendexter.  "She 's
+always very reproachful if I don't get up to see her.  Last year I
+missed it, on account of a light fall o' snow that seemed to make the
+walkin' too bad, an' she sent a neighbor's boy 'way down from the
+mount'in to see if I was sick.  Her lameness confines her to the house
+altogether now, an' I have her on my mind a good deal.  How anybody
+does get thinkin' of those that lives alone, as they get older!  I
+waked up only last night with a start, thinkin' if Aunt Cynthy's house
+should get afire or anything, what she would do, 'way up there all
+alone.  I was half dreamin', I s'pose, but I could n't seem to settle
+down until I got up an' went upstairs to the north garret window to see
+if I could see any light; but the mountains was all dark an' safe, same
+'s usual.  I remember noticin' last time I was there that her chimney
+needed pointin', and I spoke to her about it,--the bricks looked poor
+in some places."
+
+"Can you see the house from your north gable window?" asked Mrs. Hand,
+a little absently.
+
+"Yes 'm; it's a great comfort that I can," answered her companion.  "I
+have often wished we were near enough to have her make me some sort o'
+signal in case she needed help.  I used to plead with her to come down
+and spend the winters with me, but she told me one day I might as well
+try to fetch down one o' the old hemlocks, an' I believe 't was true."
+
+"Your aunt Dallett is a very self-contained person," observed Mrs. Hand.
+
+"Oh, very!" exclaimed the elderly niece, with a pleased look.  "Aunt
+Cynthy laughs, an' says she expects the time will come when age 'll
+compel her to have me move up an' take care of her; and last time I was
+there she looked up real funny, an' says, 'I do' know, Abby; I 'm most
+afeard sometimes that I feel myself beginnin' to look for'ard to it!'
+'T was a good deal, comin' from Aunt Cynthy, an' I so esteemed it."
+
+"She ought to have you there now," said Mrs. Hand.  "You 'd both make a
+savin' by doin' it; but I don't expect she needs to save as much as
+some.  There!  I know just how you both feel.  I like to have my own
+home an' do everything just my way too."  And the friends laughed, and
+looked at each other affectionately.
+
+"There was old Mr. Nathan Dunn,--left no debts an' no money when he
+died," said Mrs. Hand.  "'T was over to his niece's last summer.  He
+had a little money in his wallet, an' when the bill for funeral
+expenses come in there was just exactly enough; some item or other made
+it come to so many dollars an' eighty-four cents, and, lo an' behold!
+there was eighty-four cents in a little separate pocket beside the neat
+fold o' bills, as if the old gentleman had known before-hand.  His
+niece could n't help laughin', to save her; she said the old gentleman
+died as methodical as he lived.  She did n't expect he had any money,
+an' was prepared to pay for everything herself; she 's very well off."
+
+"'T was funny, certain," said Miss Pendexter.  "I expect he felt
+comfortable, knowin' he had that money by him.  'T is a comfort, when
+all's said and done, 'specially to folks that's gettin' old."
+
+A sad look shadowed her face for an instant, and then she smiled and
+rose to take leave, looking expectantly at her hostess to see if there
+were anything more to be said.
+
+"I hope to come out square myself," she said, by way of farewell
+pleasantry; "but there are times when I feel doubtful."
+
+Mrs. Hand was evidently considering something, and waited a moment or
+two before she spoke.  "Suppose we both walk up to see your aunt
+Dallett, New Year's Day, if it ain't too windy and the snow keeps off?"
+she proposed.  "I could n't rise the hill if 't was a windy day.  We
+could take a hearty breakfast an' start in good season; I 'd rather
+walk than ride, the road's so rough this time o' year."
+
+"Oh, what a person you are to think o' things!  I did so dread goin'
+'way up there all alone," said Abby Pendexter.  "I 'm no hand to go off
+alone, an' I had it before me, so I really got to dread it.  I do so
+enjoy it after I get there, seein' Aunt Cynthy, an' she 's always so
+much better than I expect to find her."
+
+"Well, we 'll start early," said Mrs. Hand cheerfully; and so they
+parted.  As Miss Pendexter went down the foot-path to the gate, she
+sent grateful thoughts back to the little sitting-room she had just
+left.
+
+"How doors are opened!" she exclaimed to herself.  "Here I 've been so
+poor an' distressed at beginnin' the year with nothin', as it were,
+that I could n't think o' even goin' to make poor old Aunt Cynthy a
+friendly call.  I 'll manage to make some kind of a little pleasure
+too, an' somethin' for dear Mis' Hand.  'Use what you 've got,' mother
+always used to say when every sort of an emergency come up, an' I may
+only have wishes to give, but I 'll make 'em good ones!"
+
+
+
+II.
+
+The first day of the year was clear and bright, as if it were a New
+Year's pattern of what winter can be at its very best.  The two friends
+were prepared for changes of weather, and met each other well wrapped
+in their winter cloaks and shawls, with sufficient brown barége veils
+tied securely over their bonnets.  They ignored for some time the plain
+truth that each carried something under her arm; the shawls were
+rounded out suspiciously, especially Miss Pendexter's, but each
+respected the other's air of secrecy.  The narrow road was frozen in
+deep ruts, but a smooth-trodden little foot-path that ran along its
+edge was very inviting to the wayfarers.  Mrs. Hand walked first and
+Miss Pendexter followed, and they were talking busily nearly all the
+way, so that they had to stop for breath now and then at the tops of
+the little hills.  It was not a hard walk; there were a good many
+almost level stretches through the woods, in spite of the fact that
+they should be a very great deal higher when they reached Mrs.
+Dallett's door.
+
+"I do declare, what a nice day 't is, an' such pretty footin'!" said
+Mrs. Hand, with satisfaction.  "Seems to me as if my feet went o'
+themselves; gener'lly I have to toil so when I walk that I can't enjoy
+nothin' when I get to a place."
+
+"It's partly this beautiful bracin' air," said Abby Pendexter.
+"Sometimes such nice air comes just before a fall of snow.  Don't it
+seem to make anybody feel young again and to take all your troubles
+away?"
+
+Mrs. Hand was a comfortable, well-to-do soul, who seldom worried about
+anything, but something in her companion's tone touched her heart, and
+she glanced sidewise and saw a pained look in Abby Pendexter's thin
+face.  It was a moment for confidence.
+
+"Why, you speak as if something distressed your mind, Abby," said the
+elder woman kindly.
+
+"I ain't one that has myself on my mind as a usual thing, but it does
+seem now as if I was goin' to have it very hard," said Abby.  "Well, I
+'ve been anxious before."
+
+"Is it anything wrong about your property?" Mrs. Hand ventured to ask.
+
+"Only that I ain't got any," answered.  Abby, trying to speak gayly.
+"'T was all I could do to pay my last quarter's rent, twelve dollars.
+I sold my hens, all but this one that had run away at the time, an' now
+I 'm carryin' her up to Aunt Cynthy, roasted just as nice as I know
+how."
+
+"I thought you was carrying somethin'," said Mrs. Hand, in her usual
+tone.  "For me, I 've got a couple o' my mince pies.  I thought the old
+lady might like 'em; one we can eat for our dinner, and one she shall
+have to keep.  But were n't you unwise to sacrifice your poultry, Abby?
+You always need eggs, and hens don't cost much to keep."
+
+"Why, yes, I shall miss 'em," said Abby; "but, you see, I had to do
+every way to get my rent-money.  Now the shop 's shut down I have n't
+got any way of earnin' anything, and I spent what little I 've saved
+through the summer."
+
+"Your aunt Cynthy ought to know it an' ought to help you," said Mrs.
+Hand.  "You 're a real foolish person, I must say.  I expect you do for
+her when she ought to do for you."
+
+"She 's old, an' she 's all the near relation I 've got," said the
+little woman.  "I 've always felt the time would come when she 'd need
+me, but it's been her great pleasure to live alone an' feel free.  I
+shall get along somehow, but I shall have it hard.  Somebody may want
+help for a spell this winter, but I 'm afraid I shall have to give up
+my house.  'T ain't as if I owned it.  I don't know just what to do,
+but there'll be a way."
+
+Mrs. Hand shifted her two pies to the other arm, and stepped across to
+the other side of the road where the ground looked a little smoother.
+
+"No, I wouldn't worry if I was you, Abby," she said.  "There, I suppose
+if 't was me I should worry a good deal more!  I expect I should lay
+awake nights."  But Abby answered nothing, and they came to a steep
+place in the road and found another subject for conversation at the top.
+
+"Your aunt don't know we 're coming?" asked the chief guest of the
+occasion.
+
+"Oh, no, I never send her word," said Miss Pendexter.  "She 'd be so
+desirous to get everything ready, just as she used to."
+
+"She never seemed to make any trouble o' havin' company; she always
+appeared so easy and pleasant, and let you set with her while she made
+her preparations," said Mrs. Hand, with great approval.  "Some has such
+a dreadful way of making you feel inopportune, and you can't always
+send word you 're comin'.  I did have a visit once that's always been a
+lesson to me; 't was years ago; I don't know 's I ever told you?"
+
+"I don't believe you ever did," responded the listener to this somewhat
+indefinite prelude.
+
+"Well, 't was one hot summer afternoon.  I set forth an' took a great
+long walk 'way over to Mis' Eben Fulham's, on the crossroad between the
+cranberry ma'sh and Staples's Corner.  The doctor was drivin' that way,
+an' he give me a lift that shortened it some at the last; but I never
+should have started, if I 'd known 't was so far.  I had been promisin'
+all summer to go, and every time I saw Mis' Fulham, Sundays, she 'd say
+somethin' about it.  We wa'n't very well acquainted, but always
+friendly.  She moved here from Bedford Hill."
+
+"Oh, yes; I used to know her," said Abby, with interest.
+
+"Well, now, she did give me a beautiful welcome when I got there,"
+continued Mrs. Hand.  "'T was about four o'clock in the afternoon, an'
+I told her I 'd come to accept her invitation if 't was convenient, an'
+the doctor had been called several miles beyond and expected to be
+detained, but he was goin' to pick me up as he returned about seven; 't
+was very kind of him.  She took me right in, and she did appear so
+pleased, an' I must go right into the best room where 't was cool, and
+then she said she 'd have tea early, and I should have to excuse her a
+short time.  I asked her not to make any difference, and if I could n't
+assist her; but she said no, I must just take her as I found her; and
+she give me a large fan, and off she went.
+
+"There.  I was glad to be still and rest where 't was cool, an' I set
+there in the rockin'-chair an' enjoyed it for a while, an' I heard her
+clacking at the oven door out beyond, an' gittin' out some dishes.  She
+was a brisk-actin' little woman, an' I thought I 'd caution her when
+she come back not to make up a great fire, only for a cup o' tea,
+perhaps.  I started to go right out in the kitchen, an' then somethin'
+told me I 'd better not, we never 'd been so free together as that; I
+did n't know how she 'd take it, an' there I set an' set.  'T was sort
+of a greenish light in the best room, an' it begun to feel a little
+damp to me,--the s'rubs outside grew close up to the windows.  Oh, it
+did seem dreadful long!  I could hear her busy with the dishes an'
+beatin' eggs an' stirrin', an' I knew she was puttin' herself out to
+get up a great supper, and I kind o' fidgeted about a little an' even
+stepped to the door, but I thought she 'd expect me to remain where I
+was.  I saw everything in that room forty times over, an' I did divert
+myself killin' off a brood o' moths that was in a worsted-work mat on
+the table.  It all fell to pieces.  I never saw such a sight o' moths
+to once.  But occupation failed after that, an' I begun to feel sort o'
+tired an' numb.  There was one o' them late crickets got into the room
+an' begun to chirp, an' it sounded kind o' fallish.  I could n't help
+sayin' to myself that Mis' Fulham had forgot all about my bein' there.
+I thought of all the beauties of hospitality that ever I see!"--
+
+"Did n't she ever come back at all, not whilst things was in the oven,
+nor nothin'?" inquired Miss Pendexter, with awe.
+
+"I never see her again till she come beamin' to the parlor door an'
+invited me to walk out to tea," said Mrs. Hand.  "'T was 'most a
+quarter past six by the clock; I thought 't was seven.  I 'd thought o'
+everything, an' I 'd counted, an' I 'd trotted my foot, an' I 'd looked
+more 'n twenty times to see if there was any more moth-millers."
+
+"I s'pose you did have a very nice tea?" suggested Abby, with interest.
+
+"Oh, a beautiful tea!  She could n't have done more if I 'd been the
+Queen," said Mrs. Hand.  "I don't know how she could ever have done it
+all in the time, I 'm sure.  The table was loaded down; there was
+cup-custards and custard pie, an' cream pie, an' two kinds o' hot
+biscuits, an' black tea as well as green, an' elegant cake,--one kind
+she 'd just made new, and called it quick cake; I 've often made it
+since--an' she 'd opened her best preserves, two kinds.  We set down
+together, an' I 'm sure I appreciated what she 'd done; but 't wa'n't
+no time for real conversation whilst we was to the table, and before we
+got quite through the doctor come hurryin' along, an' I had to leave.
+He asked us if we 'd had a good talk, as we come out, an' I could n't
+help laughing to myself; but she said quite hearty that she 'd had a
+nice visit from me.  She appeared well satisfied, Mis' Fulham did; but
+for me, I was disappointed; an' early that fall she died."
+
+Abby Pendexter was laughing like a girl; the speaker's tone had grown
+more and more complaining.  "I do call that a funny experience," she
+said.  "'Better a dinner o' herbs.'  I guess that text must ha' risen
+to your mind in connection.  You must tell that to Aunt Cynthy, if
+conversation seems to fail."  And she laughed again, but Mrs. Hand
+still looked solemn and reproachful.
+
+"Here we are; there 's Aunt Cynthy's lane right ahead, there by the
+great yellow birch," said Abby.  "I must say, you 've made the way seem
+very short, Mis' Hand."
+
+
+
+III.
+
+Old Aunt Cynthia Dallett sat in her high-backed rocking-chair by the
+little north window, which was her favorite dwelling-place.
+
+"New Year's Day again," she said, aloud,--"New Year's Day again!"  And
+she folded her old bent hands, and looked out at the great woodland
+view and the hills without really seeing them, she was lost in so deep
+a reverie.  "I 'm gittin' to be very old," she added, after a little
+while.
+
+It was perfectly still in the small gray house.  Outside in the
+apple-trees there were some blue-jays flitting about and calling
+noisily, like schoolboys fighting at their games.  The kitchen was full
+of pale winter sunshine.  It was more like late October than the first
+of January, and the plain little room seemed to smile back into the
+sun's face.  The outer door was standing open into the green dooryard,
+and a fat small dog lay asleep on the step.  A capacious cupboard stood
+behind Mrs. Dallett's chair and kept the wind away from her corner.
+Its doors and drawers were painted a clean lead-color, and there were
+places round the knobs and buttons where the touch of hands had worn
+deep into the wood.  Every braided rug was straight on the floor.  The
+square clock on its shelf between the front windows looked as if it had
+just had its face washed and been wound up for a whole year to come.
+If Mrs. Dallett turned her head she could look into the bedroom, where
+her plump feather bed was covered with its dark blue homespun winter
+quilt.  It was all very peaceful and comfortable, but it was very
+lonely.  By her side, on a light-stand, lay the religious newspaper of
+her denomination, and a pair of spectacles whose jointed silver bows
+looked like a funny two-legged beetle cast helplessly upon its back.
+
+"New Year's Day again," said old Cynthia Dallett.  Time had left nobody
+in her house to wish her a Happy New Year,--she was the last one left
+in the old nest.  "I 'm gittin' to be very old," she said for the
+second time; it seemed to be all there was to say.
+
+She was keeping a careful eye on her friendly clock, but it was hardly
+past the middle of the morning, and there was no excuse for moving; it
+was the long hour between the end of her slow morning work and the
+appointed time for beginning to get dinner.  She was so stiff and lame
+that this hour's rest was usually most welcome, but to-day she sat as
+if it were Sunday, and did not take up her old shallow splint basket of
+braiding-rags from the side of her footstool.
+
+"I do hope Abby Pendexter 'll make out to git up to see me this
+afternoon as usual," she continued.  "I know 't ain't so easy for her
+to get up the hill as it used to be, but I do seem to want to see some
+o' my own folks.  I wish 't I 'd thought to send her word I expected
+her when Jabez Hooper went back after he came up here with the flour.
+I 'd like to have had her come prepared to stop two or three days."
+
+A little chickadee perched on the window-sill outside and bobbed his
+head sideways to look in, and then pecked impatiently at the glass.
+The old woman laughed at him with childish pleasure and felt
+companioned; it was pleasant at that moment to see the life in even a
+bird's bright eye.
+
+"Sign of a stranger," she said, as he whisked his wings and flew away
+in a hurry.  "I must throw out some crumbs for 'em; it's getting to be
+hard pickin' for the stayin'-birds."  She looked past the trees of her
+little orchard now with seeing eyes, and followed the long forest
+slopes that led downward to the lowland country.  She could see the two
+white steeples of Fairfield Village, and the map of fields and pastures
+along the valley beyond, and the great hills across the valley to the
+westward.  The scattered houses looked like toys that had been
+scattered by children.  She knew their lights by night, and watched the
+smoke of their chimneys by day.  Far to the northward were higher
+mountains, and these were already white with snow.  Winter was already
+in sight, but to-day the wind was in the south, and the snow seemed
+only part of a great picture.
+
+"I do hope the cold 'll keep off a while longer," thought Mrs. Dallett.
+"I don't know how I 'm going to get along after the deep snow comes."
+
+The little dog suddenly waked, as if he had had a bad dream, and after
+giving a few anxious whines he began to bark outrageously.  His
+mistress tried, as usual, to appeal to his better feelings.
+
+"'T ain't nobody, Tiger," she said.  "Can't you have some patience?
+Maybe it's some foolish boys that's rangin' about with their guns."
+But Tiger kept on, and even took the trouble to waddle in on his short
+legs, barking all the way.  He looked warningly at her, and then turned
+and ran out again.  Then she saw him go hurrying down to the bars, as
+if it were an occasion of unusual interest.
+
+"I guess somebody is comin'; he don't act as if 't were a vagrant kind
+o' noise; must really be somebody in our lane."  And Mrs. Dallett
+smoothed her apron and gave an anxious housekeeper's glance round the
+kitchen.  None of her state visitors, the minister or the deacons, ever
+came in the morning.  Country people are usually too busy to go
+visiting in the forenoons.
+
+Presently two figures appeared where the road came out of the
+woods,--the two women already known to the story, but very surprising
+to Mrs. Dallett; the short, thin one was easily recognized as Abby
+Pendexter, and the taller, stout one was soon discovered to be Mrs.
+Hand.  Their old friend's heart was in a glow.  As the guests
+approached they could see her pale face with its thin white hair framed
+under the close black silk handkerchief.
+
+"There she is at her window smilin' away!" exclaimed Mrs. Hand; but by
+the time they reached the doorstep she stood waiting to meet them.
+
+"Why, you two dear creatur's!" she said, with a beaming smile.  "I
+don't know when I 've ever been so glad to see folks comin'.  I had a
+kind of left-all-alone feelin' this mornin', an' I didn't even make
+bold to be certain o' you, Abby, though it looked so pleasant.  Come
+right in an' set down.  You 're all out o' breath, ain't you, Mis'
+Hand?"
+
+Mrs. Dallett led the way with eager hospitality.  She was the tiniest
+little bent old creature, her handkerchiefed head was quick and alert,
+and her eyes were bright with excitement and feeling, but the rest of
+her was much the worse for age; she could hardly move, poor soul, as if
+she had only a make-believe framework of a body under a shoulder-shawl
+and thick petticoats.  She got back to her chair again, and the guests
+took off their bonnets in the bedroom, and returned discreet and sedate
+in their black woolen dresses.  The lonely kitchen was blest with
+society at last, to its mistress's heart's content.  They talked as
+fast as possible about the weather, and how warm it had been walking up
+the mountain, and how cold it had been a year ago, that day when Abby
+Pendexter had been kept at home by a snowstorm and missed her visit.
+"And I ain't seen you now, aunt, since the twenty-eighth of September,
+but I 've thought of you a great deal, and looked forward to comin'
+more'n usual," she ended, with an affectionate glance at the pleased
+old face by the window.
+
+"I 've been wantin' to see you, dear, and wonderin' how you was gettin'
+on," said Aunt Cynthy kindly.  "And I take it as a great attention to
+have you come to-day, Mis' Hand," she added, turning again towards the
+more distinguished guest.  "We have to put one thing against another.
+I should hate dreadfully to live anywhere except on a high hill farm,
+'cordin' as I was born an' raised.  But there ain't the chance to
+neighbor that townfolks has, an' I do seem to have more lonely hours
+than I used to when I was younger.  I don't know but I shall soon be
+gittin' too old to live alone."  And she turned to her niece with an
+expectant, lovely look, and Abby smiled back.
+
+"I often wish I could run in an' see you every day, aunt," she
+answered.  "I have been sayin' so to Mrs. Hand."
+
+"There, how anybody does relish company when they don't have but a
+little of it!" exclaimed Aunt Cynthia.  "I am all alone to-day; there
+is going to be a shootin'-match somewhere the other side o' the
+mountain, an' Johnny Foss, that does my chores, begged off to go when
+he brought the milk unusual early this mornin'.  Gener'lly he 's about
+here all the fore part of the day; but he don't go off with the boys
+very often, and I like to have him have a little sport; 't was New
+Year's Day, anyway; he 's a good, stiddy boy for my wants."
+
+"Why, I wish you Happy New Year, aunt!" said Abby, springing up with
+unusual spirit.  "Why, that's just what we come to say, and we like to
+have forgot all about it!"  She kissed her aunt, and stood a minute
+holding her hand with a soft, affectionate touch.  Mrs. Hand rose and
+kissed Mrs. Dallett too, and it was a moment of ceremony and deep
+feeling.
+
+"I always like to keep the day," said the old hostess, as they seated
+themselves and drew their splint-bottomed chairs a little nearer
+together than before.  "You see, I was brought up to it, and father
+made a good deal of it; he said he liked to make it pleasant and give
+the year a fair start.  I can see him now, how he used to be standing
+there by the fireplace when we came out o' the two bedrooms early in
+the morning, an' he always made out, poor's he was, to give us some
+little present, and he 'd heap 'em up on the corner o' the mantelpiece,
+an' we 'd stand front of him in a row, and mother be bustling about
+gettin' breakfast.  One year he give me a beautiful copy o' the 'Life
+o' General Lafayette,' in a green cover,--I 've got it now, but we
+child'n 'bout read it to pieces,--an' one year a nice piece o' blue
+ribbon, an' Abby--that was your mother, Abby--had a pink one.  Father
+was real kind to his child'n.  I thought o' them early days when I
+first waked up this mornin', and I could n't help lookin' up then to
+the corner o' the shelf just as I used to look."
+
+"There's nothin' so beautiful as to have a bright childhood to look
+back to," said Mrs. Hand.  "Sometimes I think child'n has too hard a
+time now,--all the responsibility is put on to 'em, since they take the
+lead o' what to do an' what they want, and get to be so toppin' an'
+knowin'.  'Twas happier in the old days, when the fathers an' mothers
+done the rulin'."
+
+"They say things have changed," said Aunt Cynthy; "but staying right
+here, I don't know much of any world but my own world."
+
+Abby Pendexter did not join in this conversation, but sat in her
+straight backed chair with folded hands and the air of a good child.
+The little old dog had followed her in, and now lay sound asleep again
+at her feet.  The front breadth of her black dress looked rusty and old
+in the sunshine that slanted across it, and the aunt's sharp eyes saw
+this and saw the careful darns.  Abby was as neat as wax, but she
+looked as if the frost had struck her.  "I declare, she's gittin' along
+in years," thought Aunt Cynthia compassionately.  "She begins to look
+sort o' set and dried up, Abby does.  She ought n't to live all alone;
+she's one that needs company."
+
+At this moment Abby looked up with new interest.  "Now, aunt," she
+said, in her pleasant voice, "I don't want you to forget to tell me if
+there ain't some sewin' or mendin' I can do whilst I 'm here.  I know
+your hands trouble you some, an' I may's well tell you we 're bent on
+stayin' all day an' makin' a good visit, Mis' Hand an' me."
+
+"Thank ye kindly," said the old woman; "I do want a little sewin' done
+before long, but 't ain't no use to spile a good holiday."  Her face
+took a resolved expression.  "I 'm goin' to make other arrangements,"
+she said.  "No, you need n't come up here to pass New Year's Day an' be
+put right down to sewin'.  I make out to do what mendin' I need, an' to
+sew on my hooks an' eyes.  I get Johnny Ross to thread me up a good lot
+o' needles every little while, an' that helps me a good deal.  Abby,
+why can't you step into the best room an' bring out the rockin'-chair?
+I seem to want Mis' Hand to have it."
+
+"I opened the window to let the sun in awhile," said the niece, as she
+returned.  "It felt cool in there an' shut up."
+
+"I thought of doin' it not long before you come," said Mrs. Dallett,
+looking gratified.  Once the taking of such a liberty would have been
+very provoking to her.  "Why, it does seem good to have somebody think
+o' things an' take right hold like that!"
+
+"I 'm sure you would, if you were down at my house," said Abby,
+blushing.  "Aunt Cynthy, I don't suppose you could feel as if 't would
+be best to come down an' pass the winter with me,--just durin' the cold
+weather, I mean.  You 'd see more folks to amuse you, an'--I do think
+of you so anxious these long winter nights."
+
+There was a terrible silence in the room, and Miss Pendexter felt her
+heart begin to beat very fast.  She did not dare to look at her aunt at
+first.
+
+Presently the silence was broken.  Aunt Cynthia had been gazing out of
+the window, and she turned towards them a little paler and older than
+before, and smiling sadly.
+
+"Well, dear, I 'll do just as you say," she answered.  "I 'm beat by
+age at last, but I 've had my own way for eighty-five years, come the
+month o' March, an' last winter I did use to lay awake an' worry in the
+long storms.  I 'm kind o' humble now about livin' alone to what I was
+once."  At this moment a new light shone in her face.  "I don't expect
+you 'd be willin' to come up here an' stay till spring,--not if I had
+Foss's folks stop for you to ride to meetin' every pleasant Sunday, an'
+take you down to the Corners plenty o' other times besides?" she said
+beseechingly.  "No, Abby, I 'm too old to move now; I should be
+homesick down to the village.  If you 'll come an' stay with me, all I
+have shall be yours.  Mis' Hand hears me say it."
+
+"Oh, don't you think o' that; you 're all I 've got near to me in the
+world, an' I 'll come an' welcome," said Abby, though the thought of
+her own little home gave a hard tug at her heart.  "Yes, Aunt Cynthy, I
+'ll come, an' we 'll be real comfortable together.  I 've been lonesome
+sometimes"--
+
+"'Twill be best for both," said Mrs. Hand judicially.  And so the great
+question was settled, and suddenly, without too much excitement, it
+became a thing of the past.
+
+"We must be thinkin' o' dinner," said Aunt Cynthia gayly.  "I wish I
+was better prepared; but there 's nice eggs an' pork an' potatoes, an'
+you girls can take hold an' help."  At this moment the roast chicken
+and the best mince pies were offered and kindly accepted, and before
+another hour had gone they were sitting at their New Year feast, which
+Mrs. Dallett decided to be quite proper for the Queen.
+
+Before the guests departed, when the sun was getting low, Aunt Cynthia
+called her niece to her side and took hold of her hand.
+
+"Don't you make it too long now, Abby," said she.  "I shall be wantin'
+ye every day till you come; but you must n't forgit what a set old
+thing I be."
+
+Abby had the kindest of hearts, and was always longing for somebody to
+love and care for; her aunt's very age and helplessness seemed to beg
+for pity.
+
+"This is Saturday; you may expect me the early part of the week; and
+thank you, too, aunt," said Abby.
+
+Mrs. Hand stood by with deep sympathy.  "It's the proper thing," she
+announced calmly.  "You 'd both of you be a sight happier; and truth
+is, Abby's wild an' reckless, an' needs somebody to stand right over
+her, Mis' Dallett.  I guess she 'll try an' behave, but there--there 's
+no knowin'!"  And they all laughed.  Then the New Year guests said
+farewell and started off down the mountain road.  They looked back more
+than once to see Aunt Cynthia's face at the window as she watched them
+out of sight.  Miss Abby Pendexter was full of excitement; she looked
+as happy as a child.
+
+"I feel as if we 'd gained the battle of Waterloo," said Mrs. Hand.  "I
+'ve really had a most beautiful time.  You an' your aunt must n't
+forgit to invite me up some time again to spend another day."
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING.
+
+I.
+
+There was a sad heart in the low-storied, dark little house that stood
+humbly by the roadside under some tall elms.  Small as her house was,
+old Mrs. Robb found it too large for herself alone; she only needed the
+kitchen and a tiny bedroom that led out of it, and there still remained
+the best room and a bedroom, with the low garret overhead.
+
+There had been a time, after she was left alone, when Mrs. Robb could
+help those who were poorer than herself.  She was strong enough not
+only to do a woman's work inside her house, but almost a man's work
+outside in her piece of garden ground.  At last sickness and age had
+come hand in hand, those two relentless enemies of the poor, and
+together they had wasted her strength and substance.  She had always
+been looked up to by her neighbors as being independent, but now she
+was left, lame-footed and lame-handed, with a debt to carry and her
+bare land, and the house ill-provisioned to stand the siege of time.
+
+For a while she managed to get on, but at last it began to be whispered
+about that there was no use for any one so proud; it was easier for the
+whole town to care for her than for a few neighbors, and Mrs. Robb had
+better go to the poorhouse before winter, and be done with it.  At this
+terrible suggestion her brave heart seemed to stand still.  The people
+whom she cared for most happened to be poor, and she could no longer go
+into their households to make herself of use.  The very elms overhead
+seemed to say, "Oh, no!" as they groaned in the late autumn winds, and
+there was something appealing even to the strange passer-by in the look
+of the little gray house, with Mrs. Robb's pale, worried face at the
+window.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+Some one has said that anniversaries are days to make other people
+happy in, but sometimes when they come they seem to be full of shadows,
+and the power of giving joy to others, that inalienable right which
+ought to lighten the saddest heart, the most indifferent sympathy,
+sometimes even this seems to be withdrawn.
+
+So poor old Mary Ann Robb sat at her window on the afternoon before
+Thanksgiving and felt herself poor and sorrowful indeed.  Across the
+frozen road she looked eastward over a great stretch of cold meadow
+land, brown and wind-swept and crossed by icy ditches.  It seemed to
+her as if before this, in all the troubles that she had known and
+carried, there had always been some hope to hold: as if she had never
+looked poverty full in the face and seen its cold and pitiless look
+before.  She looked anxiously down the road, with a horrible shrinking
+and dread at the thought of being asked, out of pity, to join in some
+Thanksgiving feast, but there was nobody coming with gifts in hand.
+Once she had been full of love for such days, whether at home or
+abroad, but something chilled her very heart now.
+
+Her nearest neighbor had been foremost of those who wished her to go to
+the town farm, and he had said more than once that it was the only
+sensible thing.  But John Mander was waiting impatiently to get her
+tiny farm into his own hands; he had advanced some money upon it in her
+extremity, and pretended that there was still a debt, after he cleared
+her wood lot to pay himself back.  He would plough over the graves in
+the field corner and fell the great elms, and waited now like a spider
+for his poor prey.  He often reproached her for being too generous to
+worthless people in the past and coming to be a charge to others now.
+Oh, if she could only die in her own house and not suffer the pain of
+homelessness and dependence!
+
+It was just at sunset, and as she looked out hopelessly across the gray
+fields, there was a sudden gleam of light far away on the low hills
+beyond; the clouds opened in the west and let the sunshine through.
+One lovely gleam shot swift as an arrow and brightened a far cold
+hillside where it fell, and at the same moment a sudden gleam of hope
+brightened the winter landscape of her heart.
+
+"There was Johnny Harris," said Mary Ann Robb softly.  "He was a
+soldier's son, left an orphan and distressed.  Old John Mander scolded,
+but I could n't see the poor boy in want.  I kept him that year after
+he got hurt, spite o' what anybody said, an' he helped me what little
+he could.  He said I was the only mother he 'd ever had.  'I 'm goin'
+out West, Mother Robb,' says he.  'I sha'n't come back till I get
+rich,' an' then he 'd look at me an' laugh, so pleasant and boyish.  He
+wa'n't one that liked to write.  I don't think he was doin' very well
+when I heard,--there, it's most four years ago now.  I always thought
+if he got sick or anything, I should have a good home for him to come
+to.  There 's poor Ezra Blake, the deaf one, too,--he won't have any
+place to welcome him."
+
+The light faded out of doors, and again Mrs. Robb's troubles stood
+before her.  Yet it was not so dark as it had been in her sad heart.
+She still sat by the window, hoping now, in spite of herself, instead
+of fearing; and a curious feeling of nearness and expectancy made her
+feel not so much light-hearted as light-headed.
+
+"I feel just as if somethin' was goin' to happen," she said.  "Poor
+Johnny Harris, perhaps he's thinkin' o' me, if he's alive."
+
+It was dark now out of doors, and there were tiny clicks against the
+window.  It was beginning to snow, and the great elms creaked in the
+rising wind overhead.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+A dead limb of one of the old trees had fallen that autumn, and, poor
+firewood as it might be, it was Mrs. Robb's own, and she had burnt it
+most thankfully.  There was only a small armful left, but at least she
+could have the luxury of a fire.  She had a feeling that it was her
+last night at home, and with strange recklessness began to fill the
+stove as she used to do in better days.
+
+"It 'll get me good an' warm," she said, still talking to herself, as
+lonely people do, "an' I 'll go to bed early.  It's comin' on to storm."
+
+The snow clicked faster and faster against the window, and she sat
+alone thinking in the dark.
+
+"There 's lots of folks I love," she said once.  "They 'd be sorry I
+ain't got nobody to come, an' no supper the night afore Thanksgivin'.
+I 'm dreadful glad they don't know."  And she drew a little nearer to
+the fire, and laid her head back drowsily in the old rocking-chair.
+
+It seemed only a moment before there was a loud knocking, and somebody
+lifted the latch of the door.  The fire shone bright through the front
+of the stove and made a little light in the room, but Mary Ann Robb
+waked up frightened and bewildered.
+
+"Who 's there?" she called, as she found her crutch and went to the
+door.  She was only conscious of her one great fear.  "They 've come to
+take me to the poor-house!" she said, and burst into tears.
+
+There was a tall man, not John Mander, who seemed to fill the narrow
+doorway.
+
+"Come, let me in!" he said gayly.  "It's a cold night.  You did n't
+expect me, did you, Mother Robb?"
+
+"Dear me, what is it?" she faltered, stepping back as he came in, and
+dropping her crutch.  "Be I dreamin'?  I was a-dreamin' about--  Oh,
+there!  What was I a-sayin'?  'T ain't true!  No!  I've made some kind
+of a mistake."
+
+Yes, and this was the man who kept the poorhouse, and she would go
+without complaint; they might have given her notice, but she must not
+fret.
+
+"Sit down, sir," she said, turning toward him with touching patience.
+"You 'll have to give me a little time.  If I 'd been notified I would
+n't have kept you waiting a minute this stormy night."
+
+It was not the keeper of the poorhouse.  The man by the door took one
+step forward and put his arm round her and kissed her.
+
+"What are you talking about?" said John Harris.  "You ain't goin' to
+make me feel like a stranger?  I 've come all the way from Dakota to
+spend Thanksgivin'.  There's all sorts o' things out here in the wagon,
+an' a man to help get 'em in.  Why, don't cry so, Mother Robb.  I
+thought you 'd have a great laugh, if I come and surprised you.  Don't
+you remember I always said I should come?"
+
+It was John Harris, indeed.  The poor soul could say nothing.  She felt
+now as if her heart was going to break with joy.  He left her in the
+rocking-chair and came and went in his old boyish way, bringing in the
+store of gifts and provisions.  It was better than any dream.  He
+laughed and talked, and went out to send away the man to bring a
+wagonful of wood from John Mander's, and came in himself laden with
+pieces of the nearest fence to keep the fire going in the mean time.
+They must cook the beef-steak for supper right away; they must find the
+pound of tea among all the other bundles; they must get good fires
+started in both the cold bedrooms.  Why, Mother Robb did n't seem to be
+ready for company from out West!  The great, cheerful fellow hurried
+about the tiny house, and the little old woman limped after him,
+forgetting everything but hospitality.  Had not she a house for John to
+come to?  Were not her old chairs and tables in their places still?
+And he remembered everything, and kissed her as they stood before the
+fire, as if she were a girl.
+
+He had found plenty of hard times, but luck had come at last.  He had
+struck luck, and this was the end of a great year.
+
+"No, I could n't seem to write letters; no use to complain o' the
+worst, an' I wanted to tell you the best when I came;" and he told it
+while she cooked the supper.  "No, I wa'n't goin' to write no foolish
+letters," John repeated.  He was afraid he should cry himself when he
+found out how bad things had been; and they sat down to supper
+together, just as they used to do when he was a homeless orphan boy,
+whom nobody else wanted in winter weather while he was crippled and
+could not work.  She could not be kinder now than she was then, but she
+looked so poor and old!  He saw her taste her cup of tea and set it
+down again with a trembling hand and a look at him.  "No, I wanted to
+come myself," he blustered, wiping his eyes and trying to laugh.  "And
+you 're going to have everything you need to make you comfortable
+long's you live, Mother Robb!"
+
+She looked at him again and nodded, but she did not even try to speak.
+There was a good hot supper ready, and a happy guest had come; it was
+the night before Thanksgiving.
+
+
+
+
+Books by Sarah Orne Jewett.
+
+
+  DEEPHAVEN.
+  OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.
+  COUNTRY BY-WAYS.
+  THE MATE OF THE DAYLIGHT, AND FRIENDS ASHORE.
+  A COUNTRY DOCTOR.
+  A MARSH ISLAND.
+  A WHITE HERON, AND OTHER STORIES.
+  THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND, AND OTHER PEOPLE.
+  TALES OF NEW ENGLAND.
+  STRANGERS AND WAYFARERS.
+  A NATIVE OF WINBY, AND OTHER TALES.
+  THE LIFE OF NANCY.
+  THE COUNTRY OF THE POINTED FIRS.
+  THE QUEEN'S TWIN AND OTHER STORIES.
+  PLAY-DAYS.
+  BETTY LEICESTER.
+  BETTY LEICESTER'S CHRISTMAS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Queen's Twin and Other Stories, by 
+Sarah Orne Jewett
+
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+Project Gutenberg's The Queen's Twin and Other Stories, by Sarah Orne Jewett
+
+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: The Queen's Twin and Other Stories
+
+Author: Sarah Orne Jewett
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2008 [EBook #24822]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUEEN'S TWIN AND OTHER STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN'S TWIN
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT
+
+
+
+
+BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
+
+The Riverside Press, Cambridge
+
+
+M DCCC XCIX
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT
+
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+SUSAN BURLEY CABOT
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  THE QUEEN'S TWIN
+  A DUNNET SHEPHERDESS
+  WHERE'S NORA
+  BOLD WORDS AT THE BRIDGE
+  MARTHA'S LADY
+  THE COON DOG
+  AUNT CYNTHY DALLETT
+  THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING
+
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN'S TWIN.
+
+I.
+
+The coast of Maine was in former years brought so near to foreign
+shores by its busy fleet of ships that among the older men and women
+one still finds a surprising proportion of travelers.  Each
+seaward-stretching headland with its high-set houses, each island of a
+single farm, has sent its spies to view many a Land of Eshcol; one may
+see plain, contented old faces at the windows, whose eyes have looked
+at far-away ports and known the splendors of the Eastern world.  They
+shame the easy voyager of the North Atlantic and the Mediterranean;
+they have rounded the Cape of Good Hope and braved the angry seas of
+Cape Horn in small wooden ships; they have brought up their hardy boys
+and girls on narrow decks; they were among the last of the Northmen's
+children to go adventuring to unknown shores.  More than this one
+cannot give to a young State for its enlightenment; the sea captains
+and the captains' wives of Maine knew something of the wide world, and
+never mistook their native parishes for the whole instead of a part
+thereof; they knew not only Thomaston and Castine and Portland, but
+London and Bristol and Bordeaux, and the strange-mannered harbors of
+the China Sea.
+
+One September day, when I was nearly at the end of a summer spent in a
+village called Dunnet Landing, on the Maine coast, my friend Mrs. Todd,
+in whose house I lived, came home from a long, solitary stroll in the
+wild pastures, with an eager look as if she were just starting on a
+hopeful quest instead of returning.  She brought a little basket with
+blackberries enough for supper, and held it towards me so that I could
+see that there were also some late and surprising raspberries sprinkled
+on top, but she made no comment upon her wayfaring.  I could tell
+plainly that she had something very important to say.
+
+"You have n't brought home a leaf of anything," I ventured to this
+practiced herb-gatherer.  "You were saying yesterday that the witch
+hazel might be in bloom."
+
+"I dare say, dear," she answered in a lofty manner; "I ain't goin' to
+say it was n't; I ain't much concerned either way 'bout the facts o'
+witch hazel.  Truth is, I 've been off visitin'; there's an old Indian
+footpath leadin' over towards the Back Shore through the great heron
+swamp that anybody can't travel over all summer.  You have to seize
+your time some day just now, while the low ground 's summer-dried as it
+is to-day, and before the fall rains set in.  I never thought of it
+till I was out o' sight o' home, and I says to myself, 'To-day 's the
+day, certain!' and stepped along smart as I could.  Yes, I 've been
+visitin'.  I did get into one spot that was wet underfoot before I
+noticed; you wait till I get me a pair o' dry woolen stockings, in case
+of cold, and I 'll come an' tell ye."
+
+Mrs. Todd disappeared.  I could see that something had deeply
+interested her.  She might have fallen in with either the sea-serpent
+or the lost tribes of Israel, such was her air of mystery and
+satisfaction.  She had been away since just before mid-morning, and as
+I sat waiting by my window I saw the last red glow of autumn sunshine
+flare along the gray rocks of the shore and leave them cold again, and
+touch the far sails of some coast-wise schooners so that they stood
+like golden houses on the sea.
+
+I was left to wonder longer than I liked.  Mrs. Todd was making an
+evening fire and putting things in train for supper; presently she
+returned, still looking warm and cheerful after her long walk.
+
+"There 's a beautiful view from a hill over where I 've been," she told
+me; "yes, there 's a beautiful prospect of land and sea.  You would n't
+discern the hill from any distance, but 't is the pretty situation of
+it that counts.  I sat there a long spell, and I did wish for you.  No,
+I did n't know a word about goin' when I set out this morning" (as if I
+had openly reproached her!); "I only felt one o' them travelin' fits
+comin' on, an' I ketched up my little basket; I didn't know but I might
+turn and come back time for dinner.  I thought it wise to set out your
+luncheon for you in case I did n't.  Hope you had all you wanted; yes,
+I hope you had enough."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed," said I.  My landlady was always peculiarly bountiful
+in her supplies when she left me to fare for myself, as if she made a
+sort of peace-offering or affectionate apology.
+
+"You know that hill with the old house right on top, over beyond the
+heron swamp?  You 'll excuse me for explainin'," Mrs. Todd began, "but
+you ain't so apt to strike inland as you be to go right along shore.
+You know that hill; there 's a path leadin' right over to it that you
+have to look sharp to find nowadays; it belonged to the up-country
+Indians when they had to make a carry to the landing here to get to the
+out' islands.  I 've heard the old folks say that there used to be a
+place across a ledge where they 'd worn a deep track with their
+moccasin feet, but I never could find it.  'T is so overgrown in some
+places that you keep losin' the path in the bushes and findin' it as
+you can; but it runs pretty straight considerin' the lay o' the land,
+and I keep my eye on the sun and the moss that grows one side o' the
+tree trunks.  Some brook's been choked up and the swamp's bigger than
+it used to be.  Yes; I did get in deep enough, one place!"
+
+I showed the solicitude that I felt.  Mrs. Todd was no longer young,
+and in spite of her strong, great frame and spirited behavior, I knew
+that certain ills were apt to seize upon her, and would end some day by
+leaving her lame and ailing.
+
+"Don't you go to worryin' about me," she insisted, "settin' still's the
+only way the Evil One 'll ever get the upper hand o' me.  Keep me
+movin' enough, an' I 'm twenty year old summer an' winter both.  I
+don't know why 't is, but I 've never happened to mention the one I 've
+been to see.  I don't know why I never happened to speak the name of
+Abby Martin, for I often give her a thought, but 't is a dreadful
+out-o'-the-way place where she lives, and I haven't seen her myself for
+three or four years.  She's a real good interesting woman, and we 're
+well acquainted; she 's nigher mother's age than mine, but she 's very
+young feeling.  She made me a nice cup o' tea, and I don't know but I
+should have stopped all night if I could have got word to you not to
+worry."
+
+Then there was a serious silence before Mrs. Todd spoke again to make a
+formal announcement.
+
+"She is the Queen's Twin," and Mrs. Todd looked steadily to see how I
+might bear the great surprise.
+
+"The Queen's Twin?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, she 's come to feel a real interest in the Queen, and anybody can
+see how natural 't is.  They were born the very same day, and you would
+be astonished to see what a number o' other things have corresponded.
+She was speaking o' some o' the facts to me to-day, an' you 'd think
+she 'd never done nothing but read history.  I see how earnest she was
+about it as I never did before.  I 've often and often heard her allude
+to the facts, but now she's got to be old and the hurry's over with her
+work, she 's come to live a good deal in her thoughts, as folks often
+do, and I tell you 't is a sight o' company for her.  If you want to
+hear about Queen Victoria, why Mis' Abby Martin 'll tell you
+everything.  And the prospect from that hill I spoke of is as beautiful
+as anything in this world; 't is worth while your goin' over to see her
+just for that."
+
+"When can you go again?" I demanded eagerly.
+
+"I should say to-morrow," answered Mrs. Todd; "yes, I should say
+to-morrow; but I expect 't would be better to take one day to rest, in
+between.  I considered that question as I was comin' home, but I
+hurried so that there wa'n't much time to think.  It's a dreadful long
+way to go with a horse; you have to go 'most as far as the old Bowden
+place an' turn off to the left, a master long, rough road, and then you
+have to turn right round as soon as you get there if you mean to get
+home before nine o'clock at night.  But to strike across country from
+here, there 's plenty o' time in the shortest day, and you can have a
+good hour or two's visit beside; 't ain't but a very few miles, and
+it's pretty all the way along.  There used to be a few good families
+over there, but they 've died and scattered, so now she 's far from
+neighbors.  There, she really cried, she was so glad to see anybody
+comin'.  You 'll be amused to hear her talk about the Queen, but I
+thought twice or three times as I set there 't was about all the
+company she 'd got."
+
+"Could we go day after to-morrow?" I asked eagerly.
+
+"'T would suit me exactly," said Mrs. Todd.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+One can never be so certain of good New England weather as in the days
+when a long easterly storm has blown away the warm late-summer mists,
+and cooled the air so that however bright the sunshine is by day, the
+nights come nearer and nearer to frostiness.  There was a cold
+freshness in the morning air when Mrs. Todd and I locked the house-door
+behind us; we took the key of the fields into our own hands that day,
+and put out across country as one puts out to sea.  When we reached the
+top of the ridge behind the town it seemed as if we had anxiously
+passed the harbor bar and were comfortably in open sea at last.
+
+"There, now!" proclaimed Mrs. Todd, taking a long breath, "now I do
+feel safe.  It's just the weather that's liable to bring somebody to
+spend the day; I 've had a feeling of Mis' Elder Caplin from North
+Point bein' close upon me ever since I waked up this mornin', an' I
+didn't want to be hampered with our present plans.  She's a great hand
+to visit; she 'll be spendin' the day somewhere from now till
+Thanksgivin', but there 's plenty o' places at the Landin' where she
+goes, an' if I ain't there she 'll just select another.  I thought
+mother might be in, too, 'tis so pleasant; but I run up the road to
+look off this mornin' before you was awake, and there was no sign o'
+the boat.  If they had n't started by that time they wouldn't start,
+just as the tide is now; besides, I see a lot o' mackerel-men headin'
+Green Island way, and they 'll detain William.  No, we 're safe now,
+an' if mother should be comin' in tomorrow we 'll have all this to tell
+her.  She an' Mis' Abby Martin's very old friends."
+
+We were walking down the long pasture slopes towards the dark woods and
+thickets of the low ground.  They stretched away northward like an
+unbroken wilderness; the early mists still dulled much of the color and
+made the uplands beyond look like a very far-off country.
+
+"It ain't so far as it looks from here," said my companion
+reassuringly, "but we 've got no time to spare either," and she hurried
+on, leading the way with a fine sort of spirit in her step; and
+presently we struck into the old Indian footpath, which could be
+plainly seen across the long-unploughed turf of the pastures, and
+followed it among the thick, low-growing spruces.  There the ground was
+smooth and brown under foot, and the thin-stemmed trees held a dark and
+shadowy roof overhead.  We walked a long way without speaking;
+sometimes we had to push aside the branches, and sometimes we walked in
+a broad aisle where the trees were larger.  It was a solitary wood,
+birdless and beastless; there was not even a rabbit to be seen, or a
+crow high in air to break the silence.
+
+"I don't believe the Queen ever saw such a lonesome trail as this,"
+said Mrs. Todd, as if she followed the thoughts that were in my mind.
+Our visit to Mrs. Abby Martin seemed in some strange way to concern the
+high affairs of royalty.  I had just been thinking of English
+landscapes, and of the solemn hills of Scotland with their lonely
+cottages and stone-walled sheepfolds, and the wandering flocks on high
+cloudy pastures.  I had often been struck by the quick interest and
+familiar allusion to certain members of the royal house which one found
+in distant neighborhoods of New England; whether some old instincts of
+personal loyalty have survived all changes of time and national
+vicissitudes, or whether it is only that the Queen's own character and
+disposition have won friends for her so far away, it is impossible to
+tell.  But to hear of a twin sister was the most surprising proof of
+intimacy of all, and I must confess that there was something remarkably
+exciting to the imagination in my morning walk.  To think of being
+presented at Court in the usual way was for the moment quite
+commonplace.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+Mrs. Todd was swinging her basket to and fro like a schoolgirl as she
+walked, and at this moment it slipped from her hand and rolled lightly
+along the ground as if there were nothing in it.  I picked it up and
+gave it to her, whereupon she lifted the cover and looked in with
+anxiety.
+
+"'T is only a few little things, but I don't want to lose 'em," she
+explained humbly.  "'T was lucky you took the other basket if I was
+goin' to roll it round.  Mis' Abby Martin complained o' lacking some
+pretty pink silk to finish one o' her little frames, an' I thought I 'd
+carry her some, and I had a bunch o' gold thread that had been in a box
+o' mine this twenty year.  I never was one to do much fancy work, but
+we 're all liable to be swept away by fashion.  And then there's a
+small packet o' very choice herbs that I gave a good deal of attention
+to; they 'll smarten her up and give her the best of appetites, come
+spring.  She was tellin' me that spring weather is very wiltin' an'
+tryin' to her, and she was beginnin' to dread it already.  Mother 's
+just the same way; if I could prevail on mother to take some o' these
+remedies in good season 'twould make a world o' difference, but she
+gets all down hill before I have a chance to hear of it, and then
+William comes in to tell me, sighin' and bewailin', how feeble mother
+is.  'Why can't you remember 'bout them good herbs that I never let her
+be without?' I say to him--he does provoke me so; and then off he goes,
+sulky enough, down to his boat.  Next thing I know, she comes in to go
+to meetin', wantin' to speak to everybody and feelin' like a girl.
+Mis' Martin's case is very much the same; but she 's nobody to watch
+her.  William's kind o' slow-moulded; but there, any William's better
+than none when you get to be Mis' Martin's age."
+
+"Hadn't she any children?" I asked.
+
+"Quite a number," replied Mrs. Todd grandly, "but some are gone and the
+rest are married and settled.  She never was a great hand to go about
+visitin'.  I don't know but Mis' Martin might be called a little
+peculiar.  Even her own folks has to make company of her; she never
+slips in and lives right along with the rest as if 'twas at home, even
+in her own children's houses.  I heard one o' her sons' wives say once
+she 'd much rather have the Queen to spend the day if she could choose
+between the two, but I never thought Abby was so difficult as that.  I
+used to love to have her come; she may have been sort o' ceremonious,
+but very pleasant and sprightly if you had sense enough to treat her
+her own way.  I always think she 'd know just how to live with great
+folks, and feel easier 'long of them an' their ways.  Her son's wife 's
+a great driver with farm-work, boards a great tableful o' men in hayin'
+time, an' feels right in her element.  I don't say but she 's a good
+woman an' smart, but sort o' rough.  Anybody that's gentle-mannered an'
+precise like Mis' Martin would be a sort o' restraint.
+
+"There's all sorts o' folks in the country, same 's there is in the
+city," concluded Mrs. Todd gravely, and I as gravely agreed.  The thick
+woods were behind us now, and the sun was shining clear overhead, the
+morning mists were gone, and a faint blue haze softened the distance;
+as we climbed the hill where we were to see the view, it seemed like a
+summer day.  There was an old house on the height, facing southward,--a
+mere forsaken shell of an old house, with empty windows that looked
+like blind eyes.  The frost-bitten grass grew close about it like brown
+fur, and there was a single crooked bough of lilac holding its green
+leaves close by the door.
+
+"We 'll just have a good piece of bread-an'-butter now," said the
+commander of the expedition, "and then we 'll hang up the basket on
+some peg inside the house out o' the way o' the sheep, and have a
+han'some entertainment as we 're comin' back.  She 'll be all through
+her little dinner when we get there, Mis' Martin will; but she 'll want
+to make us some tea, an' we must have our visit an' be startin' back
+pretty soon after two.  I don't want to cross all that low ground again
+after it's begun to grow chilly.  An' it looks to me as if the clouds
+might begin to gather late in the afternoon."
+
+Before us lay a splendid world of sea and shore.  The autumn colors
+already brightened the landscape; and here and there at the edge of a
+dark tract of pointed firs stood a row of bright swamp-maples like
+scarlet flowers.  The blue sea and the great tide inlets were
+untroubled by the lightest winds.
+
+"Poor land, this is!" sighed Mrs. Todd as we sat down to rest on the
+worn doorstep.  "I 've known three good hard-workin' families that come
+here full o' hope an' pride and tried to make something o' this farm,
+but it beat 'em all.  There 's one small field that's excellent for
+potatoes if you let half of it rest every year; but the land 's always
+hungry.  Now, you see them little peaked-topped spruces an' fir balsams
+comin' up over the hill all green an' hearty; they 've got it all their
+own way!  Seems sometimes as if wild Natur' got jealous over a certain
+spot, and wanted to do just as she 'd a mind to.  You 'll see here; she
+'ll do her own ploughin' an' harrowin' with frost an' wet, an' plant
+just what she wants and wait for her own crops.  Man can't do nothin'
+with it, try as he may.  I tell you those little trees means business!"
+
+I looked down the slope, and felt as if we ourselves were likely to be
+surrounded and overcome if we lingered too long.  There was a vigor of
+growth, a persistence and savagery about the sturdy little trees that
+put weak human nature at complete defiance.  One felt a sudden pity for
+the men and women who had been worsted after a long fight in that
+lonely place; one felt a sudden fear of the unconquerable, immediate
+forces of Nature, as in the irresistible moment of a thunderstorm.
+
+"I can recollect the time when folks were shy o' these woods we just
+come through," said Mrs. Todd seriously.  "The men-folks themselves
+never 'd venture into 'em alone; if their cattle got strayed they 'd
+collect whoever they could get, and start off all together.  They said
+a person was liable to get bewildered in there alone, and in old times
+folks had been lost.  I expect there was considerable fear left over
+from the old Indian times, and the poor days o' witchcraft; anyway, I
+'ve seen bold men act kind o' timid.  Some women o' the Asa Bowden
+family went out one afternoon berryin' when I was a girl, and got lost
+and was out all night; they found 'em middle o' the mornin' next day,
+not half a mile from home, scared most to death, an' sayin' they'd
+heard wolves and other beasts sufficient for a caravan.  Poor
+creatur's! they 'd strayed at last into a kind of low place amongst
+some alders, an' one of 'em was so overset she never got over it, an'
+went off in a sort o' slow decline.  'T was like them victims that
+drowns in a foot o' water; but their minds did suffer dreadful.  Some
+folks is born afraid of the woods and all wild places, but I must say
+they 've always been like home to me."
+
+I glanced at the resolute, confident face of my companion.  Life was
+very strong in her, as if some force of Nature were personified in this
+simple-hearted woman and gave her cousinship to the ancient deities.
+She might have walked the primeval fields of Sicily; her strong gingham
+skirts might at that very moment bend the slender stalks of asphodel
+and be fragrant with trodden thyme, instead of the brown wind-brushed
+grass of New England and frost-bitten goldenrod.  She was a great soul,
+was Mrs. Todd, and I her humble follower, as we went our way to visit
+the Queen's Twin, leaving the bright view of the sea behind us, and
+descending to a lower country-side through the dry pastures and fields.
+
+The farms all wore a look of gathering age, though the settlement was,
+after all, so young.  The fences were already fragile, and it seemed as
+if the first impulse of agriculture had soon spent itself without hope
+of renewal.  The better houses were always those that had some hold
+upon the riches of the sea; a house that could not harbor a
+fishing-boat in some neighboring inlet was far from being sure of
+every-day comforts.  The land alone was not enough to live upon in that
+stony region; it belonged by right to the forest, and to the forest it
+fast returned.  From the top of the hill where we had been sitting we
+had seen prosperity in the dim distance, where the land was good and
+the sun shone upon fat barns, and where warm-looking houses with three
+or four chimneys apiece stood high on their solid ridge above the bay.
+
+As we drew nearer to Mrs. Martin's it was sad to see what poor bushy
+fields, what thin and empty dwelling-places had been left by those who
+had chosen this disappointing part of the northern country for their
+home.  We crossed the last field and came into a narrow rain-washed
+road, and Mrs. Todd looked eager and expectant and said that we were
+almost at our journey's end.  "I do hope Mis' Martin 'll ask you into
+her best room where she keeps all the Queen's pictures.  Yes, I think
+likely she will ask you; but 't ain't everybody she deems worthy to
+visit 'em, I can tell you!" said Mrs. Todd warningly.  "She 's been
+collectin' 'em an' cuttin' 'em out o' newspapers an' magazines time out
+o' mind, and if she heard of anybody sailin' for an English port she 'd
+contrive to get a little money to 'em and ask to have the last likeness
+there was.  She 's most covered her best-room wall now; she keeps that
+room shut up sacred as a meetin'-house!  'I won't say but I have my
+favorites amongst 'em,' she told me t' other day, 'but they 're all
+beautiful to me as they can be!'  And she's made some kind o' pretty
+little frames for 'em all--you know there's always a new fashion o'
+frames comin' round; first 't was shell-work, and then 't was
+pine-cones, and bead-work's had its day, and now she 's much concerned
+with perforated cardboard worked with silk.  I tell you that best
+room's a sight to see!  But you must n't look for anything elegant,"
+continued Mrs. Todd, after a moment's reflection.  "Mis' Martin's
+always been in very poor, strugglin' circumstances.  She had ambition
+for her children, though they took right after their father an' had
+little for themselves; she wa'n't over an' above well married, however
+kind she may see fit to speak.  She's been patient an' hard-workin' all
+her life, and always high above makin' mean complaints of other folks.
+I expect all this business about the Queen has buoyed her over many a
+shoal place in life.  Yes, you might say that Abby 'd been a slave, but
+there ain't any slave but has some freedom."
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+Presently I saw a low gray house standing on a grassy bank close to the
+road.  The door was at the side, facing us, and a tangle of snowberry
+bushes and cinnamon roses grew to the level of the window-sills.  On
+the doorstep stood a bent-shouldered, little old woman; there was an
+air of welcome and of unmistakable dignity about her.
+
+"She sees us coming," exclaimed Mrs. Todd in an excited whisper.
+"There, I told her I might be over this way again if the weather held
+good, and if I came I 'd bring you.  She said right off she 'd take
+great pleasure in havin' a visit from you; I was surprised, she's
+usually so retirin'."
+
+Even this reassurance did not quell a faint apprehension on our part;
+there was something distinctly formal in the occasion, and one felt
+that consciousness of inadequacy which is never easy for the humblest
+pride to bear.  On the way I had torn my dress in an unexpected
+encounter with a little thornbush, and I could now imagine how it felt
+to be going to Court and forgetting one's feathers or her Court train.
+
+The Queen's Twin was oblivious of such trifles; she stood waiting with
+a calm look until we came near enough to take her kind hand.  She was a
+beautiful old woman, with clear eyes and a lovely quietness and
+genuineness of manner; there was not a trace of anything pretentious
+about her, or high-flown, as Mrs. Todd would say comprehensively.
+Beauty in age is rare enough in women who have spent their lives in the
+hard work of a farmhouse; but autumn-like and withered as this woman
+may have looked, her features had kept, or rather gained, a great
+refinement.  She led us into her old kitchen and gave us seats, and
+took one of the little straight-backed chairs herself and sat a short
+distance away, as if she were giving audience to an ambassador.  It
+seemed as if we should all be standing; you could not help feeling that
+the habits of her life were more ceremonious, but that for the moment
+she assumed the simplicities of the occasion.
+
+Mrs. Todd was always Mrs. Todd, too great and self-possessed a soul for
+any occasion to ruffle.  I admired her calmness, and presently the slow
+current of neighborhood talk carried one easily along; we spoke of the
+weather and the small adventures of the way, and then, as if I were
+after all not a stranger, our hostess turned almost affectionately to
+speak to me.
+
+"The weather will be growing dark in London now.  I expect that you 've
+been in London, dear?" she said.
+
+"Oh, yes," I answered.  "Only last year."
+
+"It is a great many years since I was there, along in the forties,"
+said Mrs. Martin.  "'T was the only voyage I ever made; most of my
+neighbors have been great travelers.  My brother was master of a
+vessel, and his wife usually sailed with him; but that year she had a
+young child more frail than the others, and she dreaded the care of it
+at sea.  It happened that my brother got a chance for my husband to go
+as supercargo, being a good accountant, and came one day to urge him to
+take it; he was very ill-disposed to the sea, but he had met with
+losses, and I saw my own opportunity and persuaded them both to let me
+go too.  In those days they did n't object to a woman's being aboard to
+wash and mend, the voyages were sometimes very long.  And that was the
+way I come to see the Queen."
+
+Mrs. Martin was looking straight in my eyes to see if I showed any
+genuine interest in the most interesting person in the world.
+
+"Oh, I am very glad you saw the Queen," I hastened to say.  "Mrs. Todd
+has told me that you and she were born the very same day."
+
+"We were indeed, dear!" said Mrs. Martin, and she leaned back
+comfortably and smiled as she had not smiled before.  Mrs. Todd gave a
+satisfied nod and glance, as if to say that things were going on as
+well as possible in this anxious moment.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Martin again, drawing her chair a little nearer, "'t
+was a very remarkable thing; we were born the same day, and at exactly
+the same hour, after you allowed for all the difference in time.  My
+father figured it out sea-fashion.  Her Royal Majesty and I opened our
+eyes upon this world together; say what you may, 't is a bond between
+us."
+
+Mrs. Todd assented with an air of triumph, and untied her hat-strings
+and threw them back over her shoulders with a gallant air.
+
+"And I married a man by the name of Albert, just the same as she did,
+and all by chance, for I did n't get the news that she had an Albert
+too till a fortnight afterward; news was slower coming then than it is
+now.  My first baby was a girl, and I called her Victoria after my
+mate; but the next one was a boy, and my husband wanted the right to
+name him, and took his own name and his brother Edward's, and pretty
+soon I saw in the paper that the little Prince o' Wales had been
+christened just the same.  After that I made excuse to wait till I knew
+what she 'd named her children.  I did n't want to break the chain, so
+I had an Alfred, and my darling Alice that I lost long before she lost
+hers, and there I stopped.  If I 'd only had a dear daughter to stay at
+home with me, same's her youngest one, I should have been so thankful!
+But if only one of us could have a little Beatrice, I 'm glad 't was
+the Queen; we 've both seen trouble, but she 's had the most care."
+
+I asked Mrs. Martin if she lived alone all the year, and was told that
+she did except for a visit now and then from one of her grandchildren,
+"the only one that really likes to come an' stay quiet 'long o'
+grandma.  She always says quick as she's through her schoolin' she's
+goin' to live with me all the time, but she 's very pretty an' has
+taking ways," said Mrs. Martin, looking both proud and wistful, "so I
+can tell nothing at all about it!  Yes, I 've been alone most o' the
+time since my Albert was taken away, and that's a great many years; he
+had a long time o' failing and sickness first."  (Mrs. Todd's foot gave
+an impatient scuff on the floor.)  "An' I 've always lived right here.
+I ain't like the Queen's Majesty, for this is the only palace I 've
+got," said the dear old thing, smiling again.  "I 'm glad of it too, I
+don't like changing about, an' our stations in life are set very
+different.  I don't require what the Queen does, but sometimes I 've
+thought 't was left to me to do the plain things she don't have time
+for.  I expect she's a beautiful housekeeper, nobody could n't have
+done better in her high place, and she's been as good a mother as she
+'s been a queen."
+
+"I guess she has, Abby," agreed Mrs. Todd instantly.  "How was it you
+happened to get such a good look at her?  I meant to ask you again when
+I was here t' other day."
+
+"Our ship was layin' in the Thames, right there above Wapping.  We was
+dischargin' cargo, and under orders to clear as quick as we could for
+Bordeaux to take on an excellent freight o' French goods," explained
+Mrs. Martin eagerly.  "I heard that the Queen was goin' to a great
+review of her army, and would drive out o' her Buckin'ham Palace about
+ten o'clock in the mornin', and I run aft to Albert, my husband, and
+brother Horace where they was standin' together by the hatchway, and
+told 'em they must one of 'em take me.  They laughed, I was in such a
+hurry, and said they could n't go; and I found they meant it and got
+sort of impatient when I began to talk, and I was 'most broken-hearted;
+'t was all the reason I had for makin' that hard voyage.  Albert could
+n't help often reproachin' me, for he did so resent the sea, an' I 'd
+known how 't would be before we sailed; but I 'd minded nothing all the
+way till then, and I just crep' back to my cabin an' begun to cry.
+They was disappointed about their ship's cook, an' I 'd cooked for
+fo'c's'le an' cabin myself all the way over; 't was dreadful hard work,
+specially in rough weather; we 'd had head winds an' a six weeks'
+voyage.  They 'd acted sort of ashamed o' me when I pled so to go
+ashore, an' that hurt my feelin's most of all.  But Albert come below
+pretty soon; I 'd never given way so in my life, an' he begun to act
+frightened, and treated me gentle just as he did when we was goin' to
+be married, an' when I got over sobbin' he went on deck and saw Horace
+an' talked it over what they could do; they really had their duty to
+the vessel, and could n't be spared that day.  Horace was real good
+when he understood everything, and he come an' told me I 'd more than
+worked my passage an' was goin' to do just as I liked now we was in
+port.  He 'd engaged a cook, too, that was comin' aboard that mornin',
+and he was goin' to send the ship's carpenter with me--a nice fellow
+from up Thomaston way; he 'd gone to put on his ashore clothes as
+quick's he could.  So then I got ready, and we started off in the small
+boat and rowed up river.  I was afraid we were too late, but the tide
+was setting up very strong, and we landed an' left the boat to a
+keeper, and I run all the way up those great streets and across a park.
+'Twas a great day, with sights o' folks everywhere, but 't was just as
+if they was nothin' but wax images to me.  I kep' askin' my way an'
+runnin' on, with the carpenter comin' after as best he could, and just
+as I worked to the front o' the crowd by the palace, the gates was
+flung open and out she came; all prancin' horses and shinin' gold, and
+in a beautiful carriage there she sat; 't was a moment o' heaven to me.
+I saw her plain, and she looked right at me so pleasant and happy, just
+as if she knew there was somethin' different between us from other
+folks."
+
+There was a moment when the Queen's Twin could not go on and neither of
+her listeners could ask a question.
+
+"Prince Albert was sitting right beside her in the carriage," she
+continued.  "Oh, he was a beautiful man!  Yes, dear, I saw 'em both
+together just as I see you now, and then she was gone out o' sight in
+another minute, and the common crowd was all spread over the place
+pushin' an' cheerin'.  'T was some kind o' holiday, an' the carpenter
+and I got separated, an' then I found him again after I did n't think I
+should, an' he was all for makin' a day of it, and goin' to show me all
+the sights; he 'd been in London before, but I did n't want nothin'
+else, an' we went back through the streets down to the waterside an'
+took the boat.  I remember I mended an old coat o' my Albert's as good
+as I could, sittin' on the quarter-deck in the sun all that afternoon,
+and 't was all as if I was livin' in a lovely dream.  I don't know how
+to explain it, but there hasn't been no friend I've felt so near to me
+ever since."
+
+One could not say much--only listen.  Mrs. Todd put in a discerning
+question now and then, and Mrs. Martin's eyes shone brighter and
+brighter as she talked.  What a lovely gift of imagination and true
+affection was in this fond old heart!  I looked about the plain New
+England kitchen, with its wood-smoked walls and homely braided rugs on
+the worn floor, and all its simple furnishings.  The loud-ticking clock
+seemed to encourage us to speak; at the other side of the room was an
+early newspaper portrait of Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and
+Ireland.  On a shelf below were some flowers in a little glass dish, as
+if they were put before a shrine.
+
+"If I could have had more to read, I should have known 'most everything
+about her," said Mrs. Martin wistfully.  "I 've made the most of what I
+did have, and thought it over and over till it came clear.  I sometimes
+seem to have her all my own, as if we 'd lived right together.  I 've
+often walked out into the woods alone and told her what my troubles
+was, and it always seemed as if she told me 't was all right, an' we
+must have patience.  I 've got her beautiful book about the Highlands;
+'t was dear Mis' Todd here that found out about her printing it and got
+a copy for me, and it's been a treasure to my heart, just as if 't was
+written right to me.  I always read it Sundays now, for my Sunday
+treat.  Before that I used to have to imagine a good deal, but when I
+come to read her book, I knew what I expected was all true.  We do
+think alike about so many things," said the Queen's Twin with
+affectionate certainty.  "You see, there is something between us, being
+born just at the some time; 't is what they call a birthright.  She 's
+had great tasks put upon her, being the Queen, an' mine has been the
+humble lot; but she's done the best she could, nobody can say to the
+contrary, and there 's something between us; she's been the great
+lesson I 've had to live by.  She's been everything to me.  An' when
+she had her Jubilee, oh, how my heart was with her!"
+
+"There, 't would n't play the part in her life it has in mine," said
+Mrs. Martin generously, in answer to something one of her listeners had
+said.  "Sometimes I think, now she's older, she might like to know
+about us.  When I think how few old friends anybody has left at our
+age, I suppose it may be just the same with her as it is with me;
+perhaps she would like to know how we came into life together.  But I
+'ve had a great advantage in seeing her, an' I can always fancy her
+goin' on, while she don't know nothin' yet about me, except she may
+feel my love stayin' her heart sometimes an' not know just where it
+comes from.  An' I dream about our being together out in some pretty
+fields, young as ever we was, and holdin' hands as we walk along.  I 'd
+like to know if she ever has that dream too.  I used to have days when
+I made believe she did know, an' was comin' to see me," confessed the
+speaker shyly, with a little flush on her cheeks; "and I 'd plan what I
+could have nice for supper, and I was n't goin' to let anybody know she
+was here havin' a good rest, except I 'd wish you, Almira Todd, or dear
+Mis' Blackett would happen in, for you 'd know just how to talk with
+her.  You see, she likes to be up in Scotland, right out in the wild
+country, better than she does anywhere else."
+
+"I 'd really love to take her out to see mother at Green Island," said
+Mrs. Todd with a sudden impulse.
+
+"Oh, yes!  I should love to have you," exclaimed Mrs. Martin, and then
+she began to speak in a lower tone.  "One day I got thinkin' so about
+my dear Queen," she said, "an' livin' so in my thoughts, that I went to
+work an' got all ready for her, just as if she was really comin'.  I
+never told this to a livin' soul before, but I feel you 'll understand.
+I put my best fine sheets and blankets I spun an' wove myself on the
+bed, and I picked some pretty flowers and put 'em all round the house,
+an' I worked as hard an' happy as I could all day, and had as nice a
+supper ready as I could get, sort of telling myself a story all the
+time.  She was comin' an' I was goin' to see her again, an' I kep' it
+up until nightfall; an' when I see the dark an' it come to me I was all
+alone, the dream left me, an' I sat down on the doorstep an' felt all
+foolish an' tired.  An', if you 'll believe it, I heard steps comin',
+an' an old cousin o' mine come wanderin' along, one I was apt to be shy
+of.  She was n't all there, as folks used to say, but harmless enough
+and a kind of poor old talking body.  And I went right to meet her when
+I first heard her call, 'stead o' hidin' as I sometimes did, an' she
+come in dreadful willin', an' we sat down to supper together; 't was a
+supper I should have had no heart to eat alone."
+
+"I don't believe she ever had such a splendid time in her life as she
+did then.  I heard her tell all about it afterwards," exclaimed Mrs.
+Todd compassionately.  "There, now I hear all this it seems just as if
+the Queen might have known and could n't come herself, so she sent that
+poor old creatur' that was always in need!"
+
+Mrs. Martin looked timidly at Mrs. Todd and then at me.  "'T was
+childish o' me to go an' get supper," she confessed.
+
+"I guess you wa'n't the first one to do that," said Mrs. Todd.  "No, I
+guess you wa'n't the first one who 's got supper that way, Abby," and
+then for a moment she could say no more.
+
+Mrs. Todd and Mrs. Martin had moved their chairs a little so that they
+faced each other, and I, at one side, could see them both.
+
+"No, you never told me o' that before, Abby," said Mrs. Todd gently.
+"Don't it show that for folks that have any fancy in 'em, such
+beautiful dreams is the real part o' life?  But to most folks the
+common things that happens outside 'em is all in all."
+
+Mrs. Martin did not appear to understand at first, strange to say, when
+the secret of her heart was put into words; then a glow of pleasure and
+comprehension shone upon her face.  "Why, I believe you 're right,
+Almira!" she said, and turned to me.
+
+"Wouldn't you like to look at my pictures of the Queen?" she asked, and
+we rose and went into the best room.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+The mid-day visit seemed very short; September hours are brief to match
+the shortening days.  The great subject was dismissed for a while after
+our visit to the Queen's pictures, and my companions spoke much of
+lesser persons until we drank the cup of tea which Mrs. Todd had
+foreseen.  I happily remembered that the Queen herself is said to like
+a proper cup of tea, and this at once seemed to make her Majesty kindly
+join so remote and reverent a company.  Mrs. Martin's thin cheeks took
+on a pretty color like a girl's.  "Somehow I always have thought of her
+when I made it extra good," she said.  "I 've got a real china cup that
+belonged to my grandmother, and I believe I shall call it hers now."
+
+"Why don't you?" responded Mrs. Todd warmly, with a delightful smile.
+
+Later they spoke of a promised visit which was to be made in the Indian
+summer to the Landing and Green Island, but I observed that Mrs. Todd
+presented the little parcel of dried herbs, with full directions, for a
+cure-all in the spring, as if there were no real chance of their
+meeting again first.  As we looked back from the turn of the road the
+Queen's Twin was still standing on the doorstep watching us away, and
+Mrs. Todd stopped, and stood still for a moment before she waved her
+hand again.
+
+"There's one thing certain, dear," she said to me with great
+discernment; "it ain't as if we left her all alone!"
+
+Then we set out upon our long way home over the hill, where we lingered
+in the afternoon sunshine, and through the dark woods across the
+heron-swamp.
+
+
+
+
+A DUNNET SHEPHERDESS.
+
+I.
+
+Early one morning at Dunnet Landing, as if it were still night, I
+waked, suddenly startled by a spirited conversation beneath my window.
+It was not one of Mrs. Todd's morning soliloquies; she was not
+addressing her plants and flowers in words of either praise or blame.
+Her voice was declamatory though perfectly good-humored, while the
+second voice, a man's, was of lower pitch and somewhat deprecating.
+
+The sun was just above the sea, and struck straight across my room
+through a crack in the blind.  It was a strange hour for the arrival of
+a guest, and still too soon for the general run of business, even in
+that tiny eastern haven where daybreak fisheries and early tides must
+often rule the day.
+
+The man's voice suddenly declared itself to my sleepy ears.  It was Mr.
+William Blackett's.
+
+"Why, sister Almiry," he protested gently, "I don't need none o' your
+nostrums!"
+
+"Pick me a small han'ful," she commanded.  "No, no, a _small_ han'ful,
+I said,--o' them large pennyr'yal sprigs!  I go to all the trouble an'
+cossetin' of 'em just so as to have you ready to meet such occasions,
+an' last year, you may remember, you never stopped here at all the day
+you went up country.  An' the frost come at last an' blacked it.  I
+never saw any herb that so objected to gardin ground; might as well try
+to flourish mayflowers in a common front yard.  There, you can come in
+now, an' set and eat what breakfast you 've got patience for.  I 've
+found everything I want, an' I 'll mash 'em up an' be all ready to put
+'em on."
+
+I heard such a pleading note of appeal as the speakers went round the
+corner of the house, and my curiosity was so demanding, that I dressed
+in haste, and joined my friends a little later, with two unnoticed
+excuses of the beauty of the morning, and the early mail boat.
+William's breakfast had been slighted; he had taken his cup of tea and
+merely pushed back the rest on the kitchen table.  He was now sitting
+in a helpless condition by the side window, with one of his sister's
+purple calico aprons pinned close about his neck.  Poor William was
+meekly submitting to being smeared, as to his countenance, with a most
+pungent and unattractive lotion of pennyroyal and other green herbs
+which had been hastily pounded and mixed with cream in the little white
+stone mortar.
+
+I had to cast two or three straightforward looks at William to reassure
+myself that he really looked happy and expectant in spite of his
+melancholy circumstances, and was not being overtaken by retribution.
+The brother and sister seemed to be on delightful terms with each other
+for once, and there was something of cheerful anticipation in their
+morning talk.  I was reminded of Medea's anointing Jason before the
+great episode of the iron bulls, but to-day William really could not be
+going up country to see a railroad for the first time.  I knew this to
+be one of his great schemes, but he was not fitted to appear in public,
+or to front an observing world of strangers.  As I appeared he essayed
+to rise, but Mrs. Todd pushed him back into the chair.
+
+"Set where you be till it dries on," she insisted.  "Land sakes, you'd
+think he'd get over bein' a boy some time or 'nother, gettin' along in
+years as he is.  An' you 'd think he 'd seen full enough o' fish, but
+once a year he has to break loose like this, an' travel off way up back
+o' the Bowden place--far out o' my beat, 'tis--an' go a trout fishin'!"
+
+Her tone of amused scorn was so full of challenge that William changed
+color even under the green streaks.
+
+"I want some change," he said, looking at me and not at her.  "'T is
+the prettiest little shady brook you ever saw."
+
+"If he ever fetched home more 'n a couple o' minnies, 't would seem
+worth while," Mrs. Todd concluded, putting a last dab of the mysterious
+compound so perilously near her brother's mouth that William flushed
+again and was silent.
+
+A little later I witnessed his escape, when Mrs. Todd had taken the
+foolish risk of going down cellar.  There was a horse and wagon outside
+the garden fence, and presently we stood where we could see him driving
+up the hill with thoughtless speed.  Mrs. Todd said nothing, but
+watched him affectionately out of sight.
+
+"It serves to keep the mosquitoes off," she said, and a moment later it
+occurred to my slow mind that she spoke of the penny-royal lotion.  "I
+don't know sometimes but William's kind of poetical," she continued, in
+her gentlest voice.  "You 'd think if anything could cure him of it, 't
+would be the fish business."
+
+It was only twenty minutes past six on a summer morning, but we both
+sat down to rest as if the activities of the day were over.  Mrs. Todd
+rocked gently for a time, and seemed to be lost, though not poorly,
+like Macbeth, in her thoughts.  At last she resumed relations with her
+actual surroundings.  "I shall now put my lobsters on.  They'll make us
+a good supper," she announced.  "Then I can let the fire out for all
+day; give it a holiday, same's William.  You can have a little one now,
+nice an' hot, if you ain't got all the breakfast you want.  Yes, I 'll
+put the lobsters on.  William was very thoughtful to bring 'em over;
+William is thoughtful; if he only had a spark o' ambition, there be few
+could match him."
+
+This unusual concession was afforded a sympathetic listener from the
+depths of the kitchen closet.  Mrs. Todd was getting out her old iron
+lobster pot, and began to speak of prosaic affairs.  I hoped that I
+should hear something more about her brother and their island life, and
+sat idly by the kitchen window looking at the morning glories that
+shaded it, believing that some flaw of wind might set Mrs. Todd's mind
+on its former course.  Then it occurred to me that she had spoken about
+our supper rather than our dinner, and I guessed that she might have
+some great scheme before her for the day.
+
+When I had loitered for some time and there was no further word about
+William, and at last I was conscious of receiving no attention
+whatever, I went away.  It was something of a disappointment to find
+that she put no hindrance in the way of my usual morning affairs, of
+going up to the empty little white schoolhouse on the hill where I did
+my task of writing.  I had been almost sure of a holiday when I
+discovered that Mrs. Todd was likely to take one herself; we had not
+been far afield to gather herbs and pleasures for many days now, but a
+little later she had silently vanished.  I found my luncheon ready on
+the table in the little entry, wrapped in its shining old homespun
+napkin, and as if by way of special consolation, there was a stone
+bottle of Mrs. Todd's best spruce beer, with a long piece of cod line
+wound round it by which it could be lowered for coolness into the deep
+schoolhouse well.
+
+I walked away with a dull supply of writing-paper and these provisions,
+feeling like a reluctant child who hopes to be called back at every
+step.  There was no relenting voice to be heard, and when I reached the
+schoolhouse, I found that I had left an open window and a swinging
+shutter the day before, and the sea wind that blew at evening had
+fluttered my poor sheaf of papers all about the room.
+
+So the day did not begin very well, and I began to recognize that it
+was one of the days when nothing could be done without company.  The
+truth was that my heart had gone trouting with William, but it would
+have been too selfish to say a word even to one's self about spoiling
+his day.  If there is one way above another of getting so close to
+nature that one simply is a piece of nature, following a primeval
+instinct with perfect self-forgetfulness and forgetting everything
+except the dreamy consciousness of pleasant freedom, it is to take the
+course of a shady trout brook.  The dark pools and the sunny shallows
+beckon one on; the wedge of sky between the trees on either bank, the
+speaking, companioning noise of the water, the amazing importance of
+what one is doing, and the constant sense of life and beauty make a
+strange transformation of the quick hours.  I had a sudden memory of
+all this, and another, and another.  I could not get myself free from
+"fishing and wishing."
+
+At that moment I heard the unusual sound of wheels, and I looked past
+the high-growing thicket of wild-roses and straggling sumach to see the
+white nose and meagre shape of the Caplin horse; then I saw William
+sitting in the open wagon, with a small expectant smile upon his face.
+
+"I 've got two lines," he said.  "I was quite a piece up the road.  I
+thought perhaps 't was so you 'd feel like going."
+
+There was enough excitement for most occasions in hearing William speak
+three sentences at once.  Words seemed but vain to me at that bright
+moment.  I stepped back from the schoolhouse window with a beating
+heart.  The spruce-beer bottle was not yet in the well, and with that
+and my luncheon, and Pleasure at the helm, I went out into the happy
+world.  The land breeze was blowing, and, as we turned away, I saw a
+flutter of white go past the window as I left the schoolhouse and my
+morning's work to their neglected fate.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+One seldom gave way to a cruel impulse to look at an ancient seafaring
+William, but one felt as if he were a growing boy; I only hope that he
+felt much the same about me.  He did not wear the fishing clothes that
+belonged to his sea-going life, but a strangely shaped old suit of
+tea-colored linen garments that might have been brought home years ago
+from Canton or Bombay.  William had a peculiar way of giving silent
+assent when one spoke, but of answering your unspoken thoughts as if
+they reached him better than words.  "I find them very easy," he said,
+frankly referring to the clothes.  "Father had them in his old
+sea-chest."
+
+The antique fashion, a quaint touch of foreign grace and even
+imagination about the cut were very pleasing; if ever Mr. William
+Blackett had faintly resembled an old beau, it was upon that day.  He
+now appeared to feel as if everything had been explained between us, as
+if everything were quite understood; and we drove for some distance
+without finding it necessary to speak again about anything.  At last,
+when it must have been a little past nine o'clock, he stopped the horse
+beside a small farmhouse, and nodded when I asked if I should get down
+from the wagon.  "You can steer about northeast right across the
+pasture," he said, looking from under the eaves of his hat with an
+expectant smile.  "I always leave the team here."
+
+I helped to unfasten the harness, and William led the horse away to the
+barn.  It was a poor-looking little place, and a forlorn woman looked
+at us through the window before she appeared at the door.  I told her
+that Mr. Blackett and I came up from the Landing to go fishing.  "He
+keeps a-comin', don't he?" she answered, with a funny little laugh, to
+which I was at a loss to find answer.  When he joined us, I could not
+see that he took notice of her presence in any way, except to take an
+armful of dried salt fish from a corded stack in the back of the wagon
+which had been carefully covered with a piece of old sail.  We had left
+a wake of their pungent flavor behind us all the way.  I wondered what
+was going to become of the rest of them and some fresh lobsters which
+were also disclosed to view, but he laid the present gift on the
+doorstep without a word, and a few minutes later, when I looked back as
+we crossed the pasture, the fish were being carried into the house.
+
+I could not see any signs of a trout brook until I came close upon it
+in the bushy pasture, and presently we struck into the low woods of
+straggling spruce and fir mixed into a tangle of swamp maples and
+alders which stretched away on either hand up and down stream.  We
+found an open place in the pasture where some taller trees seemed to
+have been overlooked rather than spared.  The sun was bright and hot by
+this time, and I sat down in the shade while William produced his lines
+and cut and trimmed us each a slender rod.  I wondered where Mrs. Todd
+was spending the morning, and if later she would think that pirates had
+landed and captured me from the schoolhouse.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+The brook was giving that live, persistent call to a listener that
+trout brooks always make; it ran with a free, swift current even here,
+where it crossed an apparently level piece of land.  I saw two
+unpromising, quick barbel chase each other upstream from bank to bank
+as we solemnly arranged our hooks and sinkers.  I felt that William's
+glances changed from anxiety to relief when he found that I was used to
+such gear; perhaps he felt that we must stay together if I could not
+bait my own hook, but we parted happily, full of a pleasing sense of
+companionship.
+
+William had pointed me up the brook, but I chose to go down, which was
+only fair because it was his day, though one likes as well to follow
+and see where a brook goes as to find one's way to the places it comes
+from, and its tiny springs and headwaters, and in this case trout were
+not to be considered.  William's only real anxiety was lest I might
+suffer from mosquitoes.  His own complexion was still strangely
+impaired by its defenses, but I kept forgetting it, and looking to see
+if we were treading fresh pennyroyal underfoot, so efficient was Mrs.
+Todd's remedy.  I was conscious, after we parted, and I turned to see
+if he were already fishing, and saw him wave his hand gallantly as he
+went away, that our friendship had made a great gain.
+
+The moment that I began to fish the brook, I had a sense of its
+emptiness; when my bait first touched the water and went lightly down
+the quick stream, I knew that there was nothing to lie in wait for it.
+It is the same certainty that comes when one knocks at the door of an
+empty house, a lack of answering consciousness and of possible
+response; it is quite different if there is any life within.  But it
+was a lovely brook, and I went a long way through woods and breezy open
+pastures, and found a forsaken house and overgrown farm, and laid up
+many pleasures for future joy and remembrance.  At the end of the
+morning I came back to our meeting-place hungry and without any fish.
+William was already waiting, and we did not mention the matter of
+trout.  We ate our luncheons with good appetites, and William brought
+our two stone bottles of spruce beer from the deep place in the brook
+where he had left them to cool.  Then we sat awhile longer in peace and
+quietness on the green banks.
+
+As for William, he looked more boyish than ever, and kept a more remote
+and juvenile sort of silence.  Once I wondered how he had come to be so
+curiously wrinkled, forgetting, absent-mindedly, to recognize the
+effects of time.  He did not expect any one else to keep up a vain show
+of conversation, and so I was silent as well as he.  I glanced at him
+now and then, but I watched the leaves tossing against the sky and the
+red cattle moving in the pasture.  "I don't know's we need head for
+home.  It's early yet," he said at last, and I was as startled as if
+one of the gray firs had spoken.
+
+"I guess I 'll go up-along and ask after Thankful Hight's folks," he
+continued.  "Mother 'd like to get word;" and I nodded a pleased assent.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+William led the way across the pasture, and I followed with a deep
+sense of pleased anticipation.  I do not believe that my companion had
+expected me to make any objection, but I knew that he was gratified by
+the easy way that his plans for the day were being seconded.  He gave a
+look at the sky to see if there were any portents, but the sky was
+frankly blue; even the doubtful morning haze had disappeared.
+
+We went northward along a rough, clayey road, across a bare-looking,
+sunburnt country full of tiresome long slopes where the sun was hot and
+bright, and I could not help observing the forlorn look of the farms.
+There was a great deal of pasture, but it looked deserted, and I
+wondered afresh why the people did not raise more sheep when that
+seemed the only possible use to make of their land.  I said so to Mr.
+Blackett, who gave me a look of pleased surprise.
+
+"That's what She always maintains," he said eagerly.  "She 's right
+about it, too; well, you 'll see!"  I was glad to find myself approved,
+but I had not the least idea whom he meant, and waited until he felt
+like speaking again.
+
+A few minutes later we drove down a steep hill and entered a large
+tract of dark spruce woods.  It was delightful to be sheltered from the
+afternoon sun, and when we had gone some distance in the shade, to my
+great pleasure William turned the horse's head toward some bars, which
+he let down, and I drove through into one of those narrow, still,
+sweet-scented by-ways which seem to be paths rather than roads.  Often
+we had to put aside the heavy drooping branches which barred the way,
+and once, when a sharp twig struck William in the face, he announced
+with such spirit that somebody ought to go through there with an axe,
+that I felt unexpectedly guilty.  So far as I now remember, this was
+William's only remark all the way through the woods to Thankful Hight's
+folks, but from time to time he pointed or nodded at something which I
+might have missed: a sleepy little owl snuggled into the bend of a
+branch, or a tall stalk of cardinal flowers where the sunlight came
+down at the edge of a small, bright piece of marsh.  Many times, being
+used to the company of Mrs. Todd and other friends who were in the
+habit of talking, I came near making an idle remark to William, but I
+was for the most part happily preserved; to be with him only for a
+short time was to live on a different level, where thoughts served best
+because they were thoughts in common; the primary effect upon our minds
+of the simple things and beauties that we saw.  Once when I caught
+sight of a lovely gay pigeon-woodpecker eyeing us curiously from a dead
+branch, and instinctively turned toward William, he gave an indulgent,
+comprehending nod which silenced me all the rest of the way.  The
+wood-road was not a place for common noisy conversation; one would
+interrupt the birds and all the still little beasts that belonged
+there.  But it was mortifying to find how strong the habit of idle
+speech may become in one's self.  One need not always be saying
+something in this noisy world.  I grew conscious of the difference
+between William's usual fashion of life and mine; for him there were
+long days of silence in a sea-going boat, and I could believe that he
+and his mother usually spoke very little because they so perfectly
+understood each other.  There was something peculiarly unresponding
+about their quiet island in the sea, solidly fixed into the still
+foundations of the world, against whose rocky shores the sea beats and
+calls and is unanswered.
+
+We were quite half an hour going through the woods; the horse's feet
+made no sound on the brown, soft track under the dark evergreens.  I
+thought that we should come out at last into more pastures, but there
+was no half-wooded strip of land at the end; the high woods grew
+squarely against an old stone wall and a sunshiny open field, and we
+came out suddenly into broad daylight that startled us and even
+startled the horse, who might have been napping as he walked, like an
+old soldier.  The field sloped up to a low unpainted house that faced
+the east.  Behind it were long, frost-whitened ledges that made the
+hill, with strips of green turf and bushes between.  It was the
+wildest, most Titanic sort of pasture country up there; there was a
+sort of daring in putting a frail wooden house before it, though it
+might have the homely field and honest woods to front against.  You
+thought of the elements and even of possible volcanoes as you looked up
+the stony heights.  Suddenly I saw that a region of what I had thought
+gray stones was slowly moving, as if the sun was making my eyesight
+unsteady.
+
+"There's the sheep!" exclaimed William, pointing eagerly.  "You see the
+sheep?" and sure enough, it was a great company of woolly backs, which
+seemed to have taken a mysterious protective resemblance to the ledges
+themselves.  I could discover but little chance for pasturage on that
+high sunburnt ridge, but the sheep were moving steadily in a satisfied
+way as they fed along the slopes and hollows.
+
+"I never have seen half so many sheep as these, all summer long!" I
+cried with admiration.
+
+"There ain't so many," answered William soberly.  "It's a great sight.
+They do so well because they 're shepherded, but you can't beat sense
+into some folks."
+
+"You mean that somebody stays and watches them?" I asked.
+
+"She observed years ago in her readin' that they don't turn out their
+flocks without protection anywhere but in the State o' Maine," returned
+William.  "First thing that put it into her mind was a little old book
+mother's got; she read it one time when she come out to the Island.
+They call it the 'Shepherd o' Salisbury Plain.'  'T was n't the purpose
+o' the book to most, but when she read it, 'There, Mis' Blackett!' she
+said, 'that's where we 've all lacked sense; our Bibles ought to have
+taught us that what sheep need is a shepherd.'  You see most folks
+about here gave up sheep-raisin' years ago 'count o' the dogs.  So she
+gave up school-teachin' and went out to tend her flock, and has
+shepherded ever since, an' done well."
+
+For William, this approached an oration.  He spoke with enthusiasm, and
+I shared the triumph of the moment.  "There she is now!" he exclaimed,
+in a different tone, as the tall figure of a woman came following the
+flock and stood still on the ridge, looking toward us as if her eyes
+had been quick to see a strange object in the familiar emptiness of the
+field.  William stood up in the wagon, and I thought he was going to
+call or wave his hand to her, but he sat down again more clumsily than
+if the wagon had made the familiar motion of a boat, and we drove on
+toward the house.
+
+It was a most solitary place to live,--a place where one might think
+that a life could hide itself.  The thick woods were between the farm
+and the main road, and as one looked up and down the country, there was
+no other house in sight.
+
+"Potatoes look well," announced William.  "The old folks used to say
+that there wa'n't no better land outdoors than the Hight field."
+
+I found myself possessed of a surprising interest in the shepherdess,
+who stood far away in the hill pasture with her great flock, like a
+figure of Millet's, high against the sky.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+Everything about the old farmhouse was clean and orderly, as if the
+green dooryard were not only swept, but dusted.  I saw a flock of
+turkeys stepping off carefully at a distance, but there was not the
+usual untidy flock of hens about the place to make everything look in
+disarray.  William helped me out of the wagon as carefully as if I had
+been his mother, and nodded toward the open door with a reassuring look
+at me; but I waited until he had tied the horse and could lead the way,
+himself.  He took off his hat just as we were going in, and stopped for
+a moment to smooth his thin gray hair with his hand, by which I saw
+that we had an affair of some ceremony.  We entered an old-fashioned
+country kitchen, the floor scrubbed into unevenness, and the doors well
+polished by the touch of hands.  In a large chair facing the window
+there sat a masterful-looking old woman with the features of a warlike
+Roman emperor, emphasized by a bonnet-like black cap with a band of
+green ribbon.  Her sceptre was a palm-leaf fan.
+
+William crossed the room toward her, and bent his head close to her ear.
+
+"Feelin' pretty well to-day, Mis' Hight?" he asked, with all the voice
+his narrow chest could muster.
+
+"No, I ain't, William.  Here I have to set," she answered coldly, but
+she gave an inquiring glance over his shoulder at me.
+
+"This is the young lady who is stopping with Almiry this summer," he
+explained, and I approached as if to give the countersign.  She offered
+her left hand with considerable dignity, but her expression never
+seemed to change for the better.  A moment later she said that she was
+pleased to meet me, and I felt as if the worst were over.  William must
+have felt some apprehension, while I was only ignorant, as we had come
+across the field.  Our hostess was more than disapproving, she was
+forbidding; but I was not long in suspecting that she felt the natural
+resentment of a strong energy that has been defeated by illness and
+made the spoil of captivity.
+
+"Mother well as usual since you was up last year?" and William replied
+by a series of cheerful nods.  The mention of dear Mrs. Blackett was a
+help to any conversation.
+
+"Been fishin', ashore," he explained, in a somewhat conciliatory voice.
+"Thought you'd like a few for winter," which explained at once the
+generous freight we had brought in the back of the wagon.  I could see
+that the offering was no surprise, and that Mrs. Hight was interested.
+
+"Well, I expect they 're good as the last," she said, but did not even
+approach a smile.  She kept a straight, discerning eye upon me.
+
+"Give the lady a cheer," she admonished William, who hastened to place
+close by her side one of the straight-backed chairs that stood against
+the kitchen wall.  Then he lingered for a moment like a timid boy.  I
+could see that he wore a look of resolve, but he did not ask the
+permission for which he evidently waited.
+
+"You can go search for Esther," she said, at the end of a long pause
+that became anxious for both her guests.  "Esther 'd like to see her;"
+and William in his pale nankeens disappeared with one light step and
+was off.
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+"Don't speak too loud, it jars a person's head," directed Mrs. Hight
+plainly.  "Clear an' distinct is what reaches me best.  Any news to the
+Landin'?"
+
+I was happily furnished with the particulars of a sudden death, and an
+engagement of marriage between a Caplin, a seafaring widower home from
+his voyage, and one of the younger Harrises; and now Mrs. Hight really
+smiled and settled herself in her chair.  We exhausted one subject
+completely before we turned to the other.  One of the returning turkeys
+took an unwarrantable liberty, and, mounting the doorstep, came in and
+walked about the kitchen without being observed by its strict owner;
+and the tin dipper slipped off its nail behind us and made an
+astonishing noise, and jar enough to reach Mrs. Hight's inner ear and
+make her turn her head to look at it; but we talked straight on.  We
+came at last to understand each other upon such terms of friendship
+that she unbent her majestic port and complained to me as any poor old
+woman might of the hardships of her illness.  She had already fixed
+various dates upon the sad certainty of the year when she had the
+shock, which had left her perfectly helpless except for a clumsy left
+hand which fanned and gestured, and settled and resettled the folds of
+her dress, but could do no comfortable time-shortening work.
+
+"Yes 'm, you can feel sure I use it what I can," she said severely.
+"'Twas a long spell before I could let Esther go forth in the mornin'
+till she 'd got me up an' dressed me, but now she leaves things ready
+overnight and I get 'em as I want 'em with my light pair o' tongs, and
+I feel very able about helpin' myself to what I once did.  Then when
+Esther returns, all she has to do is to push me out here into the
+kitchen.  Some parts o' the year Esther stays out all night, them
+moonlight nights when the dogs are apt to be after the sheep, but she
+don't use herself as hard as she once had to.  She 's well able to hire
+somebody, Esther is, but there, you can't find no hired man that wants
+to git up before five o'clock nowadays; 't ain't as 't was in my time.
+They 're liable to fall asleep, too, and them moonlight nights she's so
+anxious she can't sleep, and out she goes.  There's a kind of a fold,
+she calls it, up there in a sheltered spot, and she sleeps up in a
+little shed she 's got,--built it herself for lambin' time and when the
+poor foolish creatur's gets hurt or anything.  I 've never seen it, but
+she says it's in a lovely spot and always pleasant in any weather.  You
+see off, other side of the ridge, to the south'ard, where there's
+houses.  I used to think some time I 'd get up to see it again, and all
+them spots she lives in, but I sha'n't now.  I 'm beginnin' to go back;
+an' 't ain't surprisin'.  I 've kind of got used to disappointments,"
+and the poor soul drew a deep sigh.
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+It was long before we noticed the lapse of time; I not only told every
+circumstance known to me of recent events among the households of Mrs.
+Todd's neighborhood at the shore, but Mrs. Hight became more and more
+communicative on her part, and went carefully into the genealogical
+descent and personal experience of many acquaintances, until between us
+we had pretty nearly circumnavigated the globe and reached Dunnet
+Landing from an opposite direction to that in which we had started.  It
+was long before my own interest began to flag; there was a flavor of
+the best sort in her definite and descriptive fashion of speech.  It
+may be only a fancy of my own that in the sound and value of many
+words, with their lengthened vowels and doubled cadences, there is some
+faint survival on the Maine coast of the sound of English speech of
+Chaucer's time.
+
+At last Mrs. Thankful Hight gave a suspicious look through the window.
+
+"Where do you suppose they be?" she asked me.  "Esther must ha' been
+off to the far edge o' everything.  I doubt William ain't been able to
+find her; can't he hear their bells?  His hearin' all right?"
+
+William had heard some herons that morning which were beyond the reach
+of my own ears, and almost beyond eyesight in the upper skies, and I
+told her so.  I was luckily preserved by some unconscious instinct from
+saying that we had seen the shepherdess so near as we crossed the
+field.  Unless she had fled faster than Atalanta, William must have
+been but a few minutes in reaching her immediate neighborhood.  I now
+discovered with a quick leap of amusement and delight in my heart that
+I had fallen upon a serious chapter of romance.  The old woman looked
+suspiciously at me, and I made a dash to cover with a new piece of
+information; but she listened with lofty indifference, and soon
+interrupted my eager statements.
+
+"Ain't William been gone some considerable time?" she demanded, and
+then in a milder tone: "The time has re'lly flown; I do enjoy havin'
+company.  I set here alone a sight o' long days.  Sheep is dreadful
+fools; I expect they heard a strange step, and set right off through
+bush an' brier, spite of all she could do.  But William might have the
+sense to return, 'stead o' searchin' about.  I want to inquire of him
+about his mother.  What was you goin' to say?  I guess you 'll have
+time to relate it."
+
+My powers of entertainment were on the ebb, but I doubled my diligence
+and we went on for another half-hour at least with banners flying, but
+still William did not reappear.  Mrs. Hight frankly began to show
+fatigue.
+
+"Somethin' 's happened, an' he's stopped to help her," groaned the old
+lady, in the middle of what I had found to tell her about a rumor of
+disaffection with the minister of a town I merely knew by name in the
+weekly newspaper to which Mrs. Todd subscribed.  "You step to the door,
+dear, an' look if you can't see 'em."  I promptly stepped, and once
+outside the house I looked anxiously in the direction which William had
+taken.
+
+To my astonishment I saw all the sheep so near that I wonder we had not
+been aware in the house of every bleat and tinkle.  And there, within a
+stone's-throw, on the first long gray ledge that showed above the
+juniper, were William and the shepherdess engaged in pleasant
+conversation.  At first I was provoked and then amused, and a thrill of
+sympathy warmed my whole heart.  They had seen me and risen as if by
+magic; I had a sense of being the messenger of Fate.  One could almost
+hear their sighs of regret as I appeared; they must have passed a
+lovely afternoon.  I hurried into the house with the reassuring news
+that they were not only in sight but perfectly safe, with all the sheep.
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+Mrs. Hight, like myself, was spent with conversation, and had ceased
+even the one activity of fanning herself.  I brought a desired drink of
+water, and happily remembered some fruit that was left from my
+luncheon.  She revived with splendid vigor, and told me the simple
+history of her later years since she had been smitten in the prime of
+her life by the stroke of paralysis, and her husband had died and left
+her alone with Esther and a mortgage on their farm.  There was only one
+field of good land, but they owned a great region of sheep pasture and
+a little woodland.  Esther had always been laughed at for her belief in
+sheep-raising when one by one their neighbors were giving up their
+flocks, and when everything had come to the point of despair she had
+raised all the money and bought all the sheep she could, insisting that
+Maine lambs were as good as any, and that there was a straight path by
+sea to Boston market.  And by tending her flock herself she had managed
+to succeed; she had made money enough to pay off the mortgage five
+years ago, and now what they did not spend was safe in the bank.  "It
+has been stubborn work, day and night, summer and winter, an' now she
+'s beginnin' to get along in years," said the old mother sadly.  "She
+'s tended me 'long o' the sheep, an' she 's been a good girl right
+along, but she ought to have been a teacher;" and Mrs. Hight sighed
+heavily and plied the fan again.
+
+We heard voices, and William and Esther entered; they did not know that
+it was so late in the afternoon.  William looked almost bold, and oddly
+like a happy young man rather than an ancient boy.  As for Esther, she
+might have been Jeanne d'Arc returned to her sheep, touched with age
+and gray with the ashes of a great remembrance.  She wore the simple
+look of sainthood and unfeigned devotion.  My heart was moved by the
+sight of her plain sweet face, weather-worn and gentle in its looks,
+her thin figure in its close dress, and the strong hand that clasped a
+shepherd's staff, and I could only hold William in new reverence; this
+silent farmer-fisherman who knew, and he alone, the noble and patient
+heart that beat within her breast.  I am not sure that they
+acknowledged even to themselves that they had always been lovers; they
+could not consent to anything so definite or pronounced; but they were
+happy in being together in the world.  Esther was untouched by the fret
+and fury of life; she had lived in sunshine and rain among her silly
+sheep, and been refined instead of coarsened, while her touching
+patience with a ramping old mother, stung by the sense of defeat and
+mourning her lost activities, had given back a lovely self-possession,
+and habit of sweet temper.  I had seen enough of old Mrs. Hight to know
+that nothing a sheep might do could vex a person who was used to the
+uncertainties and severities of her companionship.
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+Mrs. Hight told her daughter at once that she had enjoyed a beautiful
+call, and got a great many new things to think of.  This was said so
+frankly in my hearing that it gave a consciousness of high reward, and
+I was indeed recompensed by the grateful look in Esther's eyes.  We did
+not speak much together, but we understood each other.  For the poor
+old woman did not read, and could not sew or knit with her helpless
+hand, and they were far from any neighbors, while her spirit was as
+eager in age as in youth, and expected even more from a disappointing
+world.  She had lived to see the mortgage paid and money in the bank,
+and Esther's success acknowledged on every hand, and there were still a
+few pleasures left in life.  William had his mother, and Esther had
+hers, and they had not seen each other for a year, though Mrs. Hight
+had spoken of a year's making no change in William even at his age.
+She must have been in the far eighties herself, but of a noble courage
+and persistence in the world she ruled from her stiff-backed
+rocking-chair.
+
+William unloaded his gift of dried fish, each one chosen with perfect
+care, and Esther stood by, watching him, and then she walked across the
+field with us beside the wagon.  I believed that I was the only one who
+knew their happy secret, and she blushed a little as we said good-by.
+
+"I hope you ain't goin' to feel too tired, mother's so deaf; no, I hope
+you won't be tired," she said kindly, speaking as if she well knew what
+tiredness was.  We could hear the neglected sheep bleating on the hill
+in the next moment's silence.  Then she smiled at me, a smile of noble
+patience, of uncomprehended sacrifice, which I can never forget.  There
+was all the remembrance of disappointed hopes, the hardships of winter,
+the loneliness of single-handedness in her look, but I understood, and
+I love to remember her worn face and her young blue eyes.
+
+"Good-by, William," she said gently, and William said good-by, and gave
+her a quick glance, but he did not turn to look back, though I did, and
+waved my hand as she was putting up the bars behind us.  Nor did he
+speak again until we had passed through the dark woods and were on our
+way homeward by the main road.  The grave yearly visit had been changed
+from a hope into a happy memory.
+
+"You can see the sea from the top of her pasture hill," said William at
+last.
+
+"Can you?" I asked, with surprise.
+
+"Yes, it's very high land; the ledges up there show very plain in clear
+weather from the top of our island, and there's a high upstandin' tree
+that makes a landmark for the fishin' grounds."  And William gave a
+happy sigh.
+
+When we had nearly reached the Landing, my companion looked over into
+the back of the wagon and saw that the piece of sailcloth was safe,
+with which he had covered the dried fish.  "I wish we had got some
+trout," he said wistfully.  "They always appease Almiry, and make her
+feel 't was worth while to go."
+
+I stole a glance at William Blackett.  We had not seen a solitary
+mosquito, but there was a dark stripe across his mild face, which might
+have been an old scar won long ago in battle.
+
+
+
+
+WHERE'S NORA?
+
+I.
+
+"Where's Nora?"
+
+The speaker was a small, serious-looking old Irishman, one of those
+Patricks who are almost never called Pat.  He was well-dressed and
+formal, and wore an air of dignified authority.
+
+"I don't know meself where's Nora then, so I don't," answered his
+companion.  "The shild would n't stop for a sup o' breakfast before she
+'d go out to see the town, an' nobody 's seen the l'aste smitch of her
+since.  I might sweep the streets wit' a broom and I could n't find
+her."
+
+"Maybe she's strayed beyand and gone losing in the strange place,"
+suggested Mr. Quin, with an anxious glance.  "Did n't none o' the folks
+go wit' her?"
+
+"How would annybody be goin' an' she up an' away before there was a
+foot out o' bed in the house?" answered Mike Duffy impatiently.  "'T
+was herself that caught sight of Nora stealin' out o' the door like a
+thief, an' meself getting me best sleep at the time.  Herself had to
+sit up an' laugh in the bed and be plaguin' me wit' her tarkin'.  'Look
+at Nora!' says she.  'Where's Nora?' says I, wit' a great start.  I
+thought something had happened the poor shild.  'Oh, go to slape, you
+fool!' says Mary Ann.  ''T is only four o'clock,' says she, 'an' that
+grasshopper greenhorn can't wait for broad day till she go out an' see
+the whole of Ameriky.'  So I wint off to sleep again; the first bell
+was biginnin' on the mill, and I had an hour an' a piece, good, to
+meself after that before Mary Ann come scoldin'.  I don't be sleepin'
+so well as some folks the first part of the night."
+
+Mr. Patrick Quin ignored the interest of this autobiographical
+statement, and with a contemptuous shake of the head began to feel in
+his pocket for a pipe.  Every one knew that Mike Duffy was a person
+much too fond of his ease, and that all the credit of their prosperity
+belonged to his hard-worked wife.  She had reared a family of
+respectable sons and daughters, who were all settled and doing well for
+themselves, and now she was helping to bring out some nephews and
+nieces from the old country.  She was proud to have been born a Quin;
+Patrick Quin was her brother and a man of consequence.
+
+"'Deed, I 'd like well to see the poor shild," said Patrick.  "I'd no
+thought they 'd land before the day or to-morrow mornin', or I 'd have
+been over last night.  I suppose she brought all the news from home?"
+
+"The folks is all well, thanks be to God," proclaimed Mr. Duffy
+solemnly.  "'T was late when she come; 't was on the quarter to nine
+she got here.  There 's been great deaths after the winther among the
+old folks.  Old Peter Murphy's gone, she says, an' his brother that
+lived over by Ballycannon died the same week with him, and Dan Donahoe
+an' Corny Donahoe's lost their old aunt on the twelfth of March, that
+gave them her farm to take care of her before I came out.  She was old
+then, too."
+
+"Faix, it was time for the old lady, so it was," said Patrick Quin,
+with affectionate interest.  "She 'd be the oldest in the parish this
+tin years past."
+
+"Nora said 't was a fine funeral; they 'd three priests to her, and
+everything of the best.  Nora was there herself and all our folks.  The
+b'ys was very proud of her for being so old and respicted."
+
+"Sure, Mary was an old woman, and I first coming out," repeated
+Patrick, with feeling.  "I went up to her that Monday night, and I
+sailing on a Wednesday, an' she gave me her blessing and a present of
+five shillings.  She said then she 'd see me no more; 't was poor old
+Mary had the giving hand, God bless her and save her!  I joked her that
+she 'd soon be marrying and coming out to Ameriky like meself.  'No,'
+says she, 'I 'm too old.  I 'll die here where I was born; this old
+farm is me one home o' the world, and I 'll never be afther l'avin' it;
+'t is right enough for you young folks to go,' says she.  I could n't
+get my mouth open to answer her.  'T was meself that was very homesick
+in me inside, coming away from the old place, but I had great boldness
+before every one.  'T was old Mary saw the tears in me eyes then.
+'Don't mind, Patsy,' says she; 'if you don't do well there, come back
+to it an' I 'll be glad to take your folks in till you 'll be afther
+getting started again.'  She had n't the money then she got afterward
+from her cousin in Dublin; 't was the kind heart of her spoke, an'
+meself being but a boy that was young to maintain himself, let alone a
+family.  Thanks be to God, I 've done well, afther all, but for me
+crooked leg.  I does be dr'amin' of going home sometimes; 't is often
+yet I wake up wit' the smell o' the wet bushes in the mornin' when a
+man does be goin' to his work at home."
+
+Mike Duffy looked at his brother-in-law with curiosity; the two men
+were sitting side by side before Mike's house on a bit of green bank
+between the sidewalk and the road.  It was May, and the dandelions were
+blooming all about them, thick in the grass.  Patrick Quin readied out
+and touched one of them with his stick.  He was a lame man, and had
+worked as section hand for the railroad for many years, until the bad
+accident which forced him to retire on one of the company's rarely
+given pensions.  He had prevented a great disaster on the road; those
+who knew him well always said that his position had never been equal to
+his ability, but the men who stood above him and the men who were below
+him held Patrick Quin at exactly the same estimate.  He had limped
+along the road from the clean-looking little yellow house that he owned
+not far away on the river-bank, and his mind was upon his errand.
+
+"I come over early to ask the shild would n't she come home wit' me an'
+ate her dinner," said Patrick.  "Herself sent me; she's got a great
+wash the day, last week being so rainy, an' we niver got word of Nora
+being here till this morning, and then everybody had it that passed by,
+wondering what got us last night that we were n't there."
+
+"'T was on the quarter to nine she come," said Uncle Mike, taking up
+the narrative with importance.  "Herself an' me had blown out the
+light, going to bed, when there come a scuttlin' at the door and I
+heard a bit of a laugh like the first bird in the morning"--
+
+"'Stop where you are, Bridget,' says I," continued Mr. Quin, without
+taking any notice, "'an' I 'll take me third leg and walk over and
+bring Nora down to you.'  Bridget's great for the news from home now,
+for all she was so sharp to be l'aving it."
+
+"She brought me a fine present, and the mate of it for yourself," said
+Mike Duffy.  "Two good thorn sticks for the two of us.  They 're inside
+in the house."
+
+"A thorn stick, indeed!  Did she now?" exclaimed Patrick, with unusual
+delight.  "The poor shild, did she do that now?  I 've thought manny 's
+the time since I got me lameness how well I 'd like one o' those
+old-fashioned thorn sticks.  Me own is one o' them sticks a man 'd
+carry tin years and toss it into a brook at the ind an' not miss it."
+
+"They 're good thorn sticks, the both of them," said Mike complacently.
+"I don't know 'ill I bring 'em out before she comes."
+
+"Is she a pritty slip of a gerrl, I d' know?" asked Patrick, with
+increased interest.
+
+"She ain't, then," answered his companion frankly.  "She does be thin
+as a young grasshopper, and she 's red-headed, and she 's freckled,
+too, from the sea, like all them young things comin' over; but she 's
+got a pritty voice, like all her mother's folks, and a quick eye like a
+bird's.  The old-country talk's fresh in her mouth, too, so it is; you
+'d think you were coming out o' mass some spring morning at home and
+hearing all the girls whin they'd be chatting and funning at the boys.
+I do be thinking she's a smart little girl, annyway; look at her off to
+see the town so early and not back yet, bad manners to her!  She 'll be
+wanting some clothes, I suppose; she's very old-fashioned looking; they
+does always be wanting new clothes, coming out," and Mike gave an
+ostentatious sigh and suggestive glance at his brother-in-law.
+
+"'Deed, I 'm willing to help her get a good start; ain't she me own
+sister's shild?" agreed Patrick Quin cheerfully.  "We 've been young
+ourselves, too.  Well, then, 'tis bad news of old Mary Donahoe bein'
+gone at the farm.  I always thought if I 'd go home how I 'd go along
+the fields to get the great welcome from her.  She was one that always
+liked to hear folks had done well," and he looked down at his
+comfortable, clean old clothes as if they but reminded him how poor a
+young fellow he had come away.  "I 'm very sorry afther Mary; she was a
+good 'oman, God save her!"
+
+"Faix, it was time for her," insisted Mike, not without sympathy.
+"Were you afther wanting her to live forever, the poor soul?  An' the
+shild said she 'd the best funeral was ever in the parish of Dunkenny
+since she remimbered it.  What could anny one ask more than that, and
+she r'aching such an age, the cr'atur'!  Stop here awhile an' you 'll
+hear all the tark from Nora; she told over to me all the folks that was
+there.  Where has she gone wit' herself, I don't know?  Mary Ann!" he
+turned his head toward the house and called in a loud, complaining
+tone; "where's Nora, annyway?"
+
+"Here's Nora, then," a sweet girlish voice made unexpected reply, and a
+light young figure flitted from the sidewalk behind him and stood lower
+down on the green bank.
+
+"What's wanting wit' Nora?" and she stooped quickly like a child to
+pick some of the dandelions as if she had found gold.  She had a sprig
+of wild-cherry blossom in her dress, which she must have found a good
+way out in the country.
+
+"Come now, and speak to Patrick Quin, your mother's own brother, that's
+waiting here for you all this time you 've been running over the
+place," commanded Mr. Duffy, with some severity.
+
+"An' is it me own Uncle Patsy, dear?" exclaimed Nora, with the sweetest
+brogue and most affectionate sincerity.  "Oh, that me mother could see
+him too!" and she dropped on her knees beside the lame little man and
+kissed him, and knelt there looking at him with delight, holding his
+willing hand in both her own.
+
+"An' ain't you got me mother's own looks, too?  Oh, Uncle Patsy, is it
+yourself, dear?  I often heard about you, and I brought you me mother's
+heart's love, 'deed I did then!  It's many a lovely present of a pound
+you 've sent us.  An' I 've got a thorn stick that grew in the hedge,
+goin' up the little rise of ground above the Wishin' Brook, sir; mother
+said you 'd mind the place well when I told you."
+
+"I do then, me shild," said Patrick Quin, with dignity; "'tis manny the
+day we all played there together, for all we 're so scattered now and
+some dead, too, God rest them!  Sure, you 're a nice little gerrl, an'
+I give you great welcome and the hope you 'll do well.  Come along wit'
+me now.  Your Aunty Biddy's jealous to put her two eyes on you, an' we
+never getting the news you 'd come till late this morning.  'I 'll go
+fetch Nora for you,' says I, to contint her.  'They 'll be tarked out
+at Duffy's by this time,' says I."
+
+"Oh, I 'm full o' tark yet!" protested Nora gayly.  "Coom on, then,
+Uncle Patsy!" and she gave him her strong young hand as he rose.
+
+"An' how do you be likin' Ameriky?" asked the pleased old man, as they
+walked along.
+
+"I like Ameriky fine," answered the girl gravely.  She was taller than
+he, though she looked so slender and so young.  "I was very
+downhearted, too, l'avin' home and me mother, but I 'll go back to it
+some day, God willing, sir; I could n't die wit'out seeing me mother
+again.  I 'm all over the place here since daybreak.  I think I 'd like
+work best on the railway," and she turned toward him with a resolved
+and serious look.
+
+"Wisha! there 's no work at all for a girl like you on the Road," said
+Uncle Patsy patiently.  "You 've a bit to learn yet, sure; 't is the
+mill you mane."
+
+"There 'll be plinty work to do.  I always thought at home, when I
+heard the folks tarking, that I 'd get work on the railway when I 'd
+come to Ameriky.  Yis, indeed, sir!" continued Nora earnestly.  "I was
+looking at the mills just now, and I heard the great n'ise from them.
+I 'd never be afther shutting meself up in anny mill out of the good
+air.  I 've no call to go to jail yet in thim mill walls.  Perhaps
+there 'd be somebody working next me that I 'd never get to like, sir."
+
+There was something so convinced and decided about these arguments that
+Uncle Patsy, usually the calm autocrat of his young relatives, had
+nothing whatever to say.  Nora was gently keeping step with his slow
+gait.  She had won his heart once for all when she called him by the
+old boyish name her mother used forty years before, when they played
+together by the Wishing Brook.
+
+"I wonder do you know a b'y named Johnny O'Callahan?" inquired Nora
+presently, in a somewhat confidential tone; "a pritty b'y that's
+working on the railway; I seen him last night and I coming here; he
+ain't a guard at all, but a young fellow that minds the brakes.  We
+stopped a long while out there; somethin' got off the rails, and he
+adwised wit' me, seeing I was a stranger.  He said he knew you, sir."
+
+"Oh, yes, Johnny O'Callahan.  I know him well; he 's a nice b'y, too,"
+answered Patrick Quin approvingly.
+
+"Yis, sir, a pritty b'y," said Nora, and her color brightened for an
+instant, but she said no more.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+Mike Duffy and his wife came into the Quins' kitchen one week-day
+night, dressed in their Sunday clothes; they had been making a visit to
+their well-married daughter in Lawrence.  Patrick Quin's chair was
+comfortably tipped back against the wall, and Bridget, who looked
+somewhat gloomy, was putting away the white supper-dishes.
+
+"Where 's Nora?"  demanded Mike Duffy, after the first salutations.
+
+"You may well say it; I 'm afther missing her every hour in the day,"
+lamented Bridget Quin.
+
+"Nora's gone into business on the Road then, so she has," said Patrick,
+with an air of fond pride.  He was smoking, and in his shirt-sleeves;
+his coat lay on the wooden settee at the other side of the room.
+
+"Hand me me old coat there before you sit down; I want me pocket," he
+commanded, and Mike obeyed.  Mary Ann, fresh from her journey, began at
+once to give a spirited account of her daughter's best room and general
+equipment for housekeeping, but she suddenly became aware that the tale
+was of secondary interest.  When the narrator stopped for breath there
+was a polite murmur of admiration, but her husband boldly repeated his
+question.  "Where's Nora?" he insisted, and the Quins looked at each
+other and laughed.
+
+"Ourselves is old hins that's hatched ducks," confessed Patrick.
+"Ain't I afther telling you she's gone into trade on the Road?" and he
+took his pipe from his mouth,--that after-supper  pipe which neither
+prosperity nor adversity was apt to interrupt.  "She 's set up for
+herself over-right the long switch, down there at Birch Plains.  Nora
+'ll soon be rich, the cr'atur'; her mind was on it from the first
+start; 't was from one o' them O'Callahan b'ys she got the notion, the
+night she come here first a greenhorn."
+
+"Well, well, she's lost no time; ain't she got the invintion!" chuckled
+Mr. Michael Duffy, who delighted in the activity of others.  "What
+excuse had she for Birch Plains?  There's no town to it."
+
+"'T was a chance on the Road she mint to have from the first,"
+explained the proud uncle, forgetting his pipe altogether; "'twas that
+she told me the first day she came out, an' she walking along going
+home wit' me to her dinner; 't was the first speech I had wit' Nora.
+''T is the mills you mane?' says I.  'No, no, Uncle Patsy!' says she,
+'it ain't the mills at all, at all; 't is on the Road I 'm going.'  I
+t'ought she 'd some wild notion she 'd soon be laughing at, but she
+settled down very quiet-like with Aunty Biddy here, knowing yourselves
+to be going to Lawrence, and I told her stay as long as she had a mind.
+Wisha, she 'd an old apron on her in five minutes' time, an' took hold
+wit' the wash, and wint singing like a blackbird out in the yard at the
+line.  'Sit down, Aunty!' says she; 'you 're not so light-stepping as
+me, an' I 'll tell you all the news from home; an' I 'll get the
+dinner, too, when I 've done this,' says she.  Wisha, but she's the
+good cook for such a young thing; 't is Bridget says it as well as
+meself.  She made a stew that day; 't was like the ones her mother made
+Sundays, she said, if they 'd be lucky in getting a piece of meat; 't
+was a fine-tasting stew, too; she thinks we 're all rich over here.
+'So we are, me dear!' says I, 'but every one don't have the sinse to
+believe it.'"
+
+"Spake for yourselves!" exclaimed one of the listeners.  "You do be
+like Father Ross, always pr'achin' that we 'd best want less than want
+more.  He takes honest folks for fools, poor man," said Mary Ann Duffy,
+who had no patience at any time with new ideas.
+
+"An' so she wint on the next two or free days," said Patrick
+approvingly, without noticing the interruption, "being as quiet as you
+'d ask, and being said by her aunt in everything; and she would n't let
+on she was homesick, but she 'd no tark of anything but the folks at
+Dunkinny.  When there 'd be nothing to do for an hour she 'd slip out
+and be gone wit' herself for a little while, and be very still comin'
+in.  Last Thursday, after supper, she ran out; but by the time I 'd
+done me pipe, back she came flying in at the door.
+
+"'I 'm going off to a place called Birch Plains to-morrow morning, on
+the nine, Uncle Patsy,' says she; 'do you know where it is?' says she.
+'I do,' says I; ''t was not far from it I broke me leg wit' the dam'
+derrick.  'T was to Jerry Ryan's house they took me first.  There's no
+town there at all; 't is the only house in it; Ryan 's the switchman.'
+
+"'Would they take me to lodge for a while, I d' know?' says she, havin'
+great business.  'What 'd ye be afther in a place like that?' says I.
+'Ryan 's got girls himself, an' they 're all here in the mills, goin'
+home Saturday nights, 'less there's some show or some dance.  There's
+no money out there.'  She laughed then an' wint back to the door, and
+in come Mickey Dunn from McLoughlin's store, lugging the size of
+himself of bundles.  'What's all this?' says I; ''t ain't here they
+belong; I bought nothing to-day.'  'Don't be scolding!' says she, and
+Mickey got out of it laughing.  'I 'm going to be cooking for meself in
+the morning!' says she, with her head on one side, like a cock-sparrow.
+'You lind me the price o' the fire and I'll pay you in cakes,' says
+she, and off she wint then to bed.  'T was before day I heard her at
+the stove, and I smelt a baking that made me want to go find it, and
+when I come out in the kitchen she 'd the table covered with her
+cakeens, large and small.  'What's all this whillalu, me topknot-hin?'
+says I.  'Ate that,' says she, and hopped back to the oven-door.  Her
+aunt come out then, scolding fine, and whin she saw the great baking
+she dropped down in a chair like she'd faint and her breath all gone.
+'We 'ont ate them in ten days,' says she; 'no, not till the blue mould
+has struck them all, God help us!' says she.  'Don't bother me,' says
+Nora; 'I 'm goin' off with them all on the nine.  Uncle Patsy 'll help
+me wit' me basket.'
+
+"'Uncle Patsy 'ont now,' says Bridget.  Faix, I thought she was up with
+one o' them t'ree days' scolds she 'd have when she was young and the
+childre' all the one size.  You could hear the bawls of her a mile away.
+
+"'Whishper, dear,' says Nora; 'I don't want to be livin' on anny of me
+folks, and Johnny O'Callahan said all the b'ys was wishing there was
+somebody would kape a clane little place out there at Birch
+Plains,--with something to ate and the like of a cup of tay.  He says
+'tis a good little chance; them big trains does all be waiting there
+tin minutes and fifteen minutes at a time, and everybody's hungry.  "I
+'ll thry me luck for a couple o' days," says I; "'tis no harm, an' I've
+tin shillings o' me own that Father Daley gave me wit' a grand blessing
+and I l'aving home behind me."'"
+
+"'What tark you have of Johnny O'Callahan,' says I.
+
+"Look at this now!" continued the proud uncle, while Aunt Biddy sat
+triumphantly watching the astonished audience; "'t is a letter I got
+from the shild last Friday night," and he brought up a small piece of
+paper from his coat-pocket.  "She writes a good hand, too.  'Dear Uncle
+Patsy,' says she, 'this leaves me well, thanks be to God.  I 'm doing
+the roaring trade with me cakes; all Ryan's little boys is selling on
+the trains.  I took one pound three the first day: 't was a great
+excursion train got stuck fast and they 'd a hot box on a wheel keeping
+them an hour and two more trains stopping for them; 't would be a very
+pleasant day in the old country that anybody 'd take a pound and three
+shillings.  Dear Uncle Patsy, I want a whole half-barrel of that same
+flour and ten pounds of sugar, and I 'll pay it back on Sunday.  I sind
+respects and duty to Aunty Bridget and all friends; this l'aves me in
+great haste.  I wrote me dear mother last night and sint her me first
+pound, God bless her.'"
+
+"Look at that for you now!" exclaimed Mike Duffy.  "Did n't I tell
+every one here she was fine an' smart?"
+
+"She 'll be soon Prisident of the Road," announced Aunt Mary Ann, who,
+having been energetic herself, was pleased to recognize the same
+quality in others.
+
+"She don't be so afraid of the worruk as the worruk's afraid of her,"
+said Aunt Bridget admiringly.  "She 'll have her fling for a while and
+be glad to go in and get a good chance in the mill, and be kaping her
+plants in the weave-room windows this winter with the rest of the
+girls.  Come, tell us all about Elleneen and the baby.  I ain't heard a
+word about Lawrence yet," she added politely.
+
+"Ellen's doing fine, an' it's a pritty baby.  She's got a good husband,
+too, that l'aves her her own way and the keep of his money every
+Saturday night," said Mary Ann; and the little company proceeded to the
+discussion of a new and hardly less interesting subject.  But before
+they parted, they spoke again of Nora.
+
+"She's a fine, crabbed little gerrl, that little Nora," said Mr.
+Michael Duffy.
+
+"Thank God, none o' me childre' is red-headed on me; they're no more to
+be let an' held than a flick o' fire," said Aunt Mary Ann.  "Who 'd
+ever take the notion to be setting up business out there on the Birchy
+Plains?"
+
+"Ryan's folks 'll look after her, sure, the same as ourselves,"
+insisted Uncle Patsy hopefully, as he lighted his pipe again.  It was
+like a summer night; the kitchen windows were all open, the month of
+May was nearly at an end, and there was a sober croaking of frogs in
+the low fields that lay beyond the village.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+"Where's Nora?"  Young Johnny O'Callahan was asking the question; the
+express had stopped for water, and he seemed to be the only passenger;
+this was his day off.
+
+Mrs. Ryan was sitting on her doorstep to rest in the early evening; her
+husband had been promoted from switch-tender to boss of the great
+water-tank which was just beginning to be used, and there was talk of
+further improvements and promotions at Birch Plains; but the
+good-natured wife sensibly declared that the better off a woman was,
+the harder she always had to work.
+
+She took a long look at Johnny, who was dressed even more carefully
+than if it were a pleasant Sunday.
+
+"This don't be your train, annyway," she answered, in a meditative
+tone.  "How come you here now all so fine, I 'd like to know, riding in
+the cars like a lord; ain't you brakeman yet on old twinty-four?"
+
+"'Deed I am, Mrs. Ryan; you would n't be afther grudging a boy his day
+off?  Where's Nora?"
+
+"She's gone up the road a bitteen," said Mrs. Ryan, as if she suddenly
+turned to practical affairs.  "She 's worked hard the day, poor shild!
+and she took the cool of the evening, and the last bun she had left,
+and wint away with herself.  I kep' the taypot on the stove for her,
+but she 'd have none at all, at all!"
+
+The young man turned away, and Mrs. Ryan looked after him with an
+indulgent smile.  "He's a pritty b'y," she said.  "I 'd like well if he
+'d give a look at one o' me own gerrls; Julia, now, would look well
+walking with him, she 's so dark.  He's got money saved.  I saw the
+first day he come after the cakeens 't was the one that baked them was
+in his mind.  She's lucky, is Nora; well, I'm glad of it."
+
+It was fast growing dark, and Johnny's eyes were still dazzled by the
+bright lights of the train as he stepped briskly along the narrow
+country road.  The more he had seen Nora and the better he liked her,
+the less she would have to say to him, and tonight he meant to find her
+and have a talk.  He had only succeeded in getting half a dozen words
+at a time since the night of their first meeting on the slow train,
+when she had gladly recognized the peculiar brogue of her own
+country-side, as Johnny called the names of the stations, and Johnny's
+quick eyes had seen the tired-looking, uncertain, yet cheerful little
+greenhorn in the corner of the car, and asked if she were not the niece
+that was coming out to Mrs. Duffy.  He had watched the growth of her
+business with delight, and heard praises of the cakes and buns with
+willing ears; was it not his own suggestion that had laid the
+foundation of Nora's prosperity?  Since their first meeting they had
+always greeted each other like old friends, but Nora grew more and more
+willing to talk with any of her breathless customers who hurried up the
+steep bank from the trains than with him.  She would never take any pay
+for her wares from him, and for a week he had stopped coming himself
+and sent by a friend his money for the cakes; but one day poor Johnny's
+heart could not resist the temptation of going with the rest, and Nora
+had given him a happy look, straightforward and significant.  There was
+no time for a word, but she picked out a crusty bun, and he took it and
+ran back without offering to pay.  It was the best bun that a man ever
+ate.  Nora was two months out now, and he had never walked with her an
+evening yet.
+
+The shadows were thick under a long row of willows; there was a new
+moon, and a faint glow in the west still lit the sky.  Johnny walked on
+the grassy roadside with his ears keen to hear the noise of a betraying
+pebble under Nora's light foot.  Presently his heart beat loud and all
+out of time as a young voice began to sing a little way beyond.
+
+Nora was walking slowly away, but Johnny stopped still to listen.  She
+was singing "A Blacksmith Courted Me," one of the quaintest and
+sweetest of the old-country songs, as she strolled along in the
+soft-aired summer night.  By the time she came to "My love 's gone
+along the fields," Johnny hurried on to overtake her; he could hear the
+other verses some other time,--the bird was even sweeter than the voice.
+
+Nora was startled for a moment, and stopped singing, as if she were
+truly a bird in a bush, but she did not flutter away.  "Is it yourself,
+Mister Johnny?" she asked soberly, as if the frank affection of the
+song had not been assumed.
+
+"It's meself," answered Johnny, with equal discretion.  "I come out for
+a mout'ful of air; it's very hot inside in the town.  Days off are well
+enough in winter, but in summer you get a fine air on the train.  'T
+was well we both took the same direction.  How is the business?  All
+the b'ys are saying they'd be lost without it; sure there ain't a
+stomach of them but wants its bun, and they cried the length of the
+Road that day the thunder spoiled the baking."
+
+"Take this," said Nora, as if she spoke to a child; "there's a fine
+crust of sugar on the top.  'T is one I brought out for me little
+supper, but I 'm so pleased wit' bein' rich that I 've no need at all
+for 'ating.  An' I 'm as tired as I 'm rich," she added, with a sigh;
+"'t is few can say the same in this lazy land."
+
+"Sure, let's ate it together; 'tis a big little cakeen," urged Johnny,
+breaking the bun and anxiously offering Nora the larger piece.  "I can
+like the taste of anything better by halves, if I 've got company.  You
+ought to have a good supper of tay and a piece of steak and some
+potaties rather than this!  Don't be giving yourself nothing but the
+saved cakes, an' you working so hard!"
+
+"'T is plenty days I 'd a poorer supper when I was at home," said Nora
+sadly; "me father dying so young, and all of us begging at me mother's
+skirts.  It's all me thought how will I get rich and give me mother all
+the fine things that's in the world.  I wish I 'd come over sooner, but
+it broke my heart whinever I 'd think of being out of sight of her
+face.  She looks old now, me mother does."
+
+Nora may have been touched by Johnny's affectionate interest in her
+supper; she forgot all her shyness and drew nearer to him as they
+walked along, and he drew a little closer to her.
+
+"My mother is dead these two years," he said simply.  "It makes a man
+be very lonesome when his mother 's dead.  I board with my sister
+that's married; I 'm not much there at all.  I do be thinking I 'd like
+a house of my own.  I 've plinty saved for it."
+
+"I said in the first of coming out that I 'd go home again when I had
+fifty pounds," said Nora hastily, and taking the other side of the
+narrow road.  "I 've got a piece of it already, and I 've sent back
+more beside.  I thought I 'd be gone two years, but some days I think I
+won't be so long as that."
+
+"Why don't you be afther getting your mother out?  'T is so warm in the
+winter in a good house, and no dampness like there does be at home; and
+her brother and her sister both being here."  There was deep anxiety in
+Johnny's voice.
+
+"Oh, I don't know indeed!" said Nora.  "She's very wake-hearted, is me
+mother; she 'd die coming away from the old place and going to sea.
+No, I 'm going to work meself and go home; I 'll have presents, too,
+for everybody along the road, and the children 'll be running and
+skrieghing afther me, and they 'll all get sweeties from me.  'T is a
+very poor neighborhood where we live, but a lovely sight of the say.
+It ain't often annybody comes home to it, but 't will be a great day
+then, and the poor old folks 'll all be calling afther me: 'Where's
+Nora?'  'Show me Nora!'  'Nora, sure, what have you got for me?'  I
+'ont forget one of them aither, God helping me!" said Nora, in a
+passion of tenderness and pity.  "And, oh, Johnny, then afther that I
+'ll see me mother in the door!"
+
+Johnny was so close at her side that she slipped her hand into his, and
+neither of them stopped to think about so sweet and natural a pleasure.
+"I 'd like well to help you, me darlin'," said Johnny.
+
+"Sure, an' was n't it yourself gave me all me good fortune?" exclaimed
+Nora.  "I 'd be hard-hearted an' I forgot that so soon and you a Kerry
+boy, and me mother often spaking of your mother's folks before ever I
+thought of coming out!"
+
+"Sure and would n't you spake the good word to your mother about me
+sometime, dear?" pleaded Johnny, openly taking the part of lover.
+Nora's hand was still in his; they were walking slowly in the summer
+night.  "I loved you the first word I heard out of your mouth,--'twas
+like a thrush from home singing to me there in the train.  I said when
+I got home that night, I 'd think of no other girl till the day I died."
+
+"Oh!" said Nora, frightened with the change of his voice.  "Oh, Johnny,
+'t is too soon.  We never walked out this way before; you 'll have to
+wait for me; perhaps you 'd soon be tired of poor Nora, and the likes
+of one that's all for saving and going home!  You 'll marry a prittier
+girl than me some day," she faltered, and let go his hand.
+
+"Indeed, I won't, then," insisted Johnny O'Callahan stoutly.
+
+"Will you let me go home to see me mother?" said Nora soberly.  "I 'm
+afther being very homesick, 't is the truth for me.  I 'd lose all me
+courage if it wa'n't for the hope of that."
+
+"I will, indeed," said Johnny honestly.
+
+Nora put out her hand again, of her own accord.  "I 'll not say no,
+then," she whispered in the dark.  "I can't work long unless I do be
+happy, and--well, leave me free till the month's end, and maybe then I
+'ll say yes.  Stop, stop!" she let go Johnny's hand, and hurried along
+by herself in the road, Johnny, in a transport of happiness, walking
+very fast to keep up.  She reached a knoll where he could see her
+slender shape against the dim western sky.  "Wait till I tell you;
+_whisper_!" said Nora eagerly.  "You know there were some of the
+managers of the road, the superintendents and all those big ones, came
+to Birch Plains yesterday?"
+
+"I did be hearing something," said Johnny, wondering.
+
+"There was a quiet-spoken, nice old gentleman came asking me at the
+door for something to eat, and I being there baking; 't is my time in
+the morning whin the early trains does be gone, and I 've a fine
+stretch till the expresses are beginnin' to screech,--the tin, and the
+tin-thirty-two, and the Flying Aigle.  I was in a great hurry with word
+of an excursion coming in the afternoon and me stock very low; I 'd
+been baking since four o'clock.  He 'd no coat on him, 't was very
+warm; and I thought 't was some tramp.  Lucky for me I looked again and
+I said, 'What are you wanting, sir?' and then I saw he 'd a beautiful
+shirt on him, and was very quiet and pleasant.
+
+"'I came away wit'out me breakfast,' says he.  'Can you give me
+something without too much throuble?' says he.  'Do you have anny of
+those buns there that I hear the men talking about?'
+
+"'There's buns there, sir,' says I, 'and I 'll make you a cup of tay or
+a cup of coffee as quick as I can,' says I, being pleased at the b'ys
+giving me buns a good name to the likes of him.  He was very hungry,
+too, poor man, an' I ran to Mrs. Ryan to see if she 'd a piece of
+beefsteak, and my luck ran before me.  He sat down in me little place
+and enjoyed himself well.
+
+"'I had no such breakfast in tin years, me dear,' said he at the last,
+very quiet and thankful; and he l'aned back in the chair to rest him,
+and I cleared away, being in the great hurry, and he asking me how I
+come there, and I tolt him, and how long I 'd been out, and I said it
+was two months and a piece, and she being always in me heart, I spoke
+of me mother, and all me great hopes.
+
+"Then he sat and thought as if his mind wint to his own business, and I
+wint on wit' me baking.  Says he to me after a while, 'We 're going to
+build a branch road across country to connect with the great
+mountain-roads,' says he; 'the junction 's going to be right here; 't
+will give you a big market for your buns.  There 'll be a lunch-counter
+in the new station; do you think you could run it?' says he, spaking
+very sober.
+
+"'I 'd do my best, sir, annyway,' says I.  'I 'd look out for the best
+of help.  Do you know Patrick Quin, sir, that was hurt on the Road and
+gets a pinsion, sir?'
+
+"'I do,' says he.  'One of the best men that ever worked for this
+company,' says he.
+
+"'He 's me mother's own brother, then, an' he 'll stand by me,' says I;
+and he asked me me name and wrote it down in a book he got out of the
+pocket of him.  'You shall have the place if you want it,' says he; 'I
+won't forget,' and off he wint as quiet as he came."
+
+"Tell me who was it?" said Johnny O'Callahan, listening eagerly.
+
+"Mr. Ryan come tumbling in the next minute, spattered with water from
+the tank.  'Well, then,' says he, 'is your fine company gone?'
+
+"'He is,' says I.  'I don't know is it some superintendent?  He 's a
+nice man, Mr. Ryan, whoiver he is,' says I.
+
+"''T is the Gineral Manager of the Road,' says he; 'that's who he is,
+sure!'
+
+"My apron was all flour, and I was in a great rage wit' so much to do,
+but I did the best I could for him.  I 'd do the same for anny one so
+hungry," concluded Nora modestly.
+
+"Ain't you got the Queen's luck!" exclaimed Johnny admiringly.  "Your
+fortune 's made, me dear.  I 'll have to come off the road to help you."
+
+"Oh, two good trades 'll be better than one!" answered Nora gayly, "and
+the big station nor the branch road are n't building yet."
+
+"What a fine little head you 've got," said Johnny, as they reached the
+house where the Ryans lived, and the train was whistling that he meant
+to take back to town.  "Good-night, annyway, Nora; nobody 'd know from
+the size of your head there could be so much inside in it!"
+
+"I'm lucky, too," announced Nora serenely.  "No, I won't give you me
+word till the ind of the month.  You may be seeing another gerrl before
+that, and calling me the red-headed sparrow.  No, I 'll wait a good
+while, and see if the two of us can't do better.  Come, run away,
+Johnny.  I 'll drop asleep in the road; I 'm up since four o'clock
+making me cakes for plinty b'ys like you."
+
+The Ryans were all abed and asleep, but there was a lamp burning in the
+kitchen.  Nora blew it out as she stole into her hot little room.  She
+had waited, talking eagerly with Johnny, until they saw the headlight
+of the express like a star, far down the long line of double track.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+The summer was not ended before all the railroad men knew about Johnny
+O'Callahan's wedding and all his good fortune.  They boarded at the
+Ryans' at first, but late in the evenings Johnny and his wife were at
+work, building as if they were birds.  First, there was a shed with a
+broad counter for the cakes, and a table or two, and the boys did not
+fail to notice that Nora had a good sisterly work-basket ready, and was
+quick to see that a useful button was off or a stitch needed.  The next
+fortnight saw a room added to this, where Nora had her own stove, and
+cooking went on steadily.  Then there was another room with white
+muslin curtains at the windows, and scarlet-runner beans made haste to
+twine themselves to a line of strings for shade.  Johnny would unload a
+few feet of clean pine boards from the freight train, and within a day
+or two they seemed to be turned into a wing of the small castle by some
+easy magic.  The boys used to lay wagers and keep watch, and there was
+a cheer out of the engine-cab and all along the platforms one day when
+a tidy sty first appeared and a neat pig poked his nose through the
+fence of it.  The buns and biscuits grew famous; customers sent for
+them from the towns up and down the long railroad line, and the story
+of thrifty, kind-hearted little Nora and her steady young husband was
+known to a surprising number of persons.  When the branch road was
+begun, Nora and Johnny took a few of their particular friends to board,
+and business was further increased.  On Sunday they always went into
+town to mass and visited their uncles and aunts and Johnny's sister.
+Nora never said that she was tired, and almost never was cross.  She
+counted her money every Saturday night, and took it to Uncle Patsy to
+put into the bank.  She had long talks about her mother with Uncle
+Patsy, and he always wrote home for her when she had no time.  Many a
+pound went across the sea in the letters, and so another summer came;
+and one morning when Johnny's train stopped, Nora stood at the door of
+the little house and held a baby in her arms for all the boys to see.
+She was white as a ghost and as happy as a queen.  "I 'll be making the
+buns again pretty soon," she cried cheerfully.  "Have courage, boys; 't
+won't be long first; this one 'll be selling them for me on the Flying
+Aigle, don't you forget it!"  And there was a great ringing of the
+engine-bell a moment after, when the train started.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+It was many and many a long month after this that an old man and a
+young woman and a baby were journeying in a side-car along one of the
+smooth Irish roads into County Kerry.  They had left the railroad an
+hour before; they had landed early that morning at the Cove of Cork.
+The side-car was laden deep with bundles and boxes, but the old horse
+trotted briskly along until the gossoon who was driving turned into a
+cart-track that led through a furzy piece of wild pasture-ground up
+toward the dark rain-clouded hills.
+
+"See, over there's Kinmare!" said the old man, looking back.  "Manny 's
+the day I 've trudged it and home again.  Oh, I know all this country;
+I knew it well whin ayther of you wa'n't born!"
+
+"God be thanked, you did, sir!" responded the gossoon, with fervent
+admiration.  He was a pleasant-looking lad in a ragged old coat and an
+absolutely roofless hat, through which his bright hair waved in the
+summer wind.  "Och, but the folks 'll be looking out of all the doors
+to see you come.  I 'll be afther saying I never drove anny party with
+so rich a heart; there ain't a poor soul that asked a pinny of us since
+we left Bantry but she's got the shillin'.  Look a' the flock coming
+now, sir, out of that house.  There's the four-legged lady that pays
+the rint watchin' afther them from the door, too.  They think you 're a
+gintleman that's shootin', I suppose.  'T is Tom Flaherty's house, poor
+crathur; he died last winter, God rest him; 'twas very inconvanient for
+him an' every one at the time, wit' snow on the ground and a great dale
+of sickness and distress.  Father Daley, poor man, had to go to the
+hospital in Dublin wit' himself to get a leg cut off, and we 'd nothing
+but rain out of the sky afther that till all the stones in the road was
+floatin' to the top."
+
+"Son of old John Flaherty, I suppose?" asked the traveler, with a
+knowing air, after he had given the eager children some pennies and
+gingerbread, out of a great package.  One of the older girls knew Nora
+and climbed to the spare seat at her side to join the company.  "Son of
+old John Flaherty, I suppose, that was there before?  There was
+Flahertys there and I l'aving home more than thirty-five years ago."
+
+"Sure there 's plinty Flahertys in it now, glory be to God!" answered
+the charioteer, with enthusiasm.  "I 'd have no mother meself but for
+the Flahertys."  He leaped down to lead the stumbling horse past a deep
+rut and some loose stones, and beckoned the little girl sternly from
+her proud seat.  "Run home, now!" he said, as she obeyed: "I 'll give
+you a fine drive an' I coming down the hill;" but she had joined the
+travelers with full intent, and trotted gayly alongside like a little
+dog.
+
+The old passenger whispered to his companion that they 'd best double
+the gossoon's money, or warm it with two, or three shillings extra, at
+least, and Nora nodded her prompt approval.  "The old folks are all
+getting away; we 'd best give a bitteen to the young ones they 've left
+afther them," said Uncle Patsy, by way of excuse.  "Och, there's more
+beggars between here and Queenstown than you 'd find in the whole of
+Ameriky."
+
+It seemed to Nora as if her purseful of money were warm against her
+breast, like another heart; the sixpences in her pocket all felt warm
+to her fingers and hopped by themselves into the pleading hands that
+were stretched out all along the way.  The sweet clamor of the Irish
+voices, the ready blessings, the frank requests to those returning from
+America with their fortunes made, were all delightful to her ears.  How
+she had dreamed of this day, and how the sun and shadows were chasing
+each other over these upland fields at last!  How close the blue sea
+looked to the dark hills!  It seemed as if the return of one prosperous
+child gave joy to the whole landscape.  It was the old country the same
+as ever,--old Mother Ireland in her green gown, and the warm heart of
+her ready and unforgetting.  As for Nora, she could only leave a wake
+of silver six-pences behind her, and when these were done, a duller
+trail of ha'pennies; and the air was full of blessings as she passed
+along the road to Dunkenny.
+
+
+By this time Nora had stopped talking and laughing.  At first everybody
+on the road seemed like her near relation, but the last minutes seemed
+like hours, and now and then a tear went shining down her cheek.  The
+old man's lips were moving,--he was saying a prayer without knowing it;
+they were almost within sight of home.  The poor little white houses,
+with their high gable-ends and weather-beaten thatch, that stood about
+the fields among the green hedges; the light shower that suddenly fell
+out of the clear sky overhead, made an old man's heart tremble in his
+breast.  Round the next slope of the hill they should see the old place.
+
+The wheel-track stopped where you turned off to go to the Donahoe farm,
+but no old Mary was there to give friendly welcome.  The old man got
+stiffly down from the side-car and limped past the gate with a sigh;
+but Nora hurried ahead, carrying the big baby, not because he could n't
+walk, but because he could.  The young son had inherited his mother's
+active disposition, and would run straight away like a spider the
+minute his feet were set to the ground.  Now and then, at the sight of
+a bird or a flower in the grass, he struggled to get down.  "Whisht,
+now!" Nora would say; "and are n't you going to see Granny indeed?
+Keep aisy now, darlin'!"
+
+The old heart and the young heart were beating alike as these exiles
+followed the narrow footpath round the shoulder of the great hill; they
+could hear the lambs bleat and the tinkling of the sheep-bells that
+sweet May morning.  From the lower hillside came the sound of voices.
+The neighbors had seen them pass, and were calling to each other across
+the fields.  Oh, it was home, home! the sight of it, and the smell of
+the salt air and the flowers in the bog, the look of the early white
+mushrooms in the sod, and the song of the larks overhead and the
+blackbirds in the hedges!  Poor Ireland was gay-hearted in the spring
+weather, and Nora was there at last.  "Oh, thank God, we 're safe
+home!" she said again.  "Look, here's the Wishing Brook; d' ye mind
+it?" she called back to the old man.
+
+"I mind everything the day, no fear for me," said Patrick Quin.
+
+The great hillside before them sloped up to meet the blue sky, the
+golden gorse spread its splendid tapestry against the green pasture.
+There was the tiny house, the one house in Ireland for Nora; its very
+windows watched her coming.  A whiff of turf-smoke flickered above the
+chimney, the white walls were as white as the clouds above; there was a
+figure moving about inside the house, and a bent little woman in her
+white frilled cap and a small red shawl pinned about her shoulders came
+and stood in the door.
+
+"Oh, me mother, me mother!" cried Nora; then she dropped the baby in
+the soft grass, and flew like a pigeon up the hill and into her
+mother's arms.
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+The gossoon was equal to emergencies; he put down his heavier burden of
+goods and picked up the baby, lest it might run back to America.  "God
+be praised, what's this coming afther ye?" exclaimed the mother, while
+Nora, weeping for joy, ran past her into the house.  "Oh, God bless the
+shild that I thought I 'd never see.  Oh!" and she looked again at the
+stranger, the breathless old man with the thorn stick, whom everybody
+had left behind.  "'T is me brother Patsy!  Oh, me heart's broke wit'
+joy!" and she fell on her knees among the daisies.
+
+"It's meself, then!" said Mr. Patrick Quin.  "How are ye the day, Mary?
+I always t'ought I 'd see home again, but 't was Nora enticed me now.
+Johnny O'Callahan's a good son to ye; he 'd liked well to come with us,
+but he gets short l'ave on the Road, and he has a fine, steady job; he
+'ll see after the business, too, while we 're gone; no, I could n't let
+the two childer cross the say alone.  Coom now, don't be sayin' anny
+more prayers; sure, we 'll be sayin' them together in the old church
+coom Sunday.
+
+"There, don't cry, Mary, don't cry, now!  Coom in in the house!  Sure,
+all the folks sint their remimbrance, and hoped you 'd come back with
+us and stay a long while.  That's our intintion, too, for you,"
+continued Patrick, none the less tearful himself because he was so full
+of fine importance; but nobody could stop to listen after the first
+moment, and the brother and sister were both crying faster than they
+could talk.  A minute later the spirit of the hostess rose to her great
+occasion.
+
+"Go, chase those white hins," Nora's mother commanded the gossoon, who
+had started back to bring up more of the rich-looking bundles from the
+side-car.  "Run them up-hill now, or they 'll fly down to Kinmare.  Go
+now, while I stir up me fire and make a cup o' tay.  'T is the laste I
+can do whin me folks is afther coming so far!"
+
+"God save all here!" said Uncle Patsy devoutly, as he stepped into the
+house.  There sat little Nora with the tired baby in her arms; to tell
+the truth, she was crying now for lack of Johnny.  She looked pale, but
+her eyes were shining, and a ray of sunlight fell through the door and
+brightened her red hair.  She looked quite beautiful and radiant as she
+sat there.
+
+"Well, Nora, ye 're here, ain't you?" said the old man.
+
+"Only this morning," said the mother, "whin I opened me eyes I says to
+meself: 'Where's Nora?' says I; 'she do be so long wit'out writing home
+to me;' look at her now by me own fire!  Wisha, but what's all this
+whillalu and stramach down by the brook?  Oh, see now! the folks have
+got word; all the folks is here!  Coom out to them, Nora; give me the
+shild; coom out, Patsy boy!"
+
+"Where 's Nora?  Where 's Nora?" they could hear the loud cry coming,
+as all the neighbors hurried up the hill.
+
+
+
+
+BOLD WORDS AT THE BRIDGE.
+
+I.
+
+"'Well, now,' says I, 'Mrs. Con'ly,' says I, 'how ever you may tark,
+'tis nobody's business and I wanting to plant a few pumpkins for me cow
+in among me cabbages.  I 've got the right to plant whatever I may
+choose, if it's the divil of a crop of t'istles in the middle of me
+ground.'  'No ma'am, you ain't,' says Biddy Con'ly; 'you ain't got anny
+right to plant t'istles that's not for the public good,' says she; and
+I being so hasty wit' me timper, I shuk me fist in her face then, and
+herself shuk her fist at me.  Just then Father Brady come by, as luck
+ardered, an' recomminded us would we keep the peace.  He knew well I 'd
+had my provocation; 't was to herself he spoke first.  You'd think she
+owned the whole corporation.  I wished I 'd t'rown her over into the
+wather, so I did, before he come by at all.  'T was on the bridge the
+two of us were.  I was stepping home by meself very quiet in the
+afthernoon to put me tay-kittle on for supper, and herself overtook
+me,--ain't she the bold thing!
+
+"'How are you the day, Mrs. Dunl'avy?' says she, so mincin' an'
+preenin', and I knew well she 'd put her mind on having words wit' me
+from that minute.  I 'm one that likes to have peace in the
+neighborhood, if it wa'n't for the likes of her, that makes the top of
+me head lift and clat' wit' rage like a pot-lid!"
+
+"What was the matter with the two of you?" asked a listener, with
+simple interest.
+
+"Faix indeed, 't was herself had a thrifle of melons planted the other
+side of the fince," acknowledged Mrs. Dunleavy.  "She said the pumpkins
+would be the ruin of them intirely.  I says, and 'twas thrue for me,
+that I 'd me pumpkins planted the week before she'd dropped anny old
+melon seed into the ground, and the same bein' already dwining from so
+manny bugs.  Oh, but she 's blackhearted to give me the lie about it,
+and say those poor things was all up, and she 'd thrown lime on 'em to
+keep away their inemies when she first see me come out betune me
+cabbage rows.  How well she knew what I might be doing!  Me cabbages
+grows far apart and I 'd plinty of room, and if a pumpkin vine gets
+attention you can entice it wherever you pl'ase and it'll grow fine and
+long, while the poor cabbages ates and grows fat and round, and no harm
+to annybody, but she must pick a quarrel with a quiet 'oman in the face
+of every one.
+
+"We were on the bridge, don't you see, and plinty was passing by with
+their grins, and loitering and stopping afther they were behind her
+back to hear what was going on betune us.  Annybody does be liking to
+got the sound of loud talk an' they having nothing better to do.  Biddy
+Con'ly, seeing she was well watched, got the airs of a pr'acher, and
+set down whatever she might happen to be carrying and tried would she
+get the better of me for the sake of their admiration.  Oh, but wa'n't
+she all drabbled and wet from the roads, and the world knows meself for
+a very tidy walker!
+
+"'Clane the mud from your shoes if you 're going to dance;' 't was all
+I said to her, and she being that mad she did be stepping up and down
+like an old turkey-hin, and shaking her fist all the time at me.  'Coom
+now, Biddy,' says I, 'what put you out so?' says I.  'Sure, it creeps
+me skin when I looks at you!  Is the pig dead,' says I, 'or anny little
+thing happened to you, ma'am?  Sure this is far beyond the rights of a
+few pumpkin seeds that has just cleared the ground!' and all the folks
+laughed.  I 'd no call to have tark with Biddy Con'ly before them idle
+b'ys and gerrls, nor to let the two of us become their laughing-stock.
+I tuk up me basket, being ashamed then, and I meant to go away, mad as
+I was.  'Coom, Mrs. Con'ly!' says I, 'let bygones be bygones; what's
+all this whillalu we 're afther having about nothing?' says I very
+pleasant.
+
+"'May the divil fly away with you, Mary Dunl'avy!' says she then,
+'spoiling me garden ground, as every one can see, and full of your bold
+talk.  I 'll let me hens out into it this afternoon, so I will,' says
+she, and a good deal more.  'Hold off,' says I, 'and remember what fell
+to your aunt one day when she sint her hins in to pick a neighbor's
+piece, and while her own back was turned they all come home and had
+every sprouted bean and potatie heeled out in the hot sun, and all her
+fine lettuces picked into Irish lace.  We 've lived neighbors,' says I,
+'thirteen years,' says I; 'and we 've often had words together above
+the fince,' says I, 'but we 're neighbors yet, and we 've no call to
+stand here in such spectacles and disgracing ourselves and each other.
+Coom, Biddy,' says I, again, going away with me basket and remimbering
+Father Brady's caution whin it was too late.  Some o' the b'ys went
+off, too, thinkin' 't was all done.
+
+"'I don't want anny o' your Coom Biddy's,' says she, stepping at me,
+with a black stripe across her face, she was that destroyed with rage,
+and I stepped back and held up me basket between us, she being bigger
+than I, and I getting no chance, and herself slipped and fell, and her
+nose got a clout with the hard edge of the basket, it would trouble the
+saints to say how, and then I picked her up and wint home with her to
+thry and quinch the blood.  Sure I was sorry for the crathur an' she
+having such a timper boiling in her heart.
+
+"'Look at you now, Mrs. Con'ly,' says I, kind of soft, 'you 'ont be fit
+for mass these two Sundays with a black eye like this, and your face
+arl scratched, and every bliguard has gone the lingth of the town to
+tell tales of us.  I 'm a quiet 'oman,' says I, 'and I don't thank
+you,' says I, whin the blood was stopped,--'no, I don't thank you for
+disgracin' an old neighbor like me.  'T is of our prayers and the grave
+we should be thinkin', and not be having bold words on the bridge.'
+Wisha! but I fought I was after spaking very quiet, and up she got and
+caught up the basket, and I dodged it by good luck, but after that I
+walked off and left her to satisfy her foolishness with b'ating the
+wall if it pl'ased her.  I 'd no call for her company anny more, and I
+took a vow I 'd never spake a word to her again while the world stood.
+So all is over since then betune Biddy Con'ly and me.  No, I don't look
+at her at all!"
+
+
+
+II.
+
+Some time afterward, in late summer, Mrs. Dunleavy stood, large and
+noisy, but generous-hearted, addressing some remarks from her front
+doorway to a goat on the sidewalk.  He was pulling some of her
+cherished foxgloves through the picket fence, and eagerly devouring
+their flowery stalks.
+
+"How well you rache through an honest fince, you black pirate!" she
+shouted; but finding that harsh words had no effect, she took a
+convenient broom, and advanced to strike a gallant blow upon the
+creature's back.  This had the simple effect of making him step a
+little to one side and modestly begin to nibble at a tuft of grass.
+
+"Well, if I ain't plagued!" said Mrs. Dunleavy sorrowfully; "if I ain't
+throubled with every wild baste, and me cow that was some use gone dry
+very unexpected, and a neighbor that's worse than none at all.  I 've
+nobody to have an honest word with, and the morning being so fine and
+pleasant.  Faix, I'd move away from it, if there was anny place I 'd
+enjoy better.  I 've no heart except for me garden, me poor little
+crops is doing so well; thanks be to God, me cabbages is very fine.
+There does be those that overlooked me pumpkins for the poor cow; they
+'re no size at all wit' so much rain."
+
+The two small white houses stood close together, with their little
+gardens behind them.  The road was just in front, and led down to a
+stone bridge which crossed the river to the busy manufacturing village
+beyond.  The air was fresh and cool at that early hour, the wind had
+changed after a season of dry, hot weather; it was just the morning for
+a good bit of gossip with a neighbor, but summer was almost done, and
+the friends were not reconciled.  Their respective acquaintances had
+grown tired of hearing the story of the quarrel, and the novelty of
+such a pleasing excitement had long been over.  Mrs. Connelly was
+thumping away at a handful of belated ironing, and Mrs. Dunleavy,
+estranged and solitary, sighed as she listened to the iron.  She was
+sociable by nature, and she had an impulse to go in and sit down as she
+used at the end of the ironing table.
+
+"Wisha, the poor thing is mad at me yet, I know that from the sounds of
+her iron; 't was a shame for her to go picking a quarrel with the likes
+of me," and Mrs. Dunleavy sighed heavily and stepped down into her
+flower-plot to pull the distressed foxgloves back into their places
+inside the fence.  The seed had been sent her from the old country, and
+this was the first year they had come into full bloom.  She had been
+hoping that the sight of them would melt Mrs. Connelly's heart into
+some expression of friendliness, since they had come from adjoining
+parishes in old County Kerry.  The goat lifted his head, and gazed at
+his enemy with mild interest; he was pasturing now by the roadside, and
+the foxgloves had proved bitter in his mouth.
+
+Mrs. Dunleavy stood looking at him over the fence, glad of even a
+goat's company.
+
+"Go 'long there; see that fine little tuft ahead now," she advised him,
+forgetful of his depredations.  "Oh, to think I 've nobody to spake to,
+the day!"
+
+At that moment a woman came in sight round the turn of the road.  She
+was a stranger, a fellow country-woman, and she carried a large
+newspaper bundle and a heavy handbag.  Mrs. Dunleavy stepped out of the
+flower-bed toward the gate, and waited there until the stranger came up
+and stopped to ask a question.
+
+"Ann Bogan don't live here, do she?"
+
+"She don't," answered the mistress of the house, with dignity.
+
+"I t'ought she did n't; you don't know where she lives, do you?"
+
+"I don't," said Mrs. Dunleavy.
+
+"I don't know ayther; niver mind, I 'll find her; 't is a fine day,
+ma'am."
+
+Mrs. Dunleavy could hardly bear to let the stranger go away.  She
+watched her far down the hill toward the bridge before she turned to go
+into the house.  She seated herself by the side window next Mrs.
+Connelly's, and gave herself to her thoughts.  The sound of the
+flatiron had stopped when the traveler came to the gate, and it had not
+begun again.  Mrs. Connelly had gone to her front door; the hem of her
+calico dress could be plainly seen, and the bulge of her apron, and she
+was watching the stranger quite out of sight.  She even came out to the
+doorstep, and for the first time in many weeks looked with friendly
+intent toward her neighbor's house.  Then she also came and sat down at
+her side window.  Mrs. Dunleavy's heart began to leap with excitement.
+
+"Bad cess to her foolishness, she does be afther wanting to come round;
+I 'll not make it too aisy for her," said Mrs. Dunleavy, seizing a
+piece of sewing and forbearing to look up.  "I don't know who Ann Bogan
+is, annyway; perhaps herself does, having lived in it five or six years
+longer than me.  Perhaps she knew this woman by her looks, and the
+heart is out of her with wanting to know what she asked from me.  She
+can sit there, then, and let her irons grow cold!
+
+"There was Bogans living down by the brick mill when I first come here,
+neighbors to Flaherty's folks," continued Mrs. Dunleavy, more and more
+aggrieved.  "Biddy Con'ly ought to know the Flahertys, they being her
+cousins.  'T was a fine loud-talking 'oman; sure Biddy might well
+enough have heard her inquiring of me, and have stepped out, and said
+if she knew Ann Bogan, and satisfied a poor stranger that was hunting
+the town over.  No, I don't know anny one in the name of Ann Bogan, so
+I don't," said Mrs. Dunleavy aloud, "and there's nobody I can ask a
+civil question, with every one that ought to be me neighbors stopping
+their mouths, and keeping black grudges whin 't was meself got all the
+offince."
+
+"Faix 't was meself got the whack on me nose," responded Mrs. Connelly
+quite unexpectedly.  She was looking squarely at the window where Mrs.
+Dunleavy sat behind the screen of blue mosquito netting.  They were
+both conscious that Mrs. Connelly made a definite overture of peace.
+
+"That one was a very civil-spoken 'oman that passed by just now,"
+announced Mrs. Dunleavy, handsomely waiving the subject of the quarrel
+and coming frankly to the subject of present interest.  "Faix, 't is a
+poor day for Ann Bogans; she 'll find that out before she gets far in
+the place."
+
+"Ann Bogans was plinty here once, then, God rest them!  There was two
+Ann Bogans, mother and daughter, lived down by Flaherty's when I first
+come here.  They died in the one year, too; 't is most thirty years
+ago," said Bridget Connelly, in her most friendly tone.
+
+"'I 'll find her,' says the poor 'oman as if she 'd only to look;
+indeed, she 's got the boldness," reported Mary Dunleavy, peace being
+fully restored.
+
+"'T was to Flaherty's she 'd go first, and they all moved to La'rence
+twelve years ago, and all she 'll get from anny one would be the
+address of the cimet'ry.  There was plenty here knowing to Ann Bogan
+once.  That 'oman is one I 've seen long ago, but I can't name her yet.
+Did she say who she was?" asked the neighbor.
+
+"She did n't; I 'm sorry for the poor 'oman, too," continued Mrs.
+Dunleavy, in the same spirit of friendliness.  "She 'd the expectin'
+look of one who came hoping to make a nice visit and find friends, and
+herself lugging a fine bundle.  She 'd the looks as if she 'd lately
+come out; very decent, but old-fashioned.  Her bonnet was made at home
+annyways, did ye mind?  I 'll lay it was bought in Cork when it was
+new, or maybe 'twas from a good shop in Bantry or Kinmare, or some o'
+those old places.  If she 'd seemed satisfied to wait, I 'd made her
+the offer of a cup of tay, but off she wint with great courage."
+
+"I don't know but I 'll slip on me bonnet in the afthernoon and go find
+her," said Biddy Connelly, with hospitable warmth.  "I 've seen her
+before, perhaps 't was long whiles ago at home."
+
+"Indeed I thought of it myself," said Mrs. Dunleavy, with approval.
+"We 'd best wait, perhaps, till she 'd be coming back; there's no train
+now till three o'clock.  She might stop here till the five, and we 'll
+find out all about her.  She 'll have a very lonesome day, whoiver she
+is.  Did you see that old goat 'ating the best of me fairy-fingers that
+all bloomed the day?" she asked eagerly, afraid that the conversation
+might come to an end at any moment; but Mrs. Connelly took no notice of
+so trivial a subject.
+
+"Me melons is all getting ripe," she announced, with an air of
+satisfaction.  "There 's a big one must be ate now while we can; it's
+down in the cellar cooling itself, an' I 'd like to be dropping it,
+getting down the stairs.  'Twas afther picking it I was before
+breakfast, itself having begun to crack open.  Himself was the b'y that
+loved a melon, an' I ain't got the heart to look at it alone.  Coom
+over, will ye, Mary?"
+
+"'Deed then an' I will," said Mrs. Dunleavy, whose face was close
+against the mosquito netting.  "Them old pumpkin vines was no good anny
+way; did you see how one of them had the invintion, and wint away up on
+the fince entirely wit' its great flowers, an' there come a rain on
+'em, and so they all blighted?  I 'd no call to grow such stramming
+great things in my piece annyway, 'ating up all the goodness from me
+beautiful cabbages."
+
+
+
+III.
+
+That afternoon the reunited friends sat banqueting together and keeping
+an eye on the road.  They had so much to talk over and found each other
+so agreeable that it was impossible to dwell with much regret upon the
+long estrangement.  When the melon was only half finished the stranger
+of the morning, with her large unopened bundle and the heavy handbag,
+was seen making her way up the hill.  She wore such a weary and
+disappointed look that she was accosted and invited in by both the
+women, and being proved by Mrs. Connelly to be an old acquaintance, she
+joined them at their feast.
+
+"Yes, I was here seventeen years ago for the last time," she explained.
+"I was working in Lawrence, and I came over and spent a fortnight with
+Honora Flaherty; then I wint home that year to mind me old mother, and
+she lived to past ninety.  I 'd nothing to keep me then, and I was
+always homesick afther America, so back I come to it, but all me old
+frinds and neighbors is changed and gone.  Faix, this is the first
+welcome I 've got yet from anny one.  'Tis a beautiful welcome,
+too,--I'll get me apron out of me bundle, by your l'ave, Mrs. Con'ly.
+You 've a strong resemblance to Flaherty's folks, dear, being cousins.
+Well, 't is a fine thing to have good neighbors.  You an' Mrs. Dunleavy
+is very pleasant here so close together."
+
+"Well, we does be having a hasty word now and then, ma'am," confessed
+Mrs. Dunleavy, "but ourselves is good neighbors this manny years.  Whin
+a quarrel's about nothing betune friends, it don't count for much, so
+it don't."
+
+"Most quarrels is the same way," said the stranger, who did not like
+melons, but accepted a cup of hot tea.  "Sure, it always takes two to
+make a quarrel, and but one to end it; that's what me mother always
+told me, that never gave anny one a cross word in her life."
+
+"'T is a beautiful melon," repeated Mrs. Dunleavy for the seventh time.
+"Sure, I 'll plant a few seed myself next year; me pumpkins is no good
+afther all me foolish pride wit' 'em.  Maybe the land don't suit 'em,
+but glory be to God, me cabbages is the size of the house, an' you 'll
+git the pick of the best, Mrs. Con'ly."
+
+"What's melons betune friends, or cabbages ayther, that they should
+ever make any trouble?" answered Mrs. Connelly handsomely, and the
+great feud was forever ended.
+
+But the stranger, innocent that she was the harbinger of peace, could
+hardly understand why Bridget Connelly insisted upon her staying all
+night and talking over old times, and why the two women put on their
+bonnets and walked, one on either hand, to see the town with her that
+evening.  As they crossed the bridge they looked at each other shyly,
+and then began to laugh.
+
+"Well, I missed it the most on Sundays going all alone to mass,"
+confessed Mary Dunleavy.  "I 'm glad there's no one here seeing us go
+over, so I am."
+
+"'T was ourselves had bold words at the bridge, once, that we 've got
+the laugh about now," explained Mrs. Connelly politely to the stranger.
+
+
+
+
+MARTHA'S LADY.
+
+I.
+
+One day, many years ago, the old Judge Pyne house wore an unwonted look
+of gayety and youthfulness.  The high-fenced green garden was bright
+with June flowers.  Under the elms in the large shady front yard you
+might see some chairs placed near together, as they often used to be
+when the family were all at home and life was going on gayly with eager
+talk and pleasure-making; when the elder judge, the grandfather, used
+to quote that great author, Dr. Johnson, and say to his girls, "Be
+brisk, be splendid, and be public."
+
+One of the chairs had a crimson silk shawl thrown carelessly over its
+straight back, and a passer-by, who looked in through the latticed gate
+between the tall gate-posts with their white urns, might think that
+this piece of shining East Indian color was a huge red lily that had
+suddenly bloomed against the syringa bush.  There were certain windows
+thrown wide open that were usually shut, and their curtains were
+blowing free in the light wind of a summer afternoon; it looked as if a
+large household had returned to the old house to fill the prim best
+rooms and find them full of cheer.
+
+It was evident to every one in town that Miss Harriet Pyne, to use the
+village phrase, had company.  She was the last of her family, and was
+by no means old; but being the last, and wonted to live with people
+much older than herself, she had formed all the habits of a serious
+elderly person.  Ladies of her age, something past thirty, often wore
+discreet caps in those days, especially if they were married, but being
+single, Miss Harriet clung to youth in this respect, making the one
+concession of keeping her waving chestnut hair as smooth and stiffly
+arranged as possible.  She had been the dutiful companion of her father
+and mother in their latest years, all her elder brothers and sisters
+having married and gone, or died and gone, out of the old house.  Now
+that she was left alone it seemed quite the best thing frankly to
+accept the fact of age, and to turn more resolutely than ever to the
+companionship of duty and serious books.  She was more serious and
+given to routine than her elders themselves, as sometimes happened when
+the daughters of New England gentlefolks were brought up wholly in the
+society of their elders.  At thirty-five she had more reluctance than
+her mother to face an unforeseen occasion, certainly more than her
+grandmother, who had preserved some cheerful inheritance of gayety and
+worldliness from colonial times.
+
+There was something about the look of the crimson silk shawl in the
+front yard to make one suspect that the sober customs of the best house
+in a quiet New England village were all being set at defiance, and once
+when the mistress of the house came to stand in her own doorway, she
+wore the pleased but somewhat apprehensive look of a guest.  In these
+days New England life held the necessity of much dignity and discretion
+of behavior; there was the truest hospitality and good cheer in all
+occasional festivities, but it was sometimes a self-conscious
+hospitality, followed by an inexorable return to asceticism both of
+diet and of behavior.  Miss Harriet Pyne belonged to the very dullest
+days of New England, those which perhaps held the most priggishness for
+the learned professions, the most limited interpretation of the word
+"evangelical," and the pettiest indifference to large things.  The
+outbreak of a desire for larger religious freedom caused at first a
+most determined reaction toward formalism, especially in small and
+quiet villages like Ashford, intently busy with their own concerns.  It
+was high time for a little leaven to begin its work, in this moment
+when the great impulses of the war for liberty had died away and those
+of the coming war for patriotism and a new freedom had hardly yet begun.
+
+
+The dull interior, the changed life of the old house, whose former
+activities seemed to have fallen sound asleep, really typified these
+larger conditions, and a little leaven had made its easily recognized
+appearance in the shape of a light-hearted girl.  She was Miss
+Harriet's young Boston cousin, Helena Vernon, who, half-amused and
+half-impatient at the unnecessary sober-mindedness of her hostess and
+of Ashford in general, had set herself to the difficult task of gayety.
+Cousin Harriet looked on at a succession of ingenious and, on the
+whole, innocent attempts at pleasure, as she might have looked on at
+the frolics of a kitten who easily substitutes a ball of yarn for the
+uncertainties of a bird or a wind-blown leaf, and who may at any moment
+ravel the fringe of a sacred curtain-tassel in preference to either.
+
+Helena, with her mischievous appealing eyes, with her enchanting old
+songs and her guitar, seemed the more delightful and even reasonable
+because she was so kind to everybody, and because she was a beauty.
+She had the gift of most charming manners.  There was all the
+unconscious lovely ease and grace that had come with the good breeding
+of her city home, where many pleasant people came and went; she had no
+fear, one had almost said no respect, of the individual, and she did
+not need to think of herself.  Cousin Harriet turned cold with
+apprehension when she saw the minister coming in at the front gate, and
+wondered in agony if Martha were properly attired to go to the door,
+and would by any chance hear the knocker; it was Helena who, delighted
+to have anything happen, ran to the door to welcome the Reverend Mr.
+Crofton as if he were a congenial friend of her own age.  She could
+behave with more or less propriety during the stately first visit, and
+even contrive to lighten it with modest mirth, and to extort the
+confession that the guest had a tenor voice, though sadly out of
+practice; but when the minister departed a little flattered, and hoping
+that he had not expressed himself too strongly for a pastor upon the
+poems of Emerson, and feeling the unusual stir of gallantry in his
+proper heart, it was Helena who caught the honored hat of the late
+Judge Pyne from its last resting-place in the hall, and holding it
+securely in both hands, mimicked the minister's self-conscious
+entrance.  She copied his pompous and anxious expression in the dim
+parlor in such delicious fashion that Miss Harriet, who could not
+always extinguish a ready spark of the original sin of humor, laughed
+aloud.
+
+"My dear!" she exclaimed severely the next moment, "I am ashamed of
+your being so disrespectful!" and then laughed again, and took the
+affecting old hat and carried it back to its place.
+
+"I would not have had any one else see you for the world," she said
+sorrowfully as she returned, feeling quite self-possessed again, to the
+parlor doorway; but Helena still sat in the minister's chair, with her
+small feet placed as his stiff boots had been, and a copy of his solemn
+expression before they came to speaking of Emerson and of the guitar.
+"I wish I had asked him if he would be so kind as to climb the
+cherry-tree," said Helena, unbending a little at the discovery that her
+cousin would consent to laugh no more.  "There are all those ripe
+cherries on the top branches.  I can climb as high as he, but I can't
+reach far enough from the last branch that will bear me.  The minister
+is so long and thin"--
+
+"I don't know what Mr. Crofton would have thought of you; he is a very
+serious young man," said cousin Harriet, still ashamed of her laughter.
+"Martha will get the cherries for you, or one of the men.  I should not
+like to have Mr. Crofton think you were frivolous, a young lady of your
+opportunities"--but Helena had escaped through the hall and out at the
+garden door at the mention of Martha's name.  Miss Harriet Pyne sighed
+anxiously, and then smiled, in spite of her deep convictions, as she
+shut the blinds and tried to make the house look solemn again.
+
+The front door might be shut, but the garden door at the other end of
+the broad hall was wide open upon the large sunshiny garden, where the
+last of the red and white peonies and the golden lilies, and the first
+of the tall blue larkspurs lent their colors in generous fashion.  The
+straight box borders were all in fresh and shining green of their new
+leaves, and there was a fragrance of the old garden's inmost life and
+soul blowing from the honeysuckle blossoms on a long trellis.  It was
+now late in the afternoon, and the sun was low behind great apple-trees
+at the garden's end, which threw their shadows over the short turf of
+the bleaching-green.  The cherry-trees stood at one side in full
+sunshine, and Miss Harriet, who presently came to the garden steps to
+watch like a hen at the water's edge, saw her cousin's pretty figure in
+its white dress of India muslin hurrying across the grass.  She was
+accompanied by the tall, ungainly shape of Martha the new maid, who,
+dull and indifferent to every one else, showed a surprising willingness
+and allegiance to the young guest.
+
+"Martha ought to be in the dining-room, already, slow as she is; it
+wants but half an hour of tea-time," said Miss Harriet, as she turned
+and went into the shaded house.  It was Martha's duty to wait at table,
+and there had been many trying scenes and defeated efforts toward her
+education.  Martha was certainly very clumsy, and she seemed the
+clumsier because she had replaced her aunt, a most skillful person, who
+had but lately married a thriving farm and its prosperous owner.  It
+must be confessed that Miss Harriet was a most bewildering instructor,
+and that her pupil's brain was easily confused and prone to blunders.
+The coming of Helena had been somewhat dreaded by reason of this
+incompetent service, but the guest took no notice of frowns or futile
+gestures at the first tea-table, except to establish friendly relations
+with Martha on her own account by a reassuring smile.  They were about
+the same age, and next morning, before cousin Harriet came down, Helena
+showed by a word and a quick touch the right way to do something that
+had gone wrong and been impossible to understand the night before.  A
+moment later the anxious mistress came in without suspicion, but
+Martha's eyes were as affectionate as a dog's, and there was a new look
+of hopefulness on her face; this dreaded guest was a friend after all,
+and not a foe come from proud Boston to confound her ignorance and
+patient efforts.
+
+The two young creatures, mistress and maid, were hurrying across the
+bleaching-green.
+
+"I can't reach the ripest cherries," explained Helena politely, "and I
+think that Miss Pyne ought to send some to the minister.  He has just
+made us a call.  Why Martha, you have n't been crying again!"
+
+"Yes 'm," said Martha sadly.  "Miss Pyne always loves to send something
+to the minister," she acknowledged with interest, as if she did not
+wish to be asked to explain these latest tears.
+
+"We 'll arrange some of the best cherries in a pretty dish.  I 'll show
+you how, and you shall carry them over to the parsonage after tea,"
+said Helena cheerfully, and Martha accepted the embassy with pleasure.
+Life was beginning to hold moments of something like delight in the
+last few days.
+
+"You 'll spoil your pretty dress, Miss Helena," Martha gave shy
+warning, and Miss Helena stood back and held up her skirts with unusual
+care while the country girl, in her heavy blue checked gingham, began
+to climb the cherry-tree like a boy.
+
+Down came the scarlet fruit like bright rain into the green grass.
+
+"Break some nice twigs with the cherries and leaves together; oh, you
+'re a duck, Martha!" and Martha, flushed with delight, and looking far
+more like a thin and solemn blue heron, came rustling down to earth
+again, and gathered the spoils into her clean apron.
+
+That night at tea, during her hand-maiden's temporary absence, Miss
+Harriet announced, as if by way of apology, that she thought Martha was
+beginning to understand something about her work.  "Her aunt was a
+treasure, she never had to be told anything twice; but Martha has been
+as clumsy as a calf," said the precise mistress of the house.  "I have
+been afraid sometimes that I never could teach her anything.  I was
+quite ashamed to have you come just now, and find me so unprepared to
+entertain a visitor."
+
+"Oh, Martha will learn fast enough because she cares so much," said the
+visitor eagerly.  "I think she is a dear good girl.  I do hope that she
+will never go away.  I think she does things better every day, cousin
+Harriet," added Helena pleadingly, with all her kind young heart.  The
+china-closet door was open a little way, and Martha heard every word.
+From that moment, she not only knew what love was like, but she knew
+love's dear ambitions.  To have come from a stony hill-farm and a bare
+small wooden house, was like a cave-dweller's coming to make a
+permanent home in an art museum, such had seemed the elaborateness and
+elegance of Miss Pyne's fashion of life; and Martha's simple brain was
+slow enough in its processes and recognitions.  But with this
+sympathetic ally and defender, this exquisite Miss Helena who believed
+in her, all difficulties appeared to vanish.
+
+Later that evening, no longer homesick or hopeless, Martha returned
+from her polite errand to the minister, and stood with a sort of
+triumph before the two ladies, who were sitting in the front doorway,
+as if they were waiting for visitors, Helena still in her white muslin
+and red ribbons, and Miss Harriet in a thin black silk.  Being happily
+self-forgetful in the greatness of the moment, Martha's manners were
+perfect, and she looked for once almost pretty and quite as young as
+she was.
+
+"The minister came to the door himself, and returned his thanks.  He
+said that cherries were always his favorite fruit, and he was much
+obliged to both Miss Pyne and Miss Vernon.  He kept me waiting a few
+minutes, while he got this book ready to send to you, Miss Helena."
+
+"What are you saying, Martha?  I have sent him nothing!" exclaimed Miss
+Pyne, much astonished.  "What does she mean, Helena?"
+
+"Only a few cherries," explained Helena.  "I thought Mr. Crofton would
+like them after his afternoon of parish calls.  Martha and I arranged
+them before tea, and I sent them with our compliments."
+
+"Oh, I am very glad you did," said Miss Harriet, wondering, but much
+relieved.  "I was afraid"--
+
+"No, it was none of my mischief," answered Helena daringly.  "I did not
+think that Martha would be ready to go so soon.  I should have shown
+you how pretty they looked among their green leaves.  We put them in
+one of your best white dishes with the openwork edge.  Martha shall
+show you to-morrow; mamma always likes to have them so."  Helena's
+fingers were busy with the hard knot of a parcel.
+
+"See this, cousin Harriet!" she announced proudly, as Martha
+disappeared round the corner of the house, beaming with the pleasures
+of adventure and success.  "Look! the minister has sent me a book:
+Sermons on _what_?  Sermons--it is so dark that I can't quite see."
+
+"It must be his 'Sermons on the Seriousness of Life;' they are the only
+ones he has printed, I believe," said Miss Harriet, with much pleasure.
+"They are considered very fine discourses.  He pays you a great
+compliment, my dear.  I feared that he noticed your girlish levity."
+
+"I behaved beautifully while he stayed," insisted Helena.  "Ministers
+are only men," but she blushed with pleasure.  It was certainly
+something to receive a book from its author, and such a tribute made
+her of more value to the whole reverent household.  The minister was
+not only a man, but a bachelor, and Helena was at the age that best
+loves conquest; it was at any rate comfortable to be reinstated in
+cousin Harriet's good graces.
+
+"Do ask the kind gentleman to tea!  He needs a little cheering up,"
+begged the siren in India muslin, as she laid the shiny black volume of
+sermons on the stone doorstep with an air of approval, but as if they
+had quite finished their mission.
+
+"Perhaps I shall, if Martha improves as much as she has within the last
+day or two," Miss Harriet promised hopefully.  "It is something I
+always dread a little when I am all alone, but I think Mr. Crofton
+likes to come.  He converses so elegantly."
+
+
+
+II.
+
+These were the days of long visits, before affectionate friends thought
+it quite worth while to take a hundred miles' journey merely to dine or
+to pass a night in one another's houses.  Helena lingered through the
+pleasant weeks of early summer, and departed unwillingly at last to
+join her family at the White Hills, where they had gone, like other
+households of high social station, to pass the month of August out of
+town.  The happy-hearted young guest left many lamenting friends behind
+her, and promised each that she would come back again next year.  She
+left the minister a rejected lover, as well as the preceptor of the
+academy, but with their pride unwounded, and it may have been with
+wider outlooks upon the world and a less narrow sympathy both for their
+own work in life and for their neighbors' work and hindrances.  Even
+Miss Harriet Pyne herself had lost some of the unnecessary
+provincialism and prejudice which had begun to harden a naturally good
+and open mind and affectionate heart.  She was conscious of feeling
+younger and more free, and not so lonely.  Nobody had ever been so gay,
+so fascinating, or so kind as Helena, so full of social resource, so
+simple and undemanding in her friendliness.  The light of her young
+life cast no shadow on either young or old companions, her pretty
+clothes never seemed to make other girls look dull or out of fashion.
+When she went away up the street in Miss Harriet's carriage to take the
+slow train toward Boston and the gayeties of the new Profile House,
+where her mother waited impatiently with a group of Southern friends,
+it seemed as if there would never be any more picnics or parties in
+Ashford, and as if society had nothing left to do but to grow old and
+get ready for winter.
+
+
+Martha came into Miss Helena's bedroom that last morning, and it was
+easy to see that she had been crying; she looked just as she did in
+that first sad week of homesickness and despair.  All for love's sake
+she had been learning to do many things, and to do them exactly right;
+her eyes had grown quick to see the smallest chance for personal
+service.  Nobody could be more humble and devoted; she looked years
+older than Helena, and wore already a touching air of caretaking.
+
+"You spoil me, you dear Martha!" said Helena from the bed.  "I don't
+know what they will say at home, I am so spoiled."
+
+Martha went on opening the blinds to let in the brightness of the
+summer morning, but she did not speak.
+
+"You are getting on splendidly, aren't you?" continued the little
+mistress.  "You have tried so hard that you make me ashamed of myself.
+At first you crammed all the flowers together, and now you make them
+look beautiful.  Last night cousin Harriet was so pleased when the
+table was so charming, and I told her that you did everything yourself,
+every bit.  Won't you keep the flowers fresh and pretty in the house
+until I come back?  It's so much pleasanter for Miss Pyne, and you 'll
+feed my little sparrows, won't you?  They're growing so tame."
+
+"Oh, yes, Miss Helena!" and Martha looked almost angry for a moment,
+then she burst into tears and covered her face with her apron.  "I
+could n't understand a single thing when I first came.  I never had
+been anywhere to see anything, and Miss Pyne frightened me when she
+talked.  It was you made me think I could ever learn.  I wanted to keep
+the place, 'count of mother and the little boys; we 're dreadful hard
+pushed.  Hepsy has been good in the kitchen; she said she ought to have
+patience with me, for she was awkward herself when she first came."
+
+Helena laughed; she looked so pretty under the tasseled white curtains.
+
+"I dare say Hepsy tells the truth," she said.  "I wish you had told me
+about your mother.  When I come again, some day we 'll drive up
+country, as you call it, to see her.  Martha!  I wish you would think
+of me sometimes after I go away.  Won't you promise?" and the bright
+young face suddenly grew grave.  "I have hard times myself; I don't
+always learn things that I ought to learn, I don't always put things
+straight.  I wish you would n't forget me ever, and would just believe
+in me.  I think it does help more than anything."
+
+"I won't forget," said Martha slowly.  "I shall think of you every
+day."  She spoke almost with indifference, as if she had been asked to
+dust a room, but she turned aside quickly and pulled the little mat
+under the hot water jug quite out of its former straightness; then she
+hastened away down the long white entry, weeping as she went.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+To lose out of sight the friend whom one has loved and lived to please
+is to lose joy out of life.  But if love is true, there comes presently
+a higher joy of pleasing the ideal, that is to say, the perfect friend.
+The same old happiness is lifted to a higher level.  As for Martha, the
+girl who stayed behind in Ashford, nobody's life could seem duller to
+those who could not understand; she was slow of step, and her eyes were
+almost always downcast as if intent upon incessant toil; but they
+startled you when she looked up, with their shining light.  She was
+capable of the happiness of holding fast to a great sentiment, the
+ineffable satisfaction of trying to please one whom she truly loved.
+She never thought of trying to make other people pleased with herself;
+all she lived for was to do the best she could for others, and to
+conform to an ideal, which grew at last to be like a saint's vision, a
+heavenly figure painted upon the sky.
+
+
+On Sunday afternoons in summer, Martha sat by the window of her
+chamber, a low-storied little room, which looked into the side yard and
+the great branches of an elm-tree.  She never sat in the old wooden
+rocking-chair except on Sundays like this; it belonged to the day of
+rest and to happy meditation.  She wore her plain black dress and a
+clean white apron, and held in her lap a little wooden box, with a
+brass ring on top for a handle.  She was past sixty years of age and
+looked even older, but there was the same look on her face that it had
+sometimes worn in girlhood.  She was the same Martha; her hands were
+old-looking and work-worn, but her face still shone.  It seemed like
+yesterday that Helena Vernon had gone away, and it was more than forty
+years.
+
+War and peace had brought their changes and great anxieties, the face
+of the earth was furrowed by floods and fire, the faces of mistress and
+maid were furrowed by smiles and tears, and in the sky the stars shone
+on as if nothing had happened.  The village of Ashford added a few
+pages to its unexciting history, the minister preached, the people
+listened; now and then a funeral crept along the street, and now and
+then the bright face of a little child rose above the horizon of a
+family pew.  Miss Harriet Pyne lived on in the large white house, which
+gained more and more distinction because it suffered no changes, save
+successive repaintings and a new railing about its stately roof.  Miss
+Harriet herself had moved far beyond the uncertainties of an anxious
+youth.  She had long ago made all her decisions, and settled all
+necessary questions; her scheme of life was as faultless as the
+miniature landscape of a Japanese garden, and as easily kept in order.
+The only important change she would ever be capable of making was the
+final change to another and a better world; and for that nature itself
+would gently provide, and her own innocent life.
+
+Hardly any great social event had ruffled the easy current of life
+since Helena Vernon's marriage.  To this Miss Pyne had gone, stately in
+appearance and carrying gifts of some old family silver which bore the
+Vernon crest, but not without some protest in her heart against the
+uncertainties of married life.  Helena was so equal to a happy
+independence and even to the assistance of other lives grown strangely
+dependent upon her quick sympathies and instinctive decisions, that it
+was hard to let her sink her personality in the affairs of another.
+Yet a brilliant English match was not without its attractions to an
+old-fashioned gentlewoman like Miss Pyne, and Helena herself was
+amazingly happy; one day there had come a letter to Ashford, in which
+her very heart seemed to beat with love and self-forgetfulness, to tell
+cousin Harriet of such new happiness and high hope.  "Tell Martha all
+that I say about my dear Jack," wrote the eager girl; "please show my
+letter to Martha, and tell her that I shall come home next summer and
+bring the handsomest and best man in the world to Ashford.  I have told
+him all about the dear house and the dear garden; there never was such
+a lad to reach for cherries with his six-foot-two."  Miss Pyne,
+wondering a little, gave the letter to Martha, who took it deliberately
+and as if she wondered too, and went away to read it slowly by herself.
+Martha cried over it, and felt a strange sense of loss and pain; it
+hurt her heart a little to read about the cherry-picking.  Her idol
+seemed to be less her own since she had become the idol of a stranger.
+She never had taken such a letter in her hands before, but love at last
+prevailed, since Miss Helena was happy, and she kissed the last page
+where her name was written, feeling overbold, and laid the envelope on
+Miss Pyne's secretary without a word.
+
+The most generous love cannot but long for reassurance, and Martha had
+the joy of being remembered.  She was not forgotten when the day of the
+wedding drew near, but she never knew that Miss Helena had asked if
+cousin Harriet would not bring Martha to town; she should like to have
+Martha there to see her married.  "She would help about the flowers,"
+wrote the happy girl; "I know she will like to come, and I 'll ask
+mamma to plan to have some one take her all about Boston and make her
+have a pleasant time after the hurry of the great day is over."
+
+Cousin Harriet thought it was very kind and exactly like Helena, but
+Martha would be out of her element; it was most imprudent and girlish
+to have thought of such a thing.  Helena's mother would be far from
+wishing for any unnecessary guest just then, in the busiest part of her
+household, and it was best not to speak of the invitation.  Some day
+Martha should go to Boston if she did well, but not now.  Helena did
+not forget to ask if Martha had come, and was astonished by the
+indifference of the answer.  It was the first thing which reminded her
+that she was not a fairy princess having everything her own way in that
+last day before the wedding.  She knew that Martha would have loved to
+be near, for she could not help understanding in that moment of her own
+happiness the love that was hidden in another heart.  Next day this
+happy young princess, the bride, cut a piece of a great cake and put it
+into a pretty box that had held one of her wedding presents.  With
+eager voices calling her, and all her friends about her, and her
+mother's face growing more and more wistful at the thought of parting,
+she still lingered and ran to take one or two trifles from her
+dressing-table, a little mirror and some tiny scissors that Martha
+would remember, and one of the pretty handkerchiefs marked with her
+maiden name.  These she put in the box too; it was half a girlish freak
+and fancy, but she could not help trying to share her happiness, and
+Martha's life was so plain and dull.  She whispered a message, and put
+the little package into cousin Harriet's hand for Martha as she said
+good-by.  She was very fond of cousin Harriet.  She smiled with a gleam
+of her old fun; Martha's puzzled look and tall awkward figure seemed to
+stand suddenly before her eyes, as she promised to come again to
+Ashford.  Impatient voices called to Helena, her lover was at the door,
+and she hurried away, leaving her old home and her girlhood gladly.  If
+she had only known it, as she kissed cousin Harriet good-by, they were
+never going to see each other again until they were old women.  The
+first step that she took out of her father's house that day, married,
+and full of hope and joy, was a step that led her away from the green
+elms of Boston Common and away from her own country and those she loved
+best, to a brilliant, much-varied foreign life, and to nearly all the
+sorrows and nearly all the joys that the heart of one woman could hold
+or know.
+
+On Sunday afternoons Martha used to sit by the window in Ashford and
+hold the wooden box which a favorite young brother, who afterward died
+at sea, had made for her, and she used to take out of it the pretty
+little box with a gilded cover that had held the piece of wedding-cake,
+and the small scissors, and the blurred bit of a mirror in its silver
+case; as for the handkerchief with the narrow lace edge, once in two or
+three years she sprinkled it as if it were a flower, and spread it out
+in the sun on the old bleaching-green, and sat near by in the shrubbery
+to watch lest some bold robin or cherry-bird should seize it and fly
+away.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+Miss Harriet Pyne was often congratulated upon the good fortune of
+having such a helper and friend as Martha.  As time went on this tall,
+gaunt woman, always thin, always slow, gained a dignity of behavior and
+simple affectionateness of look which suited the charm and dignity of
+the ancient house.  She was unconsciously beautiful like a saint, like
+the picturesqueness of a lonely tree which lives to shelter unnumbered
+lives and to stand quietly in its place.  There was such rustic
+homeliness and constancy belonging to her, such beautiful powers of
+apprehension, such reticence, such gentleness for those who were
+troubled or sick; all these gifts and graces Martha hid in her heart.
+She never joined the church because she thought she was not good
+enough, but life was such a passion and happiness of service that it
+was impossible not to be devout, and she was always in her humble place
+on Sundays, in the back pew next the door.  She had been educated by a
+remembrance; Helena's young eyes forever looked at her reassuringly
+from a gay girlish face, Helena's sweet patience in teaching her own
+awkwardness could never be forgotten.
+
+"I owe everything to Miss Helena," said Martha, half aloud, as she sat
+alone by the window; she had said it to herself a thousand times.  When
+she looked in the little keepsake mirror she always hoped to see some
+faint reflection of Helena Vernon, but there was only her own brown old
+New England face to look back at her wonderingly.
+
+Miss Pyne went less and less often to pay visits to her friends in
+Boston; there were very few friends left to come to Ashford and make
+long visits in the summer, and life grew more and more monotonous.  Now
+and then there came news from across the sea and messages of
+remembrance, letters that were closely written on thin sheets of paper,
+and that spoke of lords and ladies, of great journeys, of the death of
+little children and the proud successes of boys at school, of the
+wedding of Helena Dysart's only daughter; but even that had happened
+years ago.  These things seemed far away and vague, as if they belonged
+to a story and not to life itself; the true links with the past were
+quite different.  There was the unvarying flock of ground-sparrows that
+Helena had begun to feed; every morning Martha scattered crumbs for
+them from the side door-steps while Miss Pyne watched from the
+dining-room window, and they were counted and cherished year by year.
+
+Miss Pyne herself had many fixed habits, but little ideality or
+imagination, and so at last it was Martha who took thought for her
+mistress, and gave freedom to her own good taste.  After a while,
+without any one's observing the change, the every-day ways of doing
+things in the house came to be the stately ways that had once belonged
+only to the entertainment of guests.  Happily both mistress and maid
+seized all possible chances for hospitality, yet Miss Harriet nearly
+always sat alone at her exquisitely served table with its fresh
+flowers, and the beautiful old china which Martha handled so lovingly
+that there was no good excuse for keeping it hidden on closet shelves.
+Every year when the old cherry-trees were in fruit, Martha carried the
+round white old English dish with a fretwork edge, full of pointed
+green leaves and scarlet cherries, to the minister, and his wife never
+quite understood why every year he blushed and looked so conscious of
+the pleasure, and thanked Martha as if he had received a very
+particular attention.  There was no pretty suggestion toward the
+pursuit of the fine art of housekeeping in Martha's limited
+acquaintance with newspapers that she did not adopt; there was no
+refined old custom of the Pyne housekeeping that she consented to let
+go.  And every day, as she had promised, she thought of Miss
+Helena,--oh, many times in every day: whether this thing would please
+her, or that be likely to fall in with her fancy or ideas of fitness.
+As far as was possible the rare news that reached Ashford through an
+occasional letter or the talk of guests was made part of Martha's own
+life, the history of her own heart.  A worn old geography often stood
+open at the map of Europe on the light-stand in her room, and a little
+old-fashioned gilt button, set with a bit of glass like a ruby, that
+had broken and fallen from the trimming of one of Helena's dresses, was
+used to mark the city of her dwelling-place.  In the changes of a
+diplomatic life Martha followed her lady all about the map.  Sometimes
+the button was at Paris, and sometimes at Madrid; once, to her great
+anxiety, it remained long at St. Petersburg.  For such a slow scholar
+Martha was not unlearned at last, since everything about life in these
+foreign towns was of interest to her faithful heart.  She satisfied her
+own mind as she threw crumbs to the tame sparrows; it was all part of
+the same thing and for the same affectionate reasons.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+One Sunday afternoon in early summer Miss Harriet Pyne came hurrying
+along the entry that led to Martha's room and called two or three times
+before its inhabitant could reach the door.  Miss Harriet looked
+unusually cheerful and excited, and she held something in her hand.
+"Where are you, Martha?" she called again.  "Come quick, I have
+something to tell you!"
+
+"Here I am, Miss Pyne," said Martha, who had only stopped to put her
+precious box in the drawer, and to shut the geography.
+
+"Who do you think is coming this very night at half-past six?  We must
+have everything as nice as we can; I must see Hannah at once.  Do you
+remember my cousin Helena who has lived abroad so long?  Miss Helena
+Vernon,--the Honorable Mrs. Dysart, she is now."
+
+"Yes, I remember her," answered Martha, turning a little pale.
+
+"I knew that she was in this country, and I had written to ask her to
+come for a long visit," continued Miss Harriet, who did not often
+explain things, even to Martha, though she was always conscientious
+about the kind messages that were sent back by grateful guests.  "She
+telegraphs that she means to anticipate her visit by a few days and
+come to me at once.  The heat is beginning in town, I suppose.  I
+daresay, having been a foreigner so long, she does not mind traveling
+on Sunday.  Do you think Hannah will be prepared?  We must have tea a
+little later."
+
+"Yes, Miss Harriet," said Martha.  She wondered that she could speak as
+usual, there was such a ringing in her ears.  "I shall have time to
+pick some fresh strawberries; Miss Helena is so fond of our
+strawberries."
+
+"Why, I had forgotten," said Miss Pyne, a little puzzled by something
+quite unusual in Martha's face.  "We must expect to find Mrs. Dysart a
+good deal changed, Martha; it is a great many years since she was here;
+I have not seen her since her wedding, and she has had a great deal of
+trouble, poor girl.  You had better open the parlor chamber, and make
+it ready before you go down."
+
+"It is all ready," said Martha.  "I can carry some of those little
+sweet-brier roses upstairs before she comes."
+
+"Yes, you are always thoughtful," said Miss Pyne, with unwonted feeling.
+
+Martha did not answer.  She glanced at the telegram wistfully.  She had
+never really suspected before that Miss Pyne knew nothing of the love
+that had been in her heart all these years; it was half a pain and half
+a golden joy to keep such a secret; she could hardly bear this moment
+of surprise.
+
+Presently the news gave wings to her willing feet.  When Hannah, the
+cook, who never had known Miss Helena, went to the parlor an hour later
+on some errand to her old mistress, she discovered that this stranger
+guest must be a very important person.  She had never seen the
+tea-table look exactly as it did that night, and in the parlor itself
+there were fresh blossoming boughs in the old East India jars, and
+lilies in the paneled hall, and flowers everywhere, as if there were
+some high festivity.
+
+Miss Pyne sat by the window watching, in her best dress, looking
+stately and calm; she seldom went out now, and it was almost time for
+the carriage.  Martha was just coming in from the garden with the
+strawberries, and with more flowers in her apron.  It was a bright cool
+evening in June, the golden robins sang in the elms, and the sun was
+going down behind the apple-trees at the foot of the garden.  The
+beautiful old house stood wide open to the long-expected guest.
+
+"I think that I shall go down to the gate," said Miss Pyne, looking at
+Martha for approval, and Martha nodded and they went together slowly
+down the broad front walk.
+
+There was a sound of horses and wheels on the roadside turf: Martha
+could not see at first; she stood back inside the gate behind the white
+lilac-bushes as the carriage came.  Miss Pyne was there; she was
+holding out both arms and taking a tired, bent little figure in black
+to her heart.  "Oh, my Miss Helena is an old woman like me!" and Martha
+gave a pitiful sob; she had never dreamed it would be like this; this
+was the one thing she could not bear.
+
+"Where are you, Martha?" called Miss Pyne.  "Martha will bring these
+in; you have not forgotten my good Martha, Helena?"  Then Mrs. Dysart
+looked up and smiled just as she used to smile in the old days.  The
+young eyes were there still in the changed face, and Miss Helena had
+come.
+
+
+That night Martha waited in her lady's room just as she used, humble
+and silent, and went through with the old unforgotten loving services.
+The long years seemed like days.  At last she lingered a moment trying
+to think of something else that might be done, then she was going
+silently away, but Helena called her back.  She suddenly knew the whole
+story and could hardly speak.
+
+"Oh, my dear Martha!" she cried, "won't you kiss me good-night?  Oh,
+Martha, have you remembered like this, all these long years!"
+
+
+
+
+THE COON DOG.
+
+I.
+
+In the early dusk of a warm September evening the bats were flitting to
+and fro, as if it were still summer, under the great elm that
+overshadowed Isaac Brown's house, on the Dipford road.  Isaac Brown
+himself, and his old friend and neighbor John York, were leaning
+against the fence.
+
+"Frost keeps off late, don't it?" said John York.  "I laughed when I
+first heard about the circus comin'; I thought 't was so unusual late
+in the season.  Turned out well, however.  Everybody I noticed was
+returnin' with a palm-leaf fan.  Guess they found 'em useful under the
+tent; 't was a master hot day.  I saw old lady Price with her hands
+full o' those free advertisin' fans, as if she was layin' in a stock
+against next summer.  Well, I expect she 'll live to enjoy 'em."
+
+"I was right here where I 'm standin' now, and I see her as she was
+goin' by this mornin'," said Isaac Brown, laughing, and settling
+himself comfortably against the fence as if they had chanced upon a
+welcome subject of conversation.  "I hailed her, same 's I gener'lly
+do.  'Where are you bound to-day, ma'am?' says I.
+
+"'I 'm goin' over as fur as Dipford Centre,' says she.  'I 'm goin' to
+see my poor dear 'Liza Jane.  I want to 'suage her grief; her husband,
+Mr. 'Bijah Topliff, has passed away.'
+
+"'So much the better,' says I.
+
+"'No; I never l'arnt about it till yisterday,' says she; an' she looked
+up at me real kind of pleasant, and begun to laugh.
+
+"'I hear he's left property,' says she, tryin' to pull her face down
+solemn.  I give her the fifty cents she wanted to borrow to make up her
+car-fare and other expenses, an' she stepped off like a girl down
+tow'ds the depot.
+
+"This afternoon, as you know, I 'd promised the boys that I 'd take 'em
+over to see the menagerie, and nothin' would n't do none of us any good
+but we must see the circus too; an' when we'd just got posted on one o'
+the best high seats, mother she nudged me, and I looked right down
+front two, three rows, an' if there wa'n't Mis' Price, spectacles an'
+all, with her head right up in the air, havin' the best time you ever
+see.  I laughed right out.  She had n't taken no time to see 'Liza
+Jane; she wa'n't 'suagin' no grief for nobody till she 'd seen the
+circus.  'There,' says I, 'I do like to have anybody keep their young
+feelin's!'"
+
+"Mis' Price come over to see our folks before breakfast," said John
+York.  "Wife said she was inquirin' about the circus, but she wanted to
+know first if they couldn't oblige her with a few trinkets o' mournin',
+seein' as how she 'd got to pay a mournin' visit.  Wife thought 't was
+a bosom-pin, or somethin' like that, but turned out she wanted the
+skirt of a dress; 'most anything would do, she said."
+
+"I thought she looked extra well startin' off," said Isaac, with an
+indulgent smile.  "The Lord provides very handsome for such, I do
+declare!  She ain't had no visible means o' support these ten or
+fifteen years back, but she don't freeze up in winter no more than we
+do."
+
+"Nor dry up in summer," interrupted his friend; "I never did see such
+an able hand to talk."
+
+"She's good company, and she's obliging an' useful when the women folks
+have their extra work progressin'," continued Isaac Brown kindly.  "'T
+ain't much for a well-off neighborhood like this to support that old
+chirpin' cricket.  My mother used to say she kind of helped the work
+along by 'livenin' of it.  Here she comes now; must have taken the last
+train, after she had supper with 'Lizy Jane.  You stay still; we 're
+goin' to hear all about it."
+
+The small, thin figure of Mrs. Price had to be hailed twice before she
+could be stopped.
+
+"I wish you a good evenin', neighbors," she said.  "I have been to the
+house of mournin'."
+
+"Find 'Liza Jane in, after the circus?" asked Isaac Brown, with equal
+seriousness.  "Excellent show, was n't it, for so late in the season?"
+
+"Oh, beautiful; it was beautiful, I declare," answered the pleased
+spectator readily.  "Why, I did n't see you, nor Mis' Brown.  Yes; I
+felt it best to refresh my mind an' wear a cheerful countenance.  When
+I see 'Liza Jane I was able to divert her mind consid'able.  She was
+glad I went.  I told her I 'd made an effort, knowin' 'twas so she had
+to lose the a'ternoon.  'Bijah left property, if he did die away from
+home on a foreign shore."
+
+"You don't mean that 'Bijah Topliff 's left anything!" exclaimed John
+York with interest, while Isaac Brown put both hands deep into his
+pockets, and leaned back in a still more satisfactory position against
+the gatepost.
+
+"He enjoyed poor health," answered Mrs. Price, after a moment of
+deliberation, as if she must take time to think.  "'Bijah never was one
+that scattereth, nor yet increaseth.  'Liza Jane's got some memories o'
+the past that's a good deal better than others; but he died somewheres
+out in Connecticut, or so she heard, and he's left a very val'able coon
+dog,--one he set a great deal by.  'Liza Jane said, last time he was to
+home, he priced that dog at fifty dollars.  'There, now, 'Liza Jane,'
+says I, right to her, when she told me, 'if I could git fifty dollars
+for that dog, I certain' would.  Perhaps some o' the circus folks would
+like to buy him; they 've taken in a stream o' money this day.'  But
+'Liza Jane ain't never inclined to listen to advice.  'T is a dreadful
+poor-spirited-lookin' creatur'.  I don't want no right o' dower in him,
+myself."
+
+"A good coon dog 's worth somethin', certain," said John York
+handsomely.
+
+"If he is a good coon dog," added Isaac Brown.  "I would n't have
+parted with old Rover, here, for a good deal of money when he was right
+in his best days; but a dog like him 's like one of the family.  Stop
+an' have some supper, won't ye, Mis' Price?"--as the thin old creature
+was flitting off again.  At that same moment this kind invitation was
+repeated from the door of the house; and Mrs. Price turned in,
+unprotesting and always sociably inclined, at the open gate.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+It was a month later, and a whole autumn's length colder, when the two
+men were coming home from a long tramp through the woods.  They had
+been making a solemn inspection of a wood-lot that they owned together,
+and had now visited their landmarks and outer boundaries, and settled
+the great question of cutting or not cutting some large pines.  When it
+was well decided that a few years' growth would be no disadvantage to
+the timber, they had eaten an excellent cold luncheon and rested from
+their labors.
+
+"I don't feel a day older 'n ever I did when I get out in the woods thi
+way," announced John York, who was a prim, dusty-looking little man, a
+prudent person, who had been selectman of the town at least a dozen
+times.
+
+"No more do I," agreed his companion, who was large and jovial and
+open-handed, more like a lucky sea-captain than a farmer.  After
+pounding a slender walnut-tree with a heavy stone, he had succeeded in
+getting down a pocketful of late-hanging nuts which had escaped the
+squirrels, and was now snapping them back, one by one, to a venturesome
+chipmunk among some little frost-bitten beeches.  Isaac Brown had a
+wonderfully pleasant way of getting on with all sorts of animals, even
+men.  After a while they rose and went their way, these two companions,
+stopping here and there to look at a possible woodchuck's hole, or to
+strike a few hopeful blows at a hollow tree with the light axe which
+Isaac had carried to blaze new marks on some of the line-trees on the
+farther edge of their possessions.  Sometimes they stopped to admire
+the size of an old hemlock, or to talk about thinning out the young
+pines.  At last they were not very far from the entrance to the great
+tract of woodland.  The yellow sunshine came slanting in much brighter
+against the tall trunks, spotting them with golden light high among the
+still branches.
+
+Presently they came to a great ledge, frost-split and cracked into
+mysterious crevices.
+
+"Here's where we used to get all the coons," said John York.  "I have
+n't seen a coon this great while, spite o' your courage knocking on the
+trees up back here.  You know that night we got the four fat ones?  We
+started 'em somewheres near here, so the dog could get after 'em when
+they come out at night to go foragin'."
+
+"Hold on, John;" and Mr. Isaac Brown got up from the log where he had
+just sat down to rest, and went to the ledge, and looked carefully all
+about.  When he came back he was much excited, and beckoned his friend
+away, speaking in a stage whisper.
+
+"I guess you 'll see a coon before you 're much older," he proclaimed.
+"I 've thought it looked lately as if there 'd been one about my place,
+and there's plenty o' signs here, right in their old haunts.  Couple o'
+hens' heads an' a lot o' feathers"--
+
+"Might be a fox," interrupted John York.
+
+"Might be a coon," answered Mr. Isaac Brown.  "I 'm goin' to have him,
+too.  I 've been lookin' at every old hollow tree I passed, but I never
+thought o' this place.  We 'll come right off to-morrow night, I guess,
+John, an' see if we can't get him.  'T is an extra handy place for 'em
+to den; in old times the folks always called it a good place; they 've
+been so sca'ce o' these late years that I 've thought little about 'em.
+Nothin' I ever liked so well as a coon-hunt.  Gorry! he must be a big
+old fellow, by his tracks!  See here, in this smooth dirt; just like a
+baby's footmark."
+
+"Trouble is, we lack a good dog," said John York anxiously, after he
+had made an eager inspection.  "I don't know where in the world to get
+one, either.  There ain't no such a dog about as your Rover, but you
+'ve let him get spoilt; these days I don't see him leave the yard.  You
+ought to keep the women folks from overfeedin' of him so.  He ought to
+'ve lasted a good spell longer.  He's no use for huntin' now, that's
+certain."
+
+Isaac accepted the rebuke meekly.  John York was a calm man, but he now
+grew very fierce under such a provocation.  Nobody likes to be hindered
+in a coon-hunt.
+
+"Oh, Rover's too old, anyway," explained the affectionate master
+regretfully.  "I 've been wishing all this afternoon I 'd brought him;
+but I did n't think anything about him as we came away, I 've got so
+used to seeing him layin' about the yard.  'T would have been a real
+treat for old Rover, if he could have kept up.  Used to be at my heels
+the whole time.  He could n't follow us, anyway, up here."
+
+"I should n't wonder if he could," insisted John, with a humorous
+glance at his old friend, who was much too heavy and huge of girth for
+quick transit over rough ground.  John York himself had grown lighter
+as he had grown older.
+
+"I 'll tell you one thing we could do," he hastened to suggest.  "There
+'s that dog of 'Bijah Topllff's.  Don't you know the old lady told us,
+that day she went over to Dipford, how high he was valued?  Most o'
+'Bijah's important business was done in the fall, goin' out by night,
+gunning with fellows from the mills.  He was just the kind of a
+worthless do-nothing that's sure to have an extra knowin' smart dog.  I
+expect 'Liza Jane 's got him now.  Perhaps we could get him by
+to-morrow night.  Let one o' my boys go over!"
+
+"Why, 'Liza Jane 's come, bag an' baggage, to spend the winter with her
+mother," exclaimed Isaac Brown, springing to his feet like a boy.  "I
+'ve had it in mind to tell you two or three times this afternoon, and
+then something else has flown it out of my head.  I let my John Henry
+take the long-tailed wagon an' go down to the depot this mornin' to
+fetch her an' her goods up.  The old lady come in early, while we were
+to breakfast, and to hear her lofty talk you 'd thought 't would taken
+a couple o' four-horse teams to move her.  I told John Henry he might
+take that wagon and fetch up what light stuff he could, and see how
+much else there was, an' then I 'd make further arrangements.  She said
+'Liza Jane 'd see me well satisfied, an' rode off, pleased to death.  I
+see 'em returnin' about eight, after the train was in.  They 'd got
+'Liza Jane with 'em, smaller 'n ever; and there was a trunk tied up
+with a rope, and a small roll o' beddin' and braided mats, and a
+quilted rockin'-chair.  The old lady was holdin' on tight to a
+bird-cage with nothin' in it.  Yes; an' I see the dog, too, in behind.
+He appeared kind of timid.  He 's a yaller dog, but he ain't
+stump-tailed.  They hauled up out front o' the house, and mother an' I
+went right out; Mis' Price always expects to have notice taken.  She
+was in great sperits.  Said 'Liza Jane concluded to sell off most of
+her stuff rather 'n have the care of it.  She 'd told the folks that
+Mis' Topliff had a beautiful sofa and a lot o' nice chairs, and two
+framed pictures that would fix up the house complete, and invited us
+all to come over and see 'em.  There, she seemed just as pleased
+returnin' with the bird-cage.  Disappointments don't appear to trouble
+her no more than a butterfly.  I kind of like the old creatur'; I don't
+mean to see her want."
+
+"They 'll let us have the dog," said John York.  "I don't know but I
+'ll give a quarter for him, and we 'll let 'em have a good piece o' the
+coon."
+
+"You really comin' 'way up here by night, coon-huntin'?" asked Isaac
+Brown, looking reproachfully at his more agile comrade.
+
+"I be," answered John York.
+
+"I was dre'tful afraid you was only talking, and might back out,"
+returned the cheerful heavy-weight, with a chuckle.  "Now we 've got
+things all fixed, I feel more like it than ever.  I tell you there's
+just boy enough left inside of me.  I 'll clean up my old gun to-morrow
+mornin', and you look right after your'n.  I dare say the boys have
+took good care of 'em for us, but they don't know what we do about
+huntin', and we 'll bring 'em all along and show 'em a little fun."
+
+"All right," said John York, as soberly as if they were going to look
+after a piece of business for the town; and they gathered up the axe
+and other light possessions, and started toward home.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+The two friends, whether by accident or design, came out of the woods
+some distance from their own houses, but very near to the low-storied
+little gray dwelling of Mrs. Price.  They crossed the pasture, and
+climbed over the toppling fence at the foot of her small sandy piece of
+land, and knocked at the door.  There was a light already in the
+kitchen.  Mrs. Price and Eliza Jane Topliff appeared at once, eagerly
+hospitable.
+
+"Anybody sick?" asked Mrs. Price, with instant sympathy.  "Nothin'
+happened, I hope?"
+
+"Oh, no," said both the men.
+
+"We came to talk about hiring your dog to-morrow night," explained
+Isaac Brown, feeling for the moment amused at his eager errand.  "We
+got on track of a coon just now, up in the woods, and we thought we 'd
+give our boys a little treat.  You shall have fifty cents, an' welcome,
+and a good piece o' the coon."
+
+"Yes, Square Brown; we can let you have the dog as well as not,"
+interrupted Mrs. Price, delighted to grant a favor.  "Poor departed
+'Bijah, he set everything by him as a coon dog.  He always said a dog's
+capital was all in his reputation."
+
+"You 'll have to be dreadful careful an' not lose him," urged Mrs.
+Topliff.  "Yes, sir; he 's a proper coon dog as ever walked the earth,
+but he's terrible weak-minded about followin' 'most anybody.  'Bijah
+used to travel off twelve or fourteen miles after him to git him back,
+when he wa'n't able.  Somebody 'd speak to him decent, or fling a
+whip-lash as they drove by, an' off he 'd canter on three legs right
+after the wagon.  But 'Bijah said he wouldn't trade him for no coon dog
+he ever was acquainted with.  Trouble is, coons is awful sca'ce."
+
+"I guess he ain't out o' practice," said John York amiably; "I guess he
+'ll know when he strikes the coon.  Come, Isaac, we must be gittin'
+along tow'ds home.  I feel like eatin' a good supper.  You tie him up
+to-morrow afternoon, so we shall be sure to have him," he turned to say
+to Mrs. Price, who stood smiling at the door.
+
+"Land sakes, dear, he won't git away; you 'll find him right there
+betwixt the wood-box and the stove, where he is now.  Hold the light,
+'Liza Jane; they can't see their way out to the road.  I 'll fetch him
+over to ye in good season," she called out, by way of farewell; "'t
+will save ye third of a mile extra walk.  No, 'Liza Jane; you 'll let
+me do it, if you please.  I 've got a mother's heart.  The gentlemen
+will excuse us for showin' feelin'.  You 're all the child I 've got,
+an' your prosperity is the same as mine."
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+The great night of the coon-hunt was frosty and still, with only a dim
+light from the new moon.  John York and his boys, and Isaac Brown,
+whose excitement was very great, set forth across the fields toward the
+dark woods.  The men seemed younger and gayer than the boys.  There was
+a burst of laughter when John Henry Brown and his little brother
+appeared with the coon dog of the late Mr. Abijah Topliff, which had
+promptly run away home again after Mrs. Price had coaxed him over in
+the afternoon.  The captors had tied a string round his neck, at which
+they pulled vigorously from time to time to urge him forward.  Perhaps
+he found the night too cold; at any rate, he stopped short in the
+frozen furrows every few minutes, lifting one foot and whining a
+little.  Half a dozen times he came near to tripping up Mr. Isaac Brown
+and making him fall at full length.
+
+"Poor Tiger! poor Tiger!" said the good-natured sportsman, when
+somebody said that the dog did n't act as if he were much used to being
+out by night.  "He 'll be all right when he once gets track of the
+coon."  But when they were fairly in the woods, Tiger's distress was
+perfectly genuine.  The long rays of light from the old-fashioned
+lanterns of pierced tin went wheeling round and round, making a tall
+ghost of every tree, and strange shadows went darting in and out behind
+the pines.  The woods were like an interminable pillared room where the
+darkness made a high ceiling.  The clean frosty smell of the open
+fields was changed for a warmer air, damp with the heavy odor of moss
+and fallen leaves.  There was something wild and delicious in the
+forest in that hour of night.  The men and boys tramped on silently in
+single file, as if they followed the flickering light instead of
+carrying it.  The dog fell back by instinct, as did his companions,
+into the easy familiarity of forest life.  He ran beside them, and
+watched eagerly as they chose a safe place to leave a coat or two and a
+basket.  He seemed to be an affectionate dog, now that he had made
+acquaintance with his masters.
+
+"Seems to me he don't exactly know what he 's about," said one of the
+York boys scornfully; "we must have struck that coon's track somewhere,
+comin' in."
+
+"We 'll get through talkin', an' heap up a little somethin' for a fire,
+if you 'll turn to and help," said his father.  "I 've always noticed
+that nobody can give so much good advice about a piece o' work as a new
+hand.  When you 've treed as many coons as your Uncle Brown an' me, you
+won't feel so certain.  Isaac, you be the one to take the dog up round
+the ledge, there.  He 'll scent the coon quick enough then.  We 'll
+'tend to this part o' the business."
+
+"You may come too, John Henry," said the indulgent father, and they set
+off together silently with the coon dog.  He followed well enough now;
+his tail and ears were drooping even more than usual, but he whimpered
+along as bravely as he could, much excited, at John Henry's heels, like
+one of those great soldiers who are all unnerved until the battle is
+well begun.
+
+A minute later the father and son came hurrying back, breathless, and
+stumbling over roots and bushes.  The fire was already lighted, and
+sending a great glow higher and higher among the trees.
+
+"He's off!  He 's struck a track!  He was off like a major!" wheezed
+Mr. Isaac Brown.
+
+"Which way 'd he go?" asked everybody.
+
+"Right out toward the fields.  Like's not the old fellow was just
+starting after more of our fowls.  I 'm glad we come early,--he can't
+have got far yet.  We can't do nothin' but wait now, boys.  I 'll set
+right down here."
+
+"Soon as the coon trees, you 'll hear the dog sing, now I tell you!"
+said John York, with great enthusiasm.  "That night your father an' me
+got those four busters we 've told you about, they come right back here
+to the ledge.  I don't know but they will now.  'T was a dreadful cold
+night, I know.  We did n't get home till past three o'clock in the
+mornin', either.  You remember, don't you, Isaac?"
+
+"I do," said Isaac.  "How old Rover worked that night!  Could n't see
+out of his eyes, nor hardly wag his clever old tail, for two days;
+thorns in both his fore paws, and the last coon took a piece right out
+of his off shoulder."
+
+"Why did n't you let Rover come tonight, father?" asked the younger
+boy.  "I think he knew somethin' was up.  He was jumpin' round at a
+great rate when I come out of the yard."
+
+"I did n't know but he might make trouble for the other dog," answered
+Isaac, after a moment's silence.  He felt almost disloyal to the
+faithful creature, and had been missing him all the way.  "'Sh! there's
+a bark!"  And they all stopped to listen.
+
+The fire was leaping higher; they all sat near it, listening and
+talking by turns.  There is apt to be a good deal of waiting in a
+coon-hunt.
+
+"If Rover was young as he used to be, I'd resk him to tree any coon
+that ever run," said the regretful master.  "This smart creature o'
+Topliff's can't beat him, I know.  The poor old fellow's eyesight seems
+to be going.  Two--three times he's run out at me right in broad day,
+an' barked when I come up the yard toward the house, and I did pity him
+dreadfully; he was so 'shamed when he found out what he 'd done.
+Rover's a dog that's got an awful lot o' pride.  He went right off out
+behind the long barn the last time, and would n't come in for nobody
+when they called him to supper till I went out myself and made it up
+with him.  No; he can't see very well now, Rover can't."
+
+"He 's heavy, too; he 's got too unwieldy to tackle a smart coon, I
+expect, even if he could do the tall runnin'," said John York, with
+sympathy.  "They have to get a master grip with their teeth through a
+coon's thick pelt this time o' year.  No; the young folks gets all the
+good chances after a while;" and he looked round indulgently at the
+chubby faces of his boys, who fed the fire, and rejoiced in being
+promoted to the society of their elders on equal terms.  "Ain't it time
+we heard from the dog?"  And they all listened, while the fire snapped
+and the sap whistled in some green sticks.
+
+"I hear him," said John Henry suddenly; and faint and far away there
+came the sound of a desperate bark.  There is a bark that means attack,
+and there is a bark that means only foolish excitement.
+
+"They ain't far off!" said Isaac.  "My gracious, he's right after him!
+I don't know's I expected that poor-looking dog to be so smart.  You
+can't tell by their looks.  Quick as he scented the game up here in the
+rocks, off he put.  Perhaps it ain't any matter if they ain't
+stump-tailed, long's they 're yaller dogs.  He did n't look heavy
+enough to me.  I tell you, he means business.  Hear that bark!"
+
+"They all bark alike after a coon."  John York was as excited as
+anybody.  "Git the guns laid out to hand, boys; I told you we 'd ought
+to follow!" he commanded.  "If it's the old fellow that belongs here,
+he may put in any minute."  But there was again a long silence and
+state of suspense; the chase had turned another way.  There were faint
+distant yaps.  The fire burned low and fell together with a shower of
+sparks.  The smaller boys began to grow chilly and sleepy, when there
+was a thud and rustle and snapping of twigs close at hand, then the
+gasp of a breathless dog.  Two dim shapes rushed by; a shower of bark
+fell, and a dog began to sing at the foot of the great twisted pine not
+fifty feet away.
+
+"Hooray for Tiger!" yelled the boys; but the dog's voice filled all the
+woods.  It might have echoed to the mountain-tops.  There was the old
+coon; they could all see him half-way up the tree, flat to the great
+limb.  They heaped the fire with dry branches till it flared high.  Now
+they lost him in a shadow as he twisted about the tree.  John York
+fired, and Isaac Brown fired, and the boys took a turn at the guns,
+while John Henry started to climb a neighboring oak; but at last it was
+Isaac who brought the coon to ground with a lucky shot, and the dog
+stopped his deafening bark and frantic leaping in the underbrush, and
+after an astonishing moment of silence crept out, a proud victor, to
+his prouder master's feet.
+
+"Goodness alive, who 's this?  Good for you, old handsome!  Why, I 'll
+be hanged if it ain't old Rover, boys; _it's old Rover_!"  But Isaac
+could not speak another word.  They all crowded round the wistful,
+clumsy old dog, whose eyes shone bright, though his breath was all
+gone.  Each man patted him, and praised him, and said they ought to
+have mistrusted all the time that it could be nobody but he.  It was
+some minutes before Isaac Brown could trust himself to do anything but
+pat the sleek old head that was always ready to his hand.
+
+"He must have overheard us talkin'; I guess he 'd have come if he 'd
+dropped dead half-way," proclaimed John Henry, like a prince of the
+reigning house; and Rover wagged his tail as if in honest assent, as he
+lay at his master's side.  They sat together, while the fire was
+brightened again to make a good light for the coon-hunt supper; and
+Rover had a good half of everything that found its way into his
+master's hand.  It was toward midnight when the triumphal procession
+set forth toward home, with the two lanterns, across the fields.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+The next morning was bright and warm after the hard frost of the night
+before.  Old Rover was asleep on the doorstep in the sun, and his
+master stood in the yard, and saw neighbor Price come along the road in
+her best array, with a gay holiday air.
+
+"Well, now," she said eagerly, "you wa'n't out very late last night,
+was you?  I got up myself to let Tiger in.  He come home, all beat out,
+about a quarter past nine.  I expect you had n't no kind o' trouble
+gittin' the coon.  The boys was tellin' me he weighed 'most thirty
+pounds."
+
+"Oh, no kind o' trouble," said Isaac, keeping the great secret
+gallantly.  "You got the things I sent over this mornin'?"
+
+"Bless your heart, yes!  I 'd a sight rather have all that good pork
+an' potatoes than any o' your wild meat," said Mrs. Price, smiling with
+prosperity.  "You see, now, 'Liza Jane she 's given in.  She did n't
+re'lly know but 't was all talk of 'Bijah 'bout that dog's bein' wuth
+fifty dollars.  She says she can't cope with a huntin' dog same 's he
+could, an' she 's given me the money you an' John York sent over this
+mornin'; an' I did n't know but what you 'd lend me another half a
+dollar, so I could both go to Dipford Centre an' return, an' see if I
+could n't make a sale o' Tiger right over there where they all know
+about him.  It's right in the coon season; now 's my time, ain't it?"
+
+"Well, gettin' a little late," said Isaac, shaking with laughter as he
+took the desired sum of money out of his pocket.  "He seems to be a
+clever dog round the house."
+
+"I don't know 's I want to harbor him all winter," answered the
+excursionist frankly, striking into a good traveling gait as she
+started off toward the railroad station.
+
+
+
+
+AUNT CYNTHY DALLETT.
+
+I.
+
+"No," said Mrs. Hand, speaking wistfully,--"no, we never were in the
+habit of keeping Christmas at our house.  Mother died when we were all
+young; she would have been the one to keep up with all new ideas, but
+father and grandmother were old-fashioned folks, and--well, you know
+how 't was then, Miss Pendexter: nobody took much notice of the day
+except to wish you a Merry Christmas."
+
+"They did n't do much to make it merry, certain," answered Miss
+Pendexter.  "Sometimes nowadays I hear folks complainin' o' bein'
+overtaxed with all the Christmas work they have to do."
+
+"Well, others think that it makes a lovely chance for all that really
+enjoys givin'; you get an opportunity to speak your kind feelin' right
+out," answered Mrs. Hand, with a bright smile.  "But there!  I shall
+always keep New Year's Day, too; it won't do no hurt to have an extra
+day kept an' made pleasant.  And there 'a many of the real old folks
+have got pretty things to remember about New Year's Day."
+
+"Aunt Cynthy Dallett 's just one of 'em," said Miss Pendexter.  "She 's
+always very reproachful if I don't get up to see her.  Last year I
+missed it, on account of a light fall o' snow that seemed to make the
+walkin' too bad, an' she sent a neighbor's boy 'way down from the
+mount'in to see if I was sick.  Her lameness confines her to the house
+altogether now, an' I have her on my mind a good deal.  How anybody
+does get thinkin' of those that lives alone, as they get older!  I
+waked up only last night with a start, thinkin' if Aunt Cynthy's house
+should get afire or anything, what she would do, 'way up there all
+alone.  I was half dreamin', I s'pose, but I could n't seem to settle
+down until I got up an' went upstairs to the north garret window to see
+if I could see any light; but the mountains was all dark an' safe, same
+'s usual.  I remember noticin' last time I was there that her chimney
+needed pointin', and I spoke to her about it,--the bricks looked poor
+in some places."
+
+"Can you see the house from your north gable window?" asked Mrs. Hand,
+a little absently.
+
+"Yes 'm; it's a great comfort that I can," answered her companion.  "I
+have often wished we were near enough to have her make me some sort o'
+signal in case she needed help.  I used to plead with her to come down
+and spend the winters with me, but she told me one day I might as well
+try to fetch down one o' the old hemlocks, an' I believe 't was true."
+
+"Your aunt Dallett is a very self-contained person," observed Mrs. Hand.
+
+"Oh, very!" exclaimed the elderly niece, with a pleased look.  "Aunt
+Cynthy laughs, an' says she expects the time will come when age 'll
+compel her to have me move up an' take care of her; and last time I was
+there she looked up real funny, an' says, 'I do' know, Abby; I 'm most
+afeard sometimes that I feel myself beginnin' to look for'ard to it!'
+'T was a good deal, comin' from Aunt Cynthy, an' I so esteemed it."
+
+"She ought to have you there now," said Mrs. Hand.  "You 'd both make a
+savin' by doin' it; but I don't expect she needs to save as much as
+some.  There!  I know just how you both feel.  I like to have my own
+home an' do everything just my way too."  And the friends laughed, and
+looked at each other affectionately.
+
+"There was old Mr. Nathan Dunn,--left no debts an' no money when he
+died," said Mrs. Hand.  "'T was over to his niece's last summer.  He
+had a little money in his wallet, an' when the bill for funeral
+expenses come in there was just exactly enough; some item or other made
+it come to so many dollars an' eighty-four cents, and, lo an' behold!
+there was eighty-four cents in a little separate pocket beside the neat
+fold o' bills, as if the old gentleman had known before-hand.  His
+niece could n't help laughin', to save her; she said the old gentleman
+died as methodical as he lived.  She did n't expect he had any money,
+an' was prepared to pay for everything herself; she 's very well off."
+
+"'T was funny, certain," said Miss Pendexter.  "I expect he felt
+comfortable, knowin' he had that money by him.  'T is a comfort, when
+all's said and done, 'specially to folks that's gettin' old."
+
+A sad look shadowed her face for an instant, and then she smiled and
+rose to take leave, looking expectantly at her hostess to see if there
+were anything more to be said.
+
+"I hope to come out square myself," she said, by way of farewell
+pleasantry; "but there are times when I feel doubtful."
+
+Mrs. Hand was evidently considering something, and waited a moment or
+two before she spoke.  "Suppose we both walk up to see your aunt
+Dallett, New Year's Day, if it ain't too windy and the snow keeps off?"
+she proposed.  "I could n't rise the hill if 't was a windy day.  We
+could take a hearty breakfast an' start in good season; I 'd rather
+walk than ride, the road's so rough this time o' year."
+
+"Oh, what a person you are to think o' things!  I did so dread goin'
+'way up there all alone," said Abby Pendexter.  "I 'm no hand to go off
+alone, an' I had it before me, so I really got to dread it.  I do so
+enjoy it after I get there, seein' Aunt Cynthy, an' she 's always so
+much better than I expect to find her."
+
+"Well, we 'll start early," said Mrs. Hand cheerfully; and so they
+parted.  As Miss Pendexter went down the foot-path to the gate, she
+sent grateful thoughts back to the little sitting-room she had just
+left.
+
+"How doors are opened!" she exclaimed to herself.  "Here I 've been so
+poor an' distressed at beginnin' the year with nothin', as it were,
+that I could n't think o' even goin' to make poor old Aunt Cynthy a
+friendly call.  I 'll manage to make some kind of a little pleasure
+too, an' somethin' for dear Mis' Hand.  'Use what you 've got,' mother
+always used to say when every sort of an emergency come up, an' I may
+only have wishes to give, but I 'll make 'em good ones!"
+
+
+
+II.
+
+The first day of the year was clear and bright, as if it were a New
+Year's pattern of what winter can be at its very best.  The two friends
+were prepared for changes of weather, and met each other well wrapped
+in their winter cloaks and shawls, with sufficient brown barege veils
+tied securely over their bonnets.  They ignored for some time the plain
+truth that each carried something under her arm; the shawls were
+rounded out suspiciously, especially Miss Pendexter's, but each
+respected the other's air of secrecy.  The narrow road was frozen in
+deep ruts, but a smooth-trodden little foot-path that ran along its
+edge was very inviting to the wayfarers.  Mrs. Hand walked first and
+Miss Pendexter followed, and they were talking busily nearly all the
+way, so that they had to stop for breath now and then at the tops of
+the little hills.  It was not a hard walk; there were a good many
+almost level stretches through the woods, in spite of the fact that
+they should be a very great deal higher when they reached Mrs.
+Dallett's door.
+
+"I do declare, what a nice day 't is, an' such pretty footin'!" said
+Mrs. Hand, with satisfaction.  "Seems to me as if my feet went o'
+themselves; gener'lly I have to toil so when I walk that I can't enjoy
+nothin' when I get to a place."
+
+"It's partly this beautiful bracin' air," said Abby Pendexter.
+"Sometimes such nice air comes just before a fall of snow.  Don't it
+seem to make anybody feel young again and to take all your troubles
+away?"
+
+Mrs. Hand was a comfortable, well-to-do soul, who seldom worried about
+anything, but something in her companion's tone touched her heart, and
+she glanced sidewise and saw a pained look in Abby Pendexter's thin
+face.  It was a moment for confidence.
+
+"Why, you speak as if something distressed your mind, Abby," said the
+elder woman kindly.
+
+"I ain't one that has myself on my mind as a usual thing, but it does
+seem now as if I was goin' to have it very hard," said Abby.  "Well, I
+'ve been anxious before."
+
+"Is it anything wrong about your property?" Mrs. Hand ventured to ask.
+
+"Only that I ain't got any," answered.  Abby, trying to speak gayly.
+"'T was all I could do to pay my last quarter's rent, twelve dollars.
+I sold my hens, all but this one that had run away at the time, an' now
+I 'm carryin' her up to Aunt Cynthy, roasted just as nice as I know
+how."
+
+"I thought you was carrying somethin'," said Mrs. Hand, in her usual
+tone.  "For me, I 've got a couple o' my mince pies.  I thought the old
+lady might like 'em; one we can eat for our dinner, and one she shall
+have to keep.  But were n't you unwise to sacrifice your poultry, Abby?
+You always need eggs, and hens don't cost much to keep."
+
+"Why, yes, I shall miss 'em," said Abby; "but, you see, I had to do
+every way to get my rent-money.  Now the shop 's shut down I have n't
+got any way of earnin' anything, and I spent what little I 've saved
+through the summer."
+
+"Your aunt Cynthy ought to know it an' ought to help you," said Mrs.
+Hand.  "You 're a real foolish person, I must say.  I expect you do for
+her when she ought to do for you."
+
+"She 's old, an' she 's all the near relation I 've got," said the
+little woman.  "I 've always felt the time would come when she 'd need
+me, but it's been her great pleasure to live alone an' feel free.  I
+shall get along somehow, but I shall have it hard.  Somebody may want
+help for a spell this winter, but I 'm afraid I shall have to give up
+my house.  'T ain't as if I owned it.  I don't know just what to do,
+but there'll be a way."
+
+Mrs. Hand shifted her two pies to the other arm, and stepped across to
+the other side of the road where the ground looked a little smoother.
+
+"No, I wouldn't worry if I was you, Abby," she said.  "There, I suppose
+if 't was me I should worry a good deal more!  I expect I should lay
+awake nights."  But Abby answered nothing, and they came to a steep
+place in the road and found another subject for conversation at the top.
+
+"Your aunt don't know we 're coming?" asked the chief guest of the
+occasion.
+
+"Oh, no, I never send her word," said Miss Pendexter.  "She 'd be so
+desirous to get everything ready, just as she used to."
+
+"She never seemed to make any trouble o' havin' company; she always
+appeared so easy and pleasant, and let you set with her while she made
+her preparations," said Mrs. Hand, with great approval.  "Some has such
+a dreadful way of making you feel inopportune, and you can't always
+send word you 're comin'.  I did have a visit once that's always been a
+lesson to me; 't was years ago; I don't know 's I ever told you?"
+
+"I don't believe you ever did," responded the listener to this somewhat
+indefinite prelude.
+
+"Well, 't was one hot summer afternoon.  I set forth an' took a great
+long walk 'way over to Mis' Eben Fulham's, on the crossroad between the
+cranberry ma'sh and Staples's Corner.  The doctor was drivin' that way,
+an' he give me a lift that shortened it some at the last; but I never
+should have started, if I 'd known 't was so far.  I had been promisin'
+all summer to go, and every time I saw Mis' Fulham, Sundays, she 'd say
+somethin' about it.  We wa'n't very well acquainted, but always
+friendly.  She moved here from Bedford Hill."
+
+"Oh, yes; I used to know her," said Abby, with interest.
+
+"Well, now, she did give me a beautiful welcome when I got there,"
+continued Mrs. Hand.  "'T was about four o'clock in the afternoon, an'
+I told her I 'd come to accept her invitation if 't was convenient, an'
+the doctor had been called several miles beyond and expected to be
+detained, but he was goin' to pick me up as he returned about seven; 't
+was very kind of him.  She took me right in, and she did appear so
+pleased, an' I must go right into the best room where 't was cool, and
+then she said she 'd have tea early, and I should have to excuse her a
+short time.  I asked her not to make any difference, and if I could n't
+assist her; but she said no, I must just take her as I found her; and
+she give me a large fan, and off she went.
+
+"There.  I was glad to be still and rest where 't was cool, an' I set
+there in the rockin'-chair an' enjoyed it for a while, an' I heard her
+clacking at the oven door out beyond, an' gittin' out some dishes.  She
+was a brisk-actin' little woman, an' I thought I 'd caution her when
+she come back not to make up a great fire, only for a cup o' tea,
+perhaps.  I started to go right out in the kitchen, an' then somethin'
+told me I 'd better not, we never 'd been so free together as that; I
+did n't know how she 'd take it, an' there I set an' set.  'T was sort
+of a greenish light in the best room, an' it begun to feel a little
+damp to me,--the s'rubs outside grew close up to the windows.  Oh, it
+did seem dreadful long!  I could hear her busy with the dishes an'
+beatin' eggs an' stirrin', an' I knew she was puttin' herself out to
+get up a great supper, and I kind o' fidgeted about a little an' even
+stepped to the door, but I thought she 'd expect me to remain where I
+was.  I saw everything in that room forty times over, an' I did divert
+myself killin' off a brood o' moths that was in a worsted-work mat on
+the table.  It all fell to pieces.  I never saw such a sight o' moths
+to once.  But occupation failed after that, an' I begun to feel sort o'
+tired an' numb.  There was one o' them late crickets got into the room
+an' begun to chirp, an' it sounded kind o' fallish.  I could n't help
+sayin' to myself that Mis' Fulham had forgot all about my bein' there.
+I thought of all the beauties of hospitality that ever I see!"--
+
+"Did n't she ever come back at all, not whilst things was in the oven,
+nor nothin'?" inquired Miss Pendexter, with awe.
+
+"I never see her again till she come beamin' to the parlor door an'
+invited me to walk out to tea," said Mrs. Hand.  "'T was 'most a
+quarter past six by the clock; I thought 't was seven.  I 'd thought o'
+everything, an' I 'd counted, an' I 'd trotted my foot, an' I 'd looked
+more 'n twenty times to see if there was any more moth-millers."
+
+"I s'pose you did have a very nice tea?" suggested Abby, with interest.
+
+"Oh, a beautiful tea!  She could n't have done more if I 'd been the
+Queen," said Mrs. Hand.  "I don't know how she could ever have done it
+all in the time, I 'm sure.  The table was loaded down; there was
+cup-custards and custard pie, an' cream pie, an' two kinds o' hot
+biscuits, an' black tea as well as green, an' elegant cake,--one kind
+she 'd just made new, and called it quick cake; I 've often made it
+since--an' she 'd opened her best preserves, two kinds.  We set down
+together, an' I 'm sure I appreciated what she 'd done; but 't wa'n't
+no time for real conversation whilst we was to the table, and before we
+got quite through the doctor come hurryin' along, an' I had to leave.
+He asked us if we 'd had a good talk, as we come out, an' I could n't
+help laughing to myself; but she said quite hearty that she 'd had a
+nice visit from me.  She appeared well satisfied, Mis' Fulham did; but
+for me, I was disappointed; an' early that fall she died."
+
+Abby Pendexter was laughing like a girl; the speaker's tone had grown
+more and more complaining.  "I do call that a funny experience," she
+said.  "'Better a dinner o' herbs.'  I guess that text must ha' risen
+to your mind in connection.  You must tell that to Aunt Cynthy, if
+conversation seems to fail."  And she laughed again, but Mrs. Hand
+still looked solemn and reproachful.
+
+"Here we are; there 's Aunt Cynthy's lane right ahead, there by the
+great yellow birch," said Abby.  "I must say, you 've made the way seem
+very short, Mis' Hand."
+
+
+
+III.
+
+Old Aunt Cynthia Dallett sat in her high-backed rocking-chair by the
+little north window, which was her favorite dwelling-place.
+
+"New Year's Day again," she said, aloud,--"New Year's Day again!"  And
+she folded her old bent hands, and looked out at the great woodland
+view and the hills without really seeing them, she was lost in so deep
+a reverie.  "I 'm gittin' to be very old," she added, after a little
+while.
+
+It was perfectly still in the small gray house.  Outside in the
+apple-trees there were some blue-jays flitting about and calling
+noisily, like schoolboys fighting at their games.  The kitchen was full
+of pale winter sunshine.  It was more like late October than the first
+of January, and the plain little room seemed to smile back into the
+sun's face.  The outer door was standing open into the green dooryard,
+and a fat small dog lay asleep on the step.  A capacious cupboard stood
+behind Mrs. Dallett's chair and kept the wind away from her corner.
+Its doors and drawers were painted a clean lead-color, and there were
+places round the knobs and buttons where the touch of hands had worn
+deep into the wood.  Every braided rug was straight on the floor.  The
+square clock on its shelf between the front windows looked as if it had
+just had its face washed and been wound up for a whole year to come.
+If Mrs. Dallett turned her head she could look into the bedroom, where
+her plump feather bed was covered with its dark blue homespun winter
+quilt.  It was all very peaceful and comfortable, but it was very
+lonely.  By her side, on a light-stand, lay the religious newspaper of
+her denomination, and a pair of spectacles whose jointed silver bows
+looked like a funny two-legged beetle cast helplessly upon its back.
+
+"New Year's Day again," said old Cynthia Dallett.  Time had left nobody
+in her house to wish her a Happy New Year,--she was the last one left
+in the old nest.  "I 'm gittin' to be very old," she said for the
+second time; it seemed to be all there was to say.
+
+She was keeping a careful eye on her friendly clock, but it was hardly
+past the middle of the morning, and there was no excuse for moving; it
+was the long hour between the end of her slow morning work and the
+appointed time for beginning to get dinner.  She was so stiff and lame
+that this hour's rest was usually most welcome, but to-day she sat as
+if it were Sunday, and did not take up her old shallow splint basket of
+braiding-rags from the side of her footstool.
+
+"I do hope Abby Pendexter 'll make out to git up to see me this
+afternoon as usual," she continued.  "I know 't ain't so easy for her
+to get up the hill as it used to be, but I do seem to want to see some
+o' my own folks.  I wish 't I 'd thought to send her word I expected
+her when Jabez Hooper went back after he came up here with the flour.
+I 'd like to have had her come prepared to stop two or three days."
+
+A little chickadee perched on the window-sill outside and bobbed his
+head sideways to look in, and then pecked impatiently at the glass.
+The old woman laughed at him with childish pleasure and felt
+companioned; it was pleasant at that moment to see the life in even a
+bird's bright eye.
+
+"Sign of a stranger," she said, as he whisked his wings and flew away
+in a hurry.  "I must throw out some crumbs for 'em; it's getting to be
+hard pickin' for the stayin'-birds."  She looked past the trees of her
+little orchard now with seeing eyes, and followed the long forest
+slopes that led downward to the lowland country.  She could see the two
+white steeples of Fairfield Village, and the map of fields and pastures
+along the valley beyond, and the great hills across the valley to the
+westward.  The scattered houses looked like toys that had been
+scattered by children.  She knew their lights by night, and watched the
+smoke of their chimneys by day.  Far to the northward were higher
+mountains, and these were already white with snow.  Winter was already
+in sight, but to-day the wind was in the south, and the snow seemed
+only part of a great picture.
+
+"I do hope the cold 'll keep off a while longer," thought Mrs. Dallett.
+"I don't know how I 'm going to get along after the deep snow comes."
+
+The little dog suddenly waked, as if he had had a bad dream, and after
+giving a few anxious whines he began to bark outrageously.  His
+mistress tried, as usual, to appeal to his better feelings.
+
+"'T ain't nobody, Tiger," she said.  "Can't you have some patience?
+Maybe it's some foolish boys that's rangin' about with their guns."
+But Tiger kept on, and even took the trouble to waddle in on his short
+legs, barking all the way.  He looked warningly at her, and then turned
+and ran out again.  Then she saw him go hurrying down to the bars, as
+if it were an occasion of unusual interest.
+
+"I guess somebody is comin'; he don't act as if 't were a vagrant kind
+o' noise; must really be somebody in our lane."  And Mrs. Dallett
+smoothed her apron and gave an anxious housekeeper's glance round the
+kitchen.  None of her state visitors, the minister or the deacons, ever
+came in the morning.  Country people are usually too busy to go
+visiting in the forenoons.
+
+Presently two figures appeared where the road came out of the
+woods,--the two women already known to the story, but very surprising
+to Mrs. Dallett; the short, thin one was easily recognized as Abby
+Pendexter, and the taller, stout one was soon discovered to be Mrs.
+Hand.  Their old friend's heart was in a glow.  As the guests
+approached they could see her pale face with its thin white hair framed
+under the close black silk handkerchief.
+
+"There she is at her window smilin' away!" exclaimed Mrs. Hand; but by
+the time they reached the doorstep she stood waiting to meet them.
+
+"Why, you two dear creatur's!" she said, with a beaming smile.  "I
+don't know when I 've ever been so glad to see folks comin'.  I had a
+kind of left-all-alone feelin' this mornin', an' I didn't even make
+bold to be certain o' you, Abby, though it looked so pleasant.  Come
+right in an' set down.  You 're all out o' breath, ain't you, Mis'
+Hand?"
+
+Mrs. Dallett led the way with eager hospitality.  She was the tiniest
+little bent old creature, her handkerchiefed head was quick and alert,
+and her eyes were bright with excitement and feeling, but the rest of
+her was much the worse for age; she could hardly move, poor soul, as if
+she had only a make-believe framework of a body under a shoulder-shawl
+and thick petticoats.  She got back to her chair again, and the guests
+took off their bonnets in the bedroom, and returned discreet and sedate
+in their black woolen dresses.  The lonely kitchen was blest with
+society at last, to its mistress's heart's content.  They talked as
+fast as possible about the weather, and how warm it had been walking up
+the mountain, and how cold it had been a year ago, that day when Abby
+Pendexter had been kept at home by a snowstorm and missed her visit.
+"And I ain't seen you now, aunt, since the twenty-eighth of September,
+but I 've thought of you a great deal, and looked forward to comin'
+more'n usual," she ended, with an affectionate glance at the pleased
+old face by the window.
+
+"I 've been wantin' to see you, dear, and wonderin' how you was gettin'
+on," said Aunt Cynthy kindly.  "And I take it as a great attention to
+have you come to-day, Mis' Hand," she added, turning again towards the
+more distinguished guest.  "We have to put one thing against another.
+I should hate dreadfully to live anywhere except on a high hill farm,
+'cordin' as I was born an' raised.  But there ain't the chance to
+neighbor that townfolks has, an' I do seem to have more lonely hours
+than I used to when I was younger.  I don't know but I shall soon be
+gittin' too old to live alone."  And she turned to her niece with an
+expectant, lovely look, and Abby smiled back.
+
+"I often wish I could run in an' see you every day, aunt," she
+answered.  "I have been sayin' so to Mrs. Hand."
+
+"There, how anybody does relish company when they don't have but a
+little of it!" exclaimed Aunt Cynthia.  "I am all alone to-day; there
+is going to be a shootin'-match somewhere the other side o' the
+mountain, an' Johnny Foss, that does my chores, begged off to go when
+he brought the milk unusual early this mornin'.  Gener'lly he 's about
+here all the fore part of the day; but he don't go off with the boys
+very often, and I like to have him have a little sport; 't was New
+Year's Day, anyway; he 's a good, stiddy boy for my wants."
+
+"Why, I wish you Happy New Year, aunt!" said Abby, springing up with
+unusual spirit.  "Why, that's just what we come to say, and we like to
+have forgot all about it!"  She kissed her aunt, and stood a minute
+holding her hand with a soft, affectionate touch.  Mrs. Hand rose and
+kissed Mrs. Dallett too, and it was a moment of ceremony and deep
+feeling.
+
+"I always like to keep the day," said the old hostess, as they seated
+themselves and drew their splint-bottomed chairs a little nearer
+together than before.  "You see, I was brought up to it, and father
+made a good deal of it; he said he liked to make it pleasant and give
+the year a fair start.  I can see him now, how he used to be standing
+there by the fireplace when we came out o' the two bedrooms early in
+the morning, an' he always made out, poor's he was, to give us some
+little present, and he 'd heap 'em up on the corner o' the mantelpiece,
+an' we 'd stand front of him in a row, and mother be bustling about
+gettin' breakfast.  One year he give me a beautiful copy o' the 'Life
+o' General Lafayette,' in a green cover,--I 've got it now, but we
+child'n 'bout read it to pieces,--an' one year a nice piece o' blue
+ribbon, an' Abby--that was your mother, Abby--had a pink one.  Father
+was real kind to his child'n.  I thought o' them early days when I
+first waked up this mornin', and I could n't help lookin' up then to
+the corner o' the shelf just as I used to look."
+
+"There's nothin' so beautiful as to have a bright childhood to look
+back to," said Mrs. Hand.  "Sometimes I think child'n has too hard a
+time now,--all the responsibility is put on to 'em, since they take the
+lead o' what to do an' what they want, and get to be so toppin' an'
+knowin'.  'Twas happier in the old days, when the fathers an' mothers
+done the rulin'."
+
+"They say things have changed," said Aunt Cynthy; "but staying right
+here, I don't know much of any world but my own world."
+
+Abby Pendexter did not join in this conversation, but sat in her
+straight backed chair with folded hands and the air of a good child.
+The little old dog had followed her in, and now lay sound asleep again
+at her feet.  The front breadth of her black dress looked rusty and old
+in the sunshine that slanted across it, and the aunt's sharp eyes saw
+this and saw the careful darns.  Abby was as neat as wax, but she
+looked as if the frost had struck her.  "I declare, she's gittin' along
+in years," thought Aunt Cynthia compassionately.  "She begins to look
+sort o' set and dried up, Abby does.  She ought n't to live all alone;
+she's one that needs company."
+
+At this moment Abby looked up with new interest.  "Now, aunt," she
+said, in her pleasant voice, "I don't want you to forget to tell me if
+there ain't some sewin' or mendin' I can do whilst I 'm here.  I know
+your hands trouble you some, an' I may's well tell you we 're bent on
+stayin' all day an' makin' a good visit, Mis' Hand an' me."
+
+"Thank ye kindly," said the old woman; "I do want a little sewin' done
+before long, but 't ain't no use to spile a good holiday."  Her face
+took a resolved expression.  "I 'm goin' to make other arrangements,"
+she said.  "No, you need n't come up here to pass New Year's Day an' be
+put right down to sewin'.  I make out to do what mendin' I need, an' to
+sew on my hooks an' eyes.  I get Johnny Ross to thread me up a good lot
+o' needles every little while, an' that helps me a good deal.  Abby,
+why can't you step into the best room an' bring out the rockin'-chair?
+I seem to want Mis' Hand to have it."
+
+"I opened the window to let the sun in awhile," said the niece, as she
+returned.  "It felt cool in there an' shut up."
+
+"I thought of doin' it not long before you come," said Mrs. Dallett,
+looking gratified.  Once the taking of such a liberty would have been
+very provoking to her.  "Why, it does seem good to have somebody think
+o' things an' take right hold like that!"
+
+"I 'm sure you would, if you were down at my house," said Abby,
+blushing.  "Aunt Cynthy, I don't suppose you could feel as if 't would
+be best to come down an' pass the winter with me,--just durin' the cold
+weather, I mean.  You 'd see more folks to amuse you, an'--I do think
+of you so anxious these long winter nights."
+
+There was a terrible silence in the room, and Miss Pendexter felt her
+heart begin to beat very fast.  She did not dare to look at her aunt at
+first.
+
+Presently the silence was broken.  Aunt Cynthia had been gazing out of
+the window, and she turned towards them a little paler and older than
+before, and smiling sadly.
+
+"Well, dear, I 'll do just as you say," she answered.  "I 'm beat by
+age at last, but I 've had my own way for eighty-five years, come the
+month o' March, an' last winter I did use to lay awake an' worry in the
+long storms.  I 'm kind o' humble now about livin' alone to what I was
+once."  At this moment a new light shone in her face.  "I don't expect
+you 'd be willin' to come up here an' stay till spring,--not if I had
+Foss's folks stop for you to ride to meetin' every pleasant Sunday, an'
+take you down to the Corners plenty o' other times besides?" she said
+beseechingly.  "No, Abby, I 'm too old to move now; I should be
+homesick down to the village.  If you 'll come an' stay with me, all I
+have shall be yours.  Mis' Hand hears me say it."
+
+"Oh, don't you think o' that; you 're all I 've got near to me in the
+world, an' I 'll come an' welcome," said Abby, though the thought of
+her own little home gave a hard tug at her heart.  "Yes, Aunt Cynthy, I
+'ll come, an' we 'll be real comfortable together.  I 've been lonesome
+sometimes"--
+
+"'Twill be best for both," said Mrs. Hand judicially.  And so the great
+question was settled, and suddenly, without too much excitement, it
+became a thing of the past.
+
+"We must be thinkin' o' dinner," said Aunt Cynthia gayly.  "I wish I
+was better prepared; but there 's nice eggs an' pork an' potatoes, an'
+you girls can take hold an' help."  At this moment the roast chicken
+and the best mince pies were offered and kindly accepted, and before
+another hour had gone they were sitting at their New Year feast, which
+Mrs. Dallett decided to be quite proper for the Queen.
+
+Before the guests departed, when the sun was getting low, Aunt Cynthia
+called her niece to her side and took hold of her hand.
+
+"Don't you make it too long now, Abby," said she.  "I shall be wantin'
+ye every day till you come; but you must n't forgit what a set old
+thing I be."
+
+Abby had the kindest of hearts, and was always longing for somebody to
+love and care for; her aunt's very age and helplessness seemed to beg
+for pity.
+
+"This is Saturday; you may expect me the early part of the week; and
+thank you, too, aunt," said Abby.
+
+Mrs. Hand stood by with deep sympathy.  "It's the proper thing," she
+announced calmly.  "You 'd both of you be a sight happier; and truth
+is, Abby's wild an' reckless, an' needs somebody to stand right over
+her, Mis' Dallett.  I guess she 'll try an' behave, but there--there 's
+no knowin'!"  And they all laughed.  Then the New Year guests said
+farewell and started off down the mountain road.  They looked back more
+than once to see Aunt Cynthia's face at the window as she watched them
+out of sight.  Miss Abby Pendexter was full of excitement; she looked
+as happy as a child.
+
+"I feel as if we 'd gained the battle of Waterloo," said Mrs. Hand.  "I
+'ve really had a most beautiful time.  You an' your aunt must n't
+forgit to invite me up some time again to spend another day."
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING.
+
+I.
+
+There was a sad heart in the low-storied, dark little house that stood
+humbly by the roadside under some tall elms.  Small as her house was,
+old Mrs. Robb found it too large for herself alone; she only needed the
+kitchen and a tiny bedroom that led out of it, and there still remained
+the best room and a bedroom, with the low garret overhead.
+
+There had been a time, after she was left alone, when Mrs. Robb could
+help those who were poorer than herself.  She was strong enough not
+only to do a woman's work inside her house, but almost a man's work
+outside in her piece of garden ground.  At last sickness and age had
+come hand in hand, those two relentless enemies of the poor, and
+together they had wasted her strength and substance.  She had always
+been looked up to by her neighbors as being independent, but now she
+was left, lame-footed and lame-handed, with a debt to carry and her
+bare land, and the house ill-provisioned to stand the siege of time.
+
+For a while she managed to get on, but at last it began to be whispered
+about that there was no use for any one so proud; it was easier for the
+whole town to care for her than for a few neighbors, and Mrs. Robb had
+better go to the poorhouse before winter, and be done with it.  At this
+terrible suggestion her brave heart seemed to stand still.  The people
+whom she cared for most happened to be poor, and she could no longer go
+into their households to make herself of use.  The very elms overhead
+seemed to say, "Oh, no!" as they groaned in the late autumn winds, and
+there was something appealing even to the strange passer-by in the look
+of the little gray house, with Mrs. Robb's pale, worried face at the
+window.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+Some one has said that anniversaries are days to make other people
+happy in, but sometimes when they come they seem to be full of shadows,
+and the power of giving joy to others, that inalienable right which
+ought to lighten the saddest heart, the most indifferent sympathy,
+sometimes even this seems to be withdrawn.
+
+So poor old Mary Ann Robb sat at her window on the afternoon before
+Thanksgiving and felt herself poor and sorrowful indeed.  Across the
+frozen road she looked eastward over a great stretch of cold meadow
+land, brown and wind-swept and crossed by icy ditches.  It seemed to
+her as if before this, in all the troubles that she had known and
+carried, there had always been some hope to hold: as if she had never
+looked poverty full in the face and seen its cold and pitiless look
+before.  She looked anxiously down the road, with a horrible shrinking
+and dread at the thought of being asked, out of pity, to join in some
+Thanksgiving feast, but there was nobody coming with gifts in hand.
+Once she had been full of love for such days, whether at home or
+abroad, but something chilled her very heart now.
+
+Her nearest neighbor had been foremost of those who wished her to go to
+the town farm, and he had said more than once that it was the only
+sensible thing.  But John Mander was waiting impatiently to get her
+tiny farm into his own hands; he had advanced some money upon it in her
+extremity, and pretended that there was still a debt, after he cleared
+her wood lot to pay himself back.  He would plough over the graves in
+the field corner and fell the great elms, and waited now like a spider
+for his poor prey.  He often reproached her for being too generous to
+worthless people in the past and coming to be a charge to others now.
+Oh, if she could only die in her own house and not suffer the pain of
+homelessness and dependence!
+
+It was just at sunset, and as she looked out hopelessly across the gray
+fields, there was a sudden gleam of light far away on the low hills
+beyond; the clouds opened in the west and let the sunshine through.
+One lovely gleam shot swift as an arrow and brightened a far cold
+hillside where it fell, and at the same moment a sudden gleam of hope
+brightened the winter landscape of her heart.
+
+"There was Johnny Harris," said Mary Ann Robb softly.  "He was a
+soldier's son, left an orphan and distressed.  Old John Mander scolded,
+but I could n't see the poor boy in want.  I kept him that year after
+he got hurt, spite o' what anybody said, an' he helped me what little
+he could.  He said I was the only mother he 'd ever had.  'I 'm goin'
+out West, Mother Robb,' says he.  'I sha'n't come back till I get
+rich,' an' then he 'd look at me an' laugh, so pleasant and boyish.  He
+wa'n't one that liked to write.  I don't think he was doin' very well
+when I heard,--there, it's most four years ago now.  I always thought
+if he got sick or anything, I should have a good home for him to come
+to.  There 's poor Ezra Blake, the deaf one, too,--he won't have any
+place to welcome him."
+
+The light faded out of doors, and again Mrs. Robb's troubles stood
+before her.  Yet it was not so dark as it had been in her sad heart.
+She still sat by the window, hoping now, in spite of herself, instead
+of fearing; and a curious feeling of nearness and expectancy made her
+feel not so much light-hearted as light-headed.
+
+"I feel just as if somethin' was goin' to happen," she said.  "Poor
+Johnny Harris, perhaps he's thinkin' o' me, if he's alive."
+
+It was dark now out of doors, and there were tiny clicks against the
+window.  It was beginning to snow, and the great elms creaked in the
+rising wind overhead.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+A dead limb of one of the old trees had fallen that autumn, and, poor
+firewood as it might be, it was Mrs. Robb's own, and she had burnt it
+most thankfully.  There was only a small armful left, but at least she
+could have the luxury of a fire.  She had a feeling that it was her
+last night at home, and with strange recklessness began to fill the
+stove as she used to do in better days.
+
+"It 'll get me good an' warm," she said, still talking to herself, as
+lonely people do, "an' I 'll go to bed early.  It's comin' on to storm."
+
+The snow clicked faster and faster against the window, and she sat
+alone thinking in the dark.
+
+"There 's lots of folks I love," she said once.  "They 'd be sorry I
+ain't got nobody to come, an' no supper the night afore Thanksgivin'.
+I 'm dreadful glad they don't know."  And she drew a little nearer to
+the fire, and laid her head back drowsily in the old rocking-chair.
+
+It seemed only a moment before there was a loud knocking, and somebody
+lifted the latch of the door.  The fire shone bright through the front
+of the stove and made a little light in the room, but Mary Ann Robb
+waked up frightened and bewildered.
+
+"Who 's there?" she called, as she found her crutch and went to the
+door.  She was only conscious of her one great fear.  "They 've come to
+take me to the poor-house!" she said, and burst into tears.
+
+There was a tall man, not John Mander, who seemed to fill the narrow
+doorway.
+
+"Come, let me in!" he said gayly.  "It's a cold night.  You did n't
+expect me, did you, Mother Robb?"
+
+"Dear me, what is it?" she faltered, stepping back as he came in, and
+dropping her crutch.  "Be I dreamin'?  I was a-dreamin' about--  Oh,
+there!  What was I a-sayin'?  'T ain't true!  No!  I've made some kind
+of a mistake."
+
+Yes, and this was the man who kept the poorhouse, and she would go
+without complaint; they might have given her notice, but she must not
+fret.
+
+"Sit down, sir," she said, turning toward him with touching patience.
+"You 'll have to give me a little time.  If I 'd been notified I would
+n't have kept you waiting a minute this stormy night."
+
+It was not the keeper of the poorhouse.  The man by the door took one
+step forward and put his arm round her and kissed her.
+
+"What are you talking about?" said John Harris.  "You ain't goin' to
+make me feel like a stranger?  I 've come all the way from Dakota to
+spend Thanksgivin'.  There's all sorts o' things out here in the wagon,
+an' a man to help get 'em in.  Why, don't cry so, Mother Robb.  I
+thought you 'd have a great laugh, if I come and surprised you.  Don't
+you remember I always said I should come?"
+
+It was John Harris, indeed.  The poor soul could say nothing.  She felt
+now as if her heart was going to break with joy.  He left her in the
+rocking-chair and came and went in his old boyish way, bringing in the
+store of gifts and provisions.  It was better than any dream.  He
+laughed and talked, and went out to send away the man to bring a
+wagonful of wood from John Mander's, and came in himself laden with
+pieces of the nearest fence to keep the fire going in the mean time.
+They must cook the beef-steak for supper right away; they must find the
+pound of tea among all the other bundles; they must get good fires
+started in both the cold bedrooms.  Why, Mother Robb did n't seem to be
+ready for company from out West!  The great, cheerful fellow hurried
+about the tiny house, and the little old woman limped after him,
+forgetting everything but hospitality.  Had not she a house for John to
+come to?  Were not her old chairs and tables in their places still?
+And he remembered everything, and kissed her as they stood before the
+fire, as if she were a girl.
+
+He had found plenty of hard times, but luck had come at last.  He had
+struck luck, and this was the end of a great year.
+
+"No, I could n't seem to write letters; no use to complain o' the
+worst, an' I wanted to tell you the best when I came;" and he told it
+while she cooked the supper.  "No, I wa'n't goin' to write no foolish
+letters," John repeated.  He was afraid he should cry himself when he
+found out how bad things had been; and they sat down to supper
+together, just as they used to do when he was a homeless orphan boy,
+whom nobody else wanted in winter weather while he was crippled and
+could not work.  She could not be kinder now than she was then, but she
+looked so poor and old!  He saw her taste her cup of tea and set it
+down again with a trembling hand and a look at him.  "No, I wanted to
+come myself," he blustered, wiping his eyes and trying to laugh.  "And
+you 're going to have everything you need to make you comfortable
+long's you live, Mother Robb!"
+
+She looked at him again and nodded, but she did not even try to speak.
+There was a good hot supper ready, and a happy guest had come; it was
+the night before Thanksgiving.
+
+
+
+
+Books by Sarah Orne Jewett.
+
+
+  DEEPHAVEN.
+  OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.
+  COUNTRY BY-WAYS.
+  THE MATE OF THE DAYLIGHT, AND FRIENDS ASHORE.
+  A COUNTRY DOCTOR.
+  A MARSH ISLAND.
+  A WHITE HERON, AND OTHER STORIES.
+  THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND, AND OTHER PEOPLE.
+  TALES OF NEW ENGLAND.
+  STRANGERS AND WAYFARERS.
+  A NATIVE OF WINBY, AND OTHER TALES.
+  THE LIFE OF NANCY.
+  THE COUNTRY OF THE POINTED FIRS.
+  THE QUEEN'S TWIN AND OTHER STORIES.
+  PLAY-DAYS.
+  BETTY LEICESTER.
+  BETTY LEICESTER'S CHRISTMAS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Queen's Twin and Other Stories, by
+Sarah Orne Jewett
+
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